#WHEN DID YOUR BAR GET TO THE FUCKING CEILING
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The ringmaster and the amphitheater. The chessboard and the player. Round and round they go.
#THE SILLIES. but also they have DEPTH. Which is INTERESTING#The circus man and the circus tent#theyre the circus duo#two ass CLOWNS is what they are#I find their dynamic very compelling. Its like#Lucifer is the devil from the BIBLE. yet Alastor gets offended by the unfairness of their power dynamic#MY MAN YOU WERE A RADIO HOST WHEN YOU WERE ALIVE#WHEN DID YOUR BAR GET TO THE FUCKING CEILING#Anyways. theyre fun. they have some fun things in common but theyd never admit to it. theyd be the friend to go bitch about someone#also im all for a qpr with these two#theyre so funny. imagine them as roomates#my art#art post#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer morningstar#I wonder if somewhere down in hell the actual lucifer is looking up at us judgementally#i wonder what would happen if I showed a priest from thousands years ago this content and go: yeah this is how the bible looks now#doodles#radioapple#appleradio#duckiedeer#hazbin alastor#hazbin lucifer#hazbin art#hazbin hotel fanart#hazbin hotel fandom#hazbinhotel#hazbin hotel alastor
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you shook me all night long
sex on fire chapter one
requested by @whore-4-pedro (hope u enjoy lovely)
lived all my succession fantasies out writing this one icl. enjoy 🖤 check out my masterlist for more joel fun ‼️
pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader
summary: as joel miller's assistant, you're expected to meet all his needs. some are a little more personal than others
warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) creepy dude at the beginning, lotta teasing and touching, mentions of female masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), alcohol and drug use, cursing, low-key inappropriate work relationship (if bad then why sexy?)
word count: 7.8k
series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist
You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.
You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.
“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”
“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”
It’s Friday night.
You only got home from work an hour and a half ago. Tired, hungry, sore eyes from staring at a screen all night, sore back from sitting hunched over all day. Dumped your bags at the door, ripped your clothes off by your bed, dove straight into the shower. You’d picked an outfit, curled your hair in record time, and even done your makeup before Deb called to say she was out front.
It was a ten-minute drive from your place to the hotel – it’s only a couple blocks from work. The cab driver made light conversation, talked about his daughter and her new puppy, and you both nodded and uhuhed in all the breaks in his sentences. Deb made some comment about it being easier if you’d just stayed at the office until the party, and you’d hummed in agreement, looking out the window at the regal hotel.
Truth be told, you’d rather be doing anything other than attending a work function. You’ve had a long week. A lot of meetings, paperwork, emails to be answered, and most of all, running around after your boss. It’s not all fun and games being Joel Miller’s assistant, regardless of the pay, or the view from your desk over to his.
Your head’s elsewhere when you waltz through the revolving door, heels clicking along the marble floor. The elevator – gold, by the way – slides open and you both step inside, hitting the highest button before you’re swept up twenty floors to the penthouse.
“Did you send those documents over to us yet?” Deb asks.
“Nope,” you reply, slipping out when the elevator dings. “Had to sit in on a meeting with Joel and take the fucking minutes, spent all night writing them up.”
“He won’t be pissed at you?”
“If he hadn’t insisted I was in there with him, you’d have your reports, wouldn’t you?”
She shrugs, agreeing.
“Anyway,” you continue, “I can take angry Joel. He doesn’t scare me.”
Deb chuckles as you shoulder the doors to the penthouse open.
It’s a moody dull, lit only by the lights lining the bar and small lamps decorating mahogany tables, sat next to deep green velvet couches. There are clusters of people everywhere you look; stood near shelves filled with leather-bound books, examining the view from the floor to ceiling windows, sprawled out over luxurious chairs with champagne flutes in their hands. There’s a tree in the middle of the room, branches decorated in blinking string lights reaching to a glass dome in the ceiling.
It's, like, sickeningly pretentious. You know it. Hell, you all know it. Still, in your little black dress, you strut over and take a champagne of your own, sipping on the fizzing drink with one elbow resting on the wooden bar.
“There’s my girl,” his voice coos over your shoulder. “Been watchin’ for you all night, took your time.”
You lean back, bored expression on your face.
Joel’s broad chest pulls on the white shirt he’s wearing, same one you just saw him in little over three hours ago, only without a tie; the top couple of buttons are undone to reveal his chest hair peeking through. You try not to let your eyes linger on him too long.
“You look fuckin’ ecstatic to be here.”
He leans against the bar next to you, arms crossed. When you don’t reply, he nudges you. Your champagne jolts in its glass.
“I always look like this. I’m always ecstatic to be everywhere.”
He smiles. “Why aren’t you mingling?”
“Don’t wanna.”
“’s a work event. That’s the whole point.”
“Then why are you over here talkin’ to me?”
His eyes flash across your lips, and you swear they drop for a nanosecond to your chest.
“Come on,” he says, taking your wrist in his huge hand, “some people you oughta meet.”
Joel ignores your sigh and leads you over onto a plush rug, sidling between knees to sit you down on the soft couch between himself and some bald dude in a jet blue suit, whose shirt is also undone, though much further than Joel’s. He has a chest like a hairless cat.
Cue Ball snakes an arm over the back of the couch; his fingers dance across your back. You shimmy a little closer to Joel and he notices instantly, jaw turning slowly to glance over. When he sees your knees angled toward him, seeking protection, he leans back and wraps his left arm around your shoulders, his right coming down to cup your knee.
“This,” he shakes your leg, left arm pulling you tighter against him, “is my wonderful assistant. My right-hand lady. Couldn’t do anything without her, could I?”
“Could wipe your own ass, that’s about it,” you mumble into your glass, and a roar of laughter sounds from your audience.
Joel, still leaning back, pulls his arm from you but keeps his shoulder firmly behind yours, making sure whatever the creep on your left tries, he’ll feel first. Your elbow rests in the crook of his, and you keep it there, quietly enjoying the intimacy of his body caging yours.
His left hand is settled on your thigh. You realize it after a swig of champagne, and start counting in your head how many seconds his fingers stay gripped on your skin.
He talks with his hands – always has. Walks around his office, ranting and raving sometimes, arms swinging around in the air while you take notes, or file your nails, or just watch until he’s done. For the next half hour, though, he only talks with his right hand. Only sips his beer with his right hand. Only scratches his beard, or pulls his phone from his pocket, or reaches up and passes you a second drink, and then a third, with his right hand.
You stay rigid, legs unmoving, eyes barely leaving his knuckles, locked tight around your thigh. There’s heat from his touch siphoning from his palm down through your skin, rippling like waves all through your body and pooling somewhere south of your belly button. No matter how hard you try, you can’t shake it. Can’t stop thinking about it. You barely notice when Cue Ball’s hand ghosts across your back a second time.
But Joel notices, straight away. He flashes the guy a look, and you swear he’s baring his teeth. Eyes locked on the blue suit like it’s a target, never blinking. He doesn’t say anything when his prey excuses himself to the bathroom, and you don’t turn to watch him go, but you do notice three other sharp-suited pricks stand and wander off in that direction after him.
Probably not a coincidence.
Joel still has a hold on your leg. Your flute is empty, and you lean forward to place it on the wooden table at your knees, beginning to stand.
His grip loosens, but he looks up at you as you tower over him.
“Cocktail,” you tell him with a sweet smile, and he nods, letting you go.
You know he’s watching you as you slink away. Is it the alcohol in your system, or something darker, that makes you sway your hips a little more for his benefit?
Deb’s over at the bar with Martha, another of Joel’s assistants. She’s around his age, worked for him much longer than you have, but when he hired you, you took on most of the groundwork. Following Joel’s orders– sorry, requests, organizing meetings, filing paperwork for him. Martha sits at a desk outside Joel’s office, answers the phone and directs anyone who happens to wander up to the top floor of the building.
Did I say directs? I meant strikes coldblooded fear within them and sends them back running the way they came, with just one look and a nod in the opposite direction.
Unless they’re there for a meeting with Joel, that is. And if they are, that’s where you come in. Good morning, Mr. Salazar, Mr. Miller will be right with you. This way, he’s just finishing up a call.
Martha’s a tough nut. But she likes you enough, so she smiles warmly as you approach.
“I’m hearing all about your note-taking this afternoon,” she hums when you hop up onto a barstool, catching the bartender’s eye. He trots over.
You sigh to Martha, eyes wide. “I didn’t leave until, like, eight. What the fuck’s that about? Can I just get a cosmopolitan, please?” you ask, and the bartender nods. He looks about fifteen.
Martha shakes her head, laughing. “He did it to me when I was first startin’ out, too. Told him to stick his minutes where the sun don’t shine.”
“I’ve been here three years,” you mutter, and Deb snorts.
“You’d think Joel would’ve changed his ways in the, what, seven decades since you started, Martha?”
It earns her a slap across the shoulder. You stifle your laugh behind your glass, thanking the teenager who served you it with a nod.
“Twenty years next March, actually,” Martha says.
“That so? D’you think he’ll get you anything for it?”
“If I’m lucky,” she sighs, eyes travelling up to the ceiling in thought, “a lunch break where he doesn’t bother me once.”
“Knowing Joel, that means a lunch break where he bothers you twice.”
You smile, glancing past the pretentious tree to where Joel is, and notice he’s already staring right back. A swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach, dancing over the heat his handprint left within you. They only grow more violent when he stands and walks over, broad shoulders swaying, eyes flitting up and down your body.
You lean back, sitting up straight, eyeing him right back as he joins the three of you.
“Speak of the devil,” Martha says, and Joel chuckles in response, but his eyes never leave you.
“We were just talkin’ about Martha’s twenty years,” says Deb, winking.
He finally turns to answer her. “Oh, yeah? When’s that, then, old-timer?”
“Dirtball!” Martha yells, and Joel smirks. It goes straight to your core.
“How many Manhattans tonight, then, Deb?”
Deb holds her glass up. “I am on my second, and I will not be exceeding three. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”
“Aw,” Joel complains, tutting, “I liked hammered Deb.”
“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have to deal with hungover Deb,” you mutter, and she shoots you a look.
Joel smiles at you, takes a step closer as Deb and Martha begin comparing past hangovers. He leans forward, waves the fifteen-year-old down, and asks for a beer. As he leans back, you notice the weight of his wrist on your right hip. Nicely done.
“You know there are four guys in the bathroom doing coke?”
“I hope to God that’s all they’re doin’. I don’t need another orgyhappenin’ at one of these things.”
You giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. He looks pleased with himself, and you instantly regret it. You try to play it off by lifting your glass back to your lips.
Joel’s studying you, though, mapping every inch of your face. Watching your mouth as it curves around the shape of the glass, your tongue licking your lips after your sip. He tracks the glass as you set it back down on the bar, then his eyes trail along your arm to your dress, and your stomach leaps.
He looks so fucking good, it sends another wave of energy through your body. Dark hair lined with grey, beard much the same. Strong jaw, lips wetting with every sip of beer he takes, dark eyes flitting across yours, holding your stare long enough to melt you a little, and then dipping just before you can read the thoughts behind them.
His skin a little tanned, his neck thick with muscle. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, you’re so close. Close enough that you could lean up, part your lips and sink your teeth under his ear, suck a mark there, taste him on your tongue.
Your head cocks after a few minutes silence, just the two of you enjoying the fucking look of each other. You lean a little against his arm, steady around your back.
“I hate work parties,” you sigh.
Joel scoffs. “Free alcohol, nice penthouse. Cocaine, if you want it. What’s not to like?”
You narrow your eyes and he laughs for real.
“I hate ‘em, too, baby. Gotta keep up appearances, though, don’t we?”
Baby. This fucker.
“Do we?” you squeak, after a few seconds dazed.
He shrugs. “’s what I hear.”
He’s so close you can smell the beer on his tongue. It makes your heart quicken, your body hum with energy. That could just be the alcohol in your system, though, right?
Who are you kidding? It’s fucking Joel doing it to you.
You have no idea how long he was here before you arrived. He left the office around six, and you presumed he’d come straight here to check everything was in order before guests started arriving. How many beers has he had? Is he just drunk, feeling up on you with liquid courage?
You’re mulling over the thought when a pair of hands clamp down on Joel’s shoulders and his hold on your waist loosens. He mumbles an apology as he’s dragged away by a couple of loose-collared, baggy-suit drunks. You shake your head in response, trying to be cool – It’s all good, man. I’m good. I’m not totally fawning over you right now, no way.
Deb swings her barstool around when she notices you’re on your own, inviting you back into their conversation. Thirty seconds into talking about childhood pets, you’re wishing Joel was back around you, igniting your skin and peaking your adrenaline. Max the Pomeranian is a nice picture; Joel’s nicer.
Martha says something with a hand motion, and Deb nods, elbow knocking into yours.
“What?”
She nods toward the balcony. “We’re headin’ out for a smoke, you comin’?”
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll save your seats.”
They nod and wander off between a crowd, swallowed up by bodies in the direction of the open sliding doors, the blinking lights of the skyline ahead.
You’re twirling the base of your empty glass around on its napkin when you feel that same heat behind you again, and a hand rests on the small of your back.
“Coat,” Joel mutters, pulling his suit jacket on.
“Huh?”
“Get your coat. Everyone’s headin’ across the street.”
“Why is everyone heading across the street?”
He shrugs. “Afterparty, I guess.”
“It’s a work function. It’s like–” you check your phone, “–oh, fuck, it’s almost midnight.” You screw your face up, watching as the small crowd slowly melts away through the suite doors.
“I know. I throw a good party, right?”
“So good, people are leaving it.”
He tuts. “Coat. Now.”
“I didn’t bring one.”
“You didn’t bring a coat?”
“You told me the party was here. I didn’t think we’d be walking all over town.”
“’s not all over town, baby,” Joel murmurs with a sigh. “Here.”
He peels the jacket off his shoulders and you hold a hand out to stop him.
“Joel, it’s fine, it’s–”
“Quit moanin’,” he groans as he throws it over your shoulders. He scoops your hair and pulls it softly out from under the collar. “Alright? C’mon.”
He takes your hand and leads you past some stragglers down the hall toward the elevator, where a group are waiting for the doors to open.
“Tight squeeze, Miller,” some dude chuckles as you follow Joel in, his hand still gripping yours.
He turns, backing into the corner, pulling you with him until your back is flush against his chest.
His hands drop to your hips. You swallow back a scream.
One of the accountants is stood in front of your – Harriet? Helen? Something beginning with H – anyway, she keeps knocking back into you, pushed by the sway of the packed elevator. It means you knock a little into Joel, and feel his chin on the crown of your head.
You turn ever so slightly to mumble an apology to him, but when you feel his breath on the shell of your ear, your words die in your throat.
“Hazel?” – That’s her fucking name – Joel reaches around you to tap her shoulder, and her bobbed haircut swings when she turns. “Did you get those balance sheets yet?”
“Not yet, Joel,” she tells him, and your face prickles with heat.
“No? That’s weird.” Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. In a low whisper, only to you, he says, “Thought I asked to have ‘em sent over by this afternoon.”
You muster up the courage to reply with a deep breath. From the corner of your mouth, through gritted teeth, you tell him, “That was before you forced me to sit in on a buyers’ meeting.”
You feel his chest rumble between your shoulder blades as he laughs. The elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open; the crowd spills out.
You step forward, ahead of Joel, and make it maybe three steps before he’s back on you, an arm draped over your shoulders. You reach up and take his hand, leaning against his strong torso to let him guide you toward the exit.
No idea what makes you do it. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe not only on alcohol.
You’re the last of the pack, stumbling over air across the gleaming floor toward the revolving door, which Joel pushes open for you. The cool night breeze hits you as you slip out.
The crowd ahead are rushing across the street, yelling and whooping as they go. It’s juvenile, a little cringe. A bunch of rich corporates skipping across the street toward cheap alcohol and peanuts. You’d care more about the way it looks if you were sober.
Joel’s hand finds yours again and he’s leading you down the steps, cutting between parked cars toward the dive bar. You link your other arm around his elbow and he glances down, noting it. You wish the walk was longer.
A flickering fluorescent light drowns you both in a red glow, and Joel pushes the doors open. The place is flooded with half of your party, drowning booths, leaning against the bar, dancing in any open floorspace.
The floor is sticky, the bar dim. Joel takes you over to the same crowd he introduced you to earlier, and makes space for you to sit. You slide along the booth to the wall and he follows, squeezing up to you to let two more in after him.
“Beers?” a guy with a loose tie asks, to a chorus of yeses and a show of thumbs up. Mitch? Mark?
You tug Joel’s jacket from your shoulders – the movement nudges him and he turns to lift it from your back and tuck it behind you, brushing the hair off your shoulders. You smile in thanks, and his hand falls back onto your leg.
It takes you a few minutes to notice it this time. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around your thigh, the way it slowly bumps up each time he adjusts in his seat or shifts to allow space for someone else to join the booth.
His hand moves slowly, dangerously close to pulling your skirt up with it. Mitch or Mark returns with your beers and you take a massive swig, nerves and anticipation and fucking need for Joel to keep doing what he’s doing, taking over.
Under lights blurred by the alcohol in your system, the table buzzes with energy and chatter and laughter. There are posters and stickers all over the walls, graffiti of names and initials, numbers and dates scored into the walls. Joel traces them with his finger and you laugh at some of the messages.
“Lydia and Jack,” you mumble, “12-24-19. Wonder what happened then.”
“Bathroom sex,” Joel replies, eyes scanning the wall.
You scoff, beer to your lips. “On Christmas Eve?”
He nods, like it’s obvious. “Magical time ‘n all.”
You look past him with a smile to the opposite side of the bar where, through silhouetted bodies, you notice a jukebox.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your eyes widen, your mouth agape.
Joel follows your eyeline and then twists back around. “C’mon,” he says, taking your hand and motioning for the others to let you by. He drags you over to the machine, lighting your faces up in yellow light, and your drunk eyes scan the screen.
“Nope." You swipe Joel’s hand away right before he can pick some Pet Shop Boys song.
“Really?”
“Good, but not the vibe,” you tell him, and budge him out of the way with your hip. He sways off, laughing, and leans a palm against the jukebox, his chest on your back for the second time tonight. As your tired eyes scan the songs, Joel’s chin rests on your shoulder.
He’s judging every fucking song you linger on. “Queen? Little before your time.”
“Dick.”
“Fleetwood Mac. Definitely before your time.”
“The entire fucking jukebox is before my time, dude. Shut up. These are good songs.”
You settle on a track and turn to face him. He has you almost fucking pressed against the box.
“Change, please.”
“Oh, I’m payin’, am I?”
“Mhm. Your work party, your wallet.”
He sighs and pushes a fist into his pocket for coins, tossing a quarter into your outstretched palm. You turn back and select your song, put the money in, and the old machine barks out the intro.
Joel sighs, shaking his head. “AC/DC? That’s your thing?”
“It’s not yours?” You’re taking him by the hand between bodies, swaying as you go.
He’s laughing, following you until you’re in the middle of the cramped bar, chest to chest, moving together. His hands find your waist again and this time you don’t even flinch; your fingers trail up his shirt, across his chest, settle on his collar.
You fucking swear he’s leaning in, each beat of the song drawing his jaw closer to yours. If you weren’t in a room full of co-workers, you’d probably let him kiss you.
I mean, what you’re doing right now is hardly innocent anyway. His hands are splayed on your lower back, your hips flat against his, rubbing, dancing. Your head rolls back and your lips are under his chin, smiling up at him and singing along. Joel sings the words straight back, your breath meeting and mingling in the tiny gap between your lips.
As the song ends, it fades into another. And another, and another. It’s two in the morning before your group of partiers begin to call taxis. You stumble out of the sweaty bar with an arm linked through Deb’s, still singing along to Whitney as you catch your breath.
She staggers off to a quieter part of the street to call a cab, and you hang around under the red light waiting for her. Joel’s stood at the curb; the back door of his sleek black Rolls-Royce open.
“Where you goin’?” he asks.
“Deb’s callin’ a cab,” you reply, arms folded, shoulders hunched.
Joel shakes his head. “Get in.”
“It’s cool, I’m jumping in with those guys. Thanks, though–”
“Baby,” Joel holds a hand out, “get in.”
Your eyes trace from his palm all the way up his sleeve, to his tired, handsome face. You’re sobering up. He looks clearer. Maybe that’s just the streetlights.
“Get you home in five minutes. C’mon.”
You swivel around to look for Martha and Deb, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The cab will come, they’ll assume you’re staying a while, and get in. No big deal, right?
Well. Stepping into your boss’s car after a night of highly inappropriate touching is kind of a big fucking deal.
That’s why you do it. Waddle over to him, take his hand, let him guide you to the car. You swing a leg in and slip across the seats, admiring the ceiling dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, like you’re staring straight up at the night sky.
They blur through your drunken gaze, which doesn’t pull from them until you feel the weight of Joel on your right and hear the door slam shut.
“Mind puttin’ the partition up, Rand?” Joel’s voice says, though you mostly hear the vibrations through his chest, where your head is lying. His arm slips around your back, pulling you closer into him as the two of you are granted privacy by the quiet whir of the screen closing.
“Good night?” Joel asks, lips on your hair.
You nod. “You?”
“Mhm.”
His fingers are drawing shapes on your left hip. His right hand intertwines with yours. Your left hand starts to wander.
You liked his hand on you. Liked feeling his grip there. Wanted him to keep moving it up, wanted to see how far he’d take it. So, you put your own hand on the inside of his thigh, just like he did. Starting at the knee, and slowly sliding north. Joel’s breath tightens, his chest lifts, his jaw ticks.
The movement knocks you sober for a couple seconds. You realize what you’re doing. You draw your hand back.
“Sorry,” you mutter.
He unlinks your hands and places a steady palm over your withdrawn fist.
“’s okay, baby. You can do that if you want to.”
The drawl of his voice makes your eyes roll back, your heart leap. Your fucking legs clench.
You let him replace your hand where it was, and his legs widen a little. His crotch more available. You’re watching what you’re doing like you’re not even in your own body; watching it how Joel must be, thinking Higher, higher, keep going, keep doing that.
You lift your heavy head, resting it on his shoulder, and look up into his brown eyes. He’s framed by the starlit ceiling of the car. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, face lined with his expression.
“You okay?” he asks.
You nod lazily. “Tired.”
Just then his hand takes yours again and shifts it softly, stopping what was probably about to happen but still holding onto you, still wanting your fingers locked in his. Not halting the train, just switching tracks.
It’s not a long journey, certainly not as long as you’d like, until you’re parked on your street. Rand lowers the partition to call back, and Joel thanks him.
“You okay gettin’ to your apartment?”
“Yup,” you groan, hoisting yourself out of the comfortable car.
“Sure? I can walk you up if you want.”
You bend down, one arm on the roof of the car. “I’m good, thanks. Thanks for the ride, Miller.”
“Be safe, baby.”
“You be safe, too. Bye.”
You throw the door closed and meander off up the steps toward your building. Joel’s car doesn’t roll off until your elevator arrives and you disappear inside.
You spend all weekend in bed, recovering not only from the party but from the week of work you’d endured. You keep yourself busy, though. There’s a Desperate Housewives marathon on TV. And when you’re not watching that, your hand is stuffed down your pants, Joel on your mind.
All. Fucking. Weekend.
In the shower, you’re picturing him on his knees in front of you, lapping you up. Hands gripping your thighs, draped over his shoulders. Your hand plants firmly against the wet tile when you cum, your orgasm threatening to collapse you in a heap.
In bed, you’re on top of him, knees either side of his waist, letting him buck his hips up until you’re screaming, covering him in your wet. Your vibrator battery dies by Saturday night.
Monday morning, you’re getting ready to leave for the office, and need to take ten minutes out to relieve the ache between your legs again. This time, he has you pressed against your bedroom wall, fucking you quick and messy, cumming deep inside you before he’ll let you head out.
It’s just a crush, right? It’s just because of how touchy you guys were on Friday. When you were drunk. And in a cramped, dark dive bar. Everybody gets crushes. And who wouldn’t, on a six-foot-whatever man with a jawline that could cut glass, hands that take a grip of you with minimal effort, a cock probably the size of…
No. Nope. That’s enough. Cut that the fuck out.
It’s just a crush. That’s what you keep telling yourself in the elevator, lights counting down the floors until you’re going to see Joel again. Is the sparkling feeling in your chest fear, anticipation, or excitement?
And is your cunt beginning to throb again?
You give a curt nod to Martha as you arrive, hauling your bag a little further up your shoulder and adjusting the folders in your arms on your hips.
“Where’d you go?” she asks, eyes still on the computer in front of her. Her chin propped on her elbow, face inches from the screen, reading something intently.
“Huh?”
“On Friday. We couldn’t find you when the cab arrived.”
“Oh, I, uh,” you clear your throat, “Joel gave me a ride. Yeah.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Generous of ‘im.”
“Yup.”
“He’s in the conference room waitin’ for you.”
“Cool, thanks.”
You hover for a few seconds, then take your cue to leave. You hurry over to the conference room door, knocking twice before pushing it open.
Joel’s sat at the top of the table, leant back in his chair, feet up on the wood in front of him. You feel like you could collapse.
“Mornin’,” he says, over the dull droning from the phone. Your eyes flit down to it, a question, and he answers, “weekend update.”
“Anything good?”
He shakes his head, leaning forward to hit the unmute button, affirm whatever the hell the other dude had been saying, say his goodbyes, and then hang up.
“Feelin’ fresh?” he asks when he’s sat back.
You take a deep breath and wobble your head as an answer, laying files and folders out on the table in preparation for the meeting Joel has this morning.
“That bad, huh?”
“I was fine by Saturday afternoon. How were you?”
He shrugs. “Wasn’t that drunk.”
Yeah. Sure, Joel. Your fingers took the brunt of the alcohol.
He stands up, wanders around the table to join you. Your fingers begin to tremble at the thought of him so close. Your thighs heat.
“This all of it?” he asks. He’s closer than you thought.
“Y-yep. Some copies there, too, if anyone needs a spare.”
His hand slips up between your shoulder blades, patting you gently at the base of your neck.
“Good job, baby.”
You almost fucking shudder. Your stomach jolts, your chest tightens. The ache between your legs pangs, reminding you it’s there, even though you can’t fucking do anything about it.
You spin around, settling back against the table, ankles crossed. Tense.
“How long do you reckon it’ll go on?”
“No idea. Why? Somewhere you gotta be?”
You shake your head. “Just organizing lunch ‘n stuff for you.”
“That can wait until after.”
“I’ll have it ready for you comin’ out. Be easier.”
He steps forward. Your heart stutters.
“You’ll be in here with me.”
You cock your head. “Again? What– Why?”
“I need you in here. To take–”
“–minutes? Yeah, figured as much. You gonna have me up here all night again writing ‘em up?”
He smirks, dimples in his cheeks. There are two options here: either smack him, or jump his bones – he deserves the first and you deserve the latter.
“I like having you in my meetings, darlin’,” he says, as the door handle turns, “stops me wanting to blow my brains out.”
Martha enters and Joel slots in alongside you on the table. She sets a tray with a coffee pot and packets of sugar and milk on the sideboard.
Your head is fucking dizzy. There’s a ringing in your ears. Energy sparkling in waves from the tops of your thighs all through you. Joel’s shoulder brushing against yours, his eyes boring into the side of your face.
You won’t look at him. Won’t take your eyes off of Martha, laying paper coffee cups out in rows, her back to you guys.
Joel lays a palm flat on your thigh, rounding the curve until his hand is firm between your legs, threatening to push your skirt up. You feel his breath hot on your neck, his voice like honey in your ear.
“Makes for a nice view, too.”
You whip around to glare at him. He leans back, chuckling to himself.
Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “Can I talk to you? In private?”
Joel shrugs, excuses you both to Martha, and then follows at your heels out of the conference room and over to his office door. You waltz in without permission, shoving the door open and waiting for him to close it behind himself.
Joel’s office is bright, clean. Giant windows lining three walls, huge desk with an even bigger bookcase behind. Two black leather couches opposite, facing one another with a glass coffee table between. Soft white rugs, obnoxiously huge lampshades, small fern plants dotted here and there. You found and booked the interior designer for him, and not a day’s gone by since that you don’t remind him of how nice a job you did.
Today, though, you break that streak. You round on him as soon as he closes the tall, wooden door behind him.
“Will you fucking quit it?”
“Fucking quit what, baby?” He’s almost laughing, strolling around his desk and settling into his leather chair, leaning back. Casual. Fucking – arrogant.
You stammer, holding up a shaky finger. “Okay, first of all – that. Don’t call me baby, that’s not appropriate. Second – the teasing?”
“I don’t get it, you liked me callin’ you baby on Friday night.”
You take your bottom lip between your teeth and give him a furious stare. He holds his hands up.
“My mistake.”
You stalk over to the windows separating Joel’s office from the reception area. Martha’s still in the conference room, the door ajar. You haul the shades shut to give yourselves some privacy.
“Stop – fucking with me. Stop it. We were drunk on Friday night. It wasn’t– Stop.”
“’m not fucking with you.” He leans his head to scratch his eyebrow. He repeats it when you turn away, hands flying up in the air. “I’m not.”
“Let’s just forget Friday happened, can we do that?”
Wandering around Joel’s office isn’t doing anything to relieve the weight between your legs. If anything, it’s making it worse. You make your way back to his desk and place your hands down on the wood, leaning over.
“Wh…what’s next on the agenda?” you ask, almost panting, your eyes closing.
You hear Joel’s chair rock when his weight leaves it. His footsteps pad across soft carpet, around the desk. Nearing you. They come to a halt and you feel the air stop short, right behind you.
For someone not trying to fuck with you, he’s doing an awfully good job at it.
You surrender, leaning back, your shoulders making contact with his chest. Then his hands find your hips, light, gentle. No pressure on them, not until your ass presses against his crotch and your head tilts, allowing Joel to hook his chin over your shoulder.
He’s hard, under his pants. Against you. You can feel it, still, steady. Rock solid beneath four layers of clothing.
His hands lift from your waist and glide up your shirt front, your stomach tensing when they brush over it. They come to rest over your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples through your shirt. And you fucking let him; lifting your right arm to hook around his jaw and pull him closer into your neck, where his lips leave soft, wet marks.
It feels like the first gasp of fresh, sea air after being underwater. The first gulp of chilled water after a hike. The first wave of aircon in the car. It’s relief. It’s desperate, borderline orgasmic relief.
You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.
You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.
“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”
“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”
“Fuck me?” you repeat, and he nods. You take a breath. “S-sounds good.”
Joel’s hands find the hem of your skirt and start to pull it up your legs, painfully slow, revealing more and more of your bare thighs as he goes. He’s rubbing them, massaging until your skirt sits on your hips, little black panties exposed. His hand comes down to cup you, fingers gently applying pressure to your clit through the lace.
You moan, finally being touched by him again, finally feeling his hands on you where you need it most. Already, he’s doing better, making you feel better than you could ever by yourself. Than you did, by yourself. Involuntarily, you breathe out, “Daddy…”
Joel’s fingers pick up the pace. He fucking loves it.
“That feel good, baby? Like it like that? Tell me how it feels.”
“So – fucking – good,” you whisper, legs parting more to grant him better access. He dips his hand lower, thumb staying planted on your lace-covered clit, fingers shifting the fabric under your entrance aside.
He toys with you first, middle finger swaying back and forth through your folds, collecting slick, spreading it around. Then, a second finger, pushing upward, dangerously close to entering you. You’re gasping, leaning into him, letting his strong form keep you upright.
“That’s my girl,” Joel’s whispering into your ear. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, just enjoy.”
And then he pushes up, two thick, curled fingers entering your cunt in one motion. He has you down to his knuckles, limp against his chest, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Your head rolls to the side to watch him as he feels you for the first time, and his expression mirrors yours.
“So fuckin’ wet, babygirl,” he whispers, lips on your forehead.
“Fuck, daddy,” you whimper as his fingers press hard inside your soft pussy, starting to pump gently before picking up the pace and fucking you good.
The office is silent, save for your gasps and moans, and the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers in your cunt. He hums into your neck, thumb pressing hard against your clit, drawing tiny circles over the swollen bud.
It doesn’t take fucking long before you’re collapsing, walls clenching, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. It’s all that’s been on your mind for almost three days, all you’ve imagined, dreamt about, thought of.
Joel feels you, knows you’re close.
“Wanna cum all over daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?”
“Mhm,” you bite back a yelp, “so – close.”
“Know you are, baby. It’s okay, you can cum. Let me feel you.”
That coil, slowly winding since approximately nine-thirty on Friday night, not relieved by your hands, your toys, or your fucking pillows, snaps in one second. The tension breaks across your stomach. Your legs give; Joel’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you upright.
You throw your head back against his shoulder again, jaw slack with a moan you know you can’t give voice to. Joel fucks you all the way through it, fingers coated in your cum only to dive straight back in, wetter and slicker than before.
There are stars in your vision. You can’t feel between your legs. The office is slowly blinking back into view, but Joel gives you no time to recover.
He pushes you face down onto his desk roughly, hastily, like someone’s about to wander through his door any second. One ear pressed to the cold wood, you hear his belt clink, feel the teeth of his zipper graze your thighs. Hear his deep breaths as he drags his pants and boxershorts down to free his cock.
You’ve never seen him, obviously. You’ve pictured it, dreamt up what it would look like with your fingers deep inside yourself. And from this angle you still don’t see it, but when the weight of it springs against your ass, when Joel lines himself up and his tip dips between your cum-covered folds, you fucking feel it.
His thick head pushing slightly into your entrance, coating him in your slick. He’s big. You moan at the time he’s taking to just shove into you; it’s probably seconds, but it feels like fucking hours.
“I hear ya, I know,” he’s saying, but your hearing’s starting to fade. Blood pumping through your head, white noise rattling against your eardrums.
He pushes in, length separating your clenched walls, entering your wet, warm cunt with a deep growl from Joel’s lips and a gasp from yours. You open up around him, swelling as he pushes deeper and deeper.
“So – fuckin’ – tight for me, baby,” he groans, hands on your hips pulling you back onto his length. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are?”
“Mhm,” you reply, the stretch of his thick cock burning and igniting you in flame. Your eyes screw shut as he keeps pushing, further than you ever thought anyone could, until his tip kisses your cervix and you whine.
“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, pausing and placing a steady hand on the small of your back. “We don’t need anyone out there knowin’ what we’re doin’.”
“So good, daddy,” you whimper quietly, and he knows. He fucking knows.
He begins to draw back, hips leaving your ass, cock pulling out of your pussy. Your eyes roll closed, missing him the more he withdraws. Before he’s fully gone, he snaps back inside, entering you harder, faster, deeper.
You gasp, knuckles whitening with the grip of your balled fists. You bend one arm, biting into your sleeve to stop your whimpers from slipping under the door.
A couple more thrusts and Joel’s fucking you. Hard. He’s fucking huge, so huge it blurs the edges of your vision every time his cock hits against your cervix. He’s almost fucking whimpering behind you, growling your name with every stroke, groaning each time he bottoms out inside you and your tight hole wraps around his length.
You can feel the edge of the table bruising your pelvis, and it feels so fucking good. Everything about this feels good. Joel’s cock stretching you out, his hands gripping you roughly, your own hands outstretched to hold onto the desk for some sort of stability.
The only thought going through your head, only words your lips can part to utter: daddy daddy daddy.
“Good girl,” Joel hums, your moans like music to his ears. “Good fuckin’ girl. Know how naughty you are for me?”
You smile. “Yeah, daddy.”
This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever fucking done. Sure, you love sex, especially when it’s rough. But nothing you’ve ever done with anyone else, nothing you’ve ever had done to you by anyone else, compares to being bent over your boss’s desk and fucked dumb by him.
Calling him daddy, corporate managers slowly filing into a conference room just outside. Only an unlocked door separating them from you, writhing and throbbing under Joel’s cock, his rough hands on your hips, your name passing his lips in breathy moans.
Is it wrong? Yes. Do you care? Fuck no.
You know he’s close; his thrusts become sloppy, hips start hammering against you.
“Where d’you want it, baby?” he grunts, skin slapping.
You’re on the pill, and if you answered honestly, you’d tell him to finish inside you. But you know that if he wanted to do that, he’d just fucking do it. Wouldn’t ask. And you’re not prepared to waste time arguing.
“My m-mouth.”
“C’mere.” Joel slips out of you with no effort, you’re so fucking soaked for him, and spins you around. A gentle hand on your shoulder, he pushes you onto your knees, free hand jacking his cock over you.
It’s the first time you see him, fist tugging up and down a thick, veiny shaft; swollen, reddened tip spilling precum which his thumb collects and drags down his length, gleaming with your wet.
On instinct, you push forward, one hand coming to rest on his thigh, the other taking over from his on his dick. You pump him a few times, and then open your mouth wide enough to take him all the way until he’s brushing the back of your throat.
With a choke, you begin bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollow, breathing deep through your nose. Joel moans, head rolling back, hand coming to hold your hair in a fist. He drags you back and forth a few times before he begins to shudder and you draw back, holding him steady on your swollen bottom lip.
He looks down at you and your eyes lock as he cums all over your tongue. You moan as your mouth fills with his warm, salty load. When his cock stills and he stops spilling all over you, you lean back and close your mouth, licking your lips and swallowing him.
“Aw, babygirl,” he coos, stroking your hair. “Good job. Such a good girl for me.”
You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Joel’s hands hook under your arms and he pulls you back up, letting you lean against his desk.
Still in a daze, you feel him tug your skirt back down, fix your shirt. Tuck your hair behind your ears, wipe either saliva or cum from your lips.
“Good?” he asks, and you lace your fingers in his.
Your breath is still shaky, but through a sigh, you say, “Good.”
He nods. “Can hear Ken out front, must all be arrivin’.” He pulls you over to the door.
His fingers wrap around the handle, free hand coming up to cup your cheek. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You open your mouth and let his tongue past, moaning into the wet, messy kiss.
Something in you almost wants to laugh, thinking about the fact you let him fuck you before you’d even kissed him.
When he pulls away, your hands take hold of his jaw, keeping him at your height.
“Have a good meeting,” you whisper, pecking him on the lips, “text me what you want for lunch.”
He growls, yanking the door open and passing by you, granting your wish to sit this one out. Something in you tells you not to wander far, though.
He’ll probably want to blow off some steam when he’s done.
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#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#ceo!joel miller#ceo!joel#the last of us#tlou#tlou fic#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal joel miller#joel miller x you#the last of us hbo#tlou hbo
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Accident - Tangerine
Warnings; language, sexual innuendos, mentions of blood. A serious overuse of nicknames "love" and "darling". Tangerine is saurr ick coded in this idk what's going on.
Summary; Tangerine walks in on you after a shower and the conversation that follows plays out different than expected.
Tangerine is not expecting anything when he opens the door except an empty room with a bed for him to rest. He knows you're somewhere around of course, you'd parted ways with him shortly after the job, claiming you needed to wash the blood off of you before it stained your conscience. He didn't know if you'd still be in the hotel room, or down at the bar drinking away the memories of the days events. Overall he wasn't expecting what he saw.
"Fuck, shit, oh my god." He finds you scrambling for something , anything to cover yourself when he enters.
"Oh, bloody hell, sorry love. Thought you'd be done by now." He turns his back to you, though he does it slowly, because quite frankly he can't help himself from stealing a glance.
"You presentable yet darling?" Tangerine can hear you stumbling about behind him, a smile creeping onto his lips at the quiet curses that you let slip under your breath.
"Couldn't you just leave?"
"Believe it or not, I paid for this disaster of a hotel room, so I think I've won myself the right to bloody well stand in it."
He listens again, and can just make out a string of names you call him under your breath, "Ya know, that's not a nice thing to say."
"Go fuck yourself Tan." You're pissed, he likes it.
"I think it would be much more enjoyable if you gave me some help with that." He hears you gasp, your footsteps stumbling about until he knows you're in the bathroom and out of sight. He turns around, walking through the room to lay upon the bed. With hands behind his head and his back against the pillows, he waits for you.
When you're finally back within his view, he sighs, loving just how much his smile is irritating you, and even more so the way you refuse to look at him. "I think I liked you better with your clothes off."
"Of course you did." You're packing things into your duffle bag, and as you lean down, Tangerine can't help but notice that the shirt you're wearing is too big for you. Not only is it oversized however, but Tangerine realises it's his.
"You know darling, locking doors is a thing I'm sure you're capable of, considering you got opposable thumbs and all." He doesn't bring up the shirt just yet, perhaps because he thinks you might take it off if he does. He likes the look of you in it for now.
"I hate to break it to you, but this shitty hotel you paid for? Has no fucking locks!" you stand straight as you yell at him and now he has a full picture of you. His shirt hangs loose around you, the buttons done up crooked in your obvious rush to put something over your body, one sleeve keeps slipping from your shoulder, the skin there revealing itself and hiding away again every time you pull the fabric back up. He's obsessed with it, and you.
"Fucking hell."
Tangerine doesn't intend for the words to escape him, but they do, and he's almost embarrassed by it. It takes a minute before you realize what's happening, looking down at yourself and back up at him.
"The shirt's really doing it for ya, isn't it?" You've got your eyebrows raised, and Tangerine grins broadly.
"It really is, love." He pauses, taking you in again, "it really, really is."
You roll your eyes at him, but to Tangerine's surprise, you keep the shirt on, moving to sit on the other bed in the room.
"You know, that's something i don't get." You're staring up at the ceiling, arms by your sides on the bed as you speak. "What is so attractive about sharing clothing?"
Tangerine huffs, struggling to concentrate on his words. "Fucked if i know, but I'd let you have my kids right about now."
A laugh slips free of you, and you turn your head, cheek pressed against the duvet as you look at him. "You'd let me? What the fuck does that mean?"
"Sorry darling, lemme rephrase." Tangerine clears his throat, and you resist the urge to smile. "It would be an honor to father your children."
In an instant, you're laughing so hard you can barely breathe, curling in on yourself, and holding your stomach from the pain of the action. Tangerine watches you all through it, a smirk plastered firm on his face. "You're treating me like the fucking joker right now, it's not that funny."
You ignore him, calming yourself down.
"If you think about it, we'd have some good-looking kids, don't ya think?" His eyes scan over the features of your face, and he knows you're doing the same to him. "They'd be real heartbreakers, I think."
"Are planning out a fucking future with me in your head right now?" You ask, and there's another chuckle of disbelief threatening to break past your lips.
"No," Tangerine is deep in thought, though there's nothing sweet about it. "But I am planning out the next ten minutes with you."
That stuns you into a silence and a thousand thoughts race around in your head. You sit up, the left sleeve of Tangerine's top slipping from your shoulder again. "In my head, the next ten minutes involve alcohol, food, and sleeping in this hard arse motel bed. I think our priorities are pretty different."
Tangerine chuckles, propping himself up on his elbow, staring you down. "Well, our plans have one thing in common." He grins, but you don't share the expression. "The bed's in my fantasy too, darling."
You scoff, standing to move across the room. You'll order room service, you think, and pay for it with money from Tangerine's wallet, just to teach him a lesson. "You disgust me."
You can hear Tangerine standing from his place on his own bed, coming to stand behind you. "Alright, I'll drop the subject. What're you ordering?"
You twist your head back to look at him as you wait for the call on the rooms landline to go through. "Whatever the fuck I want."
The man behind you sighs, though you know he finds humor in the situation. He likes to get you all riled up. "You don't gotta give me the attitude, I get your point. Get me some chips, though, would ya?" His hands move upward to undo the top few buttons of his shirt. Buttons very similar to the uneven ones holding a particular piece of fabric to your body.
You don't respond, but when ordering Tangerine can't help but smile as you inquire about the chips he'd asked for. You don't hate him yet. In fact, he thinks you feel quite the opposite. You find him amusing at the very least, even though he finds you to be the most intriguing person he's ever met. Baby steps, he thinks. One day, you might take as much interest in him as he does you.
"Thank you, love. I appreciate it." He says once you've hung up the phone.
"They're just chips. It's not a big deal." You push past him, bare shoulder brushing against his clothed arm.
"It is when you're as starving as I am." His gaze follows you as you leap back on to your designated bed, sinking into the stiff pillows.
"You were starving for something else a minute ago." You mutter, eyes falling closed as you lay atop the covers.
"I'm always hungry for that, love. Make no mistake." He's removed the vest he'd been wearing, his belt discarded too as he answers the knock on the hotel room door. It's a staff member with what you ordered, arriving abnormally fast.
"You seriously apall me." You groan once the door is closed again, sitting up ready to eat. Tangerine snatches his chips from the tray provided, taking them over to his own bed as he sits down. With his legs over the edge of it, he leans forward, smile present again.
"I'm only joking, darling. Unless, of course, you don't want me joking, in which case I'm totally not."
That does earn a snort from you as you dig into your meal, and Tangerine leaves it at that. It's been an eventful night, and he's blessed enough to be sitting in this room alive. He's gifted even further with the fact that he gets to sit here with you, looking like a bombshell capable of ending every war in the world. Even tired and stuffing your face full of mediocre room service, he can't help but admire you. And that's a dangerous thing. If he's catching feelings, he doesn't exactly know it yet. But he has a suspicion that he might be, and he'll think on that for the rest of the night.
TANGERINE TAGLIST; @swordofawriter
#tangerine#tangerine fic#tangerine fanfiction#tangerine fanfic#bullet train#bullet train fanfic#bullet train fanfiction#tangerine bullet train#bullet train tangerine#aaron taylor johnson#tangerine x reader#tangerine x you#tangerine imagine#tangerine imagines#tangerine one shot#tangerine drabble#tangerine oneshot#bullet train fic#tangerine smut#tangerine fluff#tangerine headcanon#tangerine x y/n#Tangerine fanfic#bullet train imagines#bullet train imagine#bullet train drabble#Tangerine angst#bullet train tangerine fanfiction#bullet train tangerine fanfic
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get him back!
mattheo riddle x reader
warnings : none
❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃
i met a guy last summer and i left him in the spring
"hey," you shielded your eyes with your hand from the sun, squinting at the figure in front of you.
"hey," you replied. you allowed your eyes to adjust, realising that a literal god of a man was standing in front of you.
"i'm mattheo," he brung his hand out in front of him for a hand shake.
"i'm y/n."
he argued with me about everything he had an ego and a tempter and a wandering eye
"you're such a dick! you were fully undressing her with your eyes!" you shouted at him, heated, absolutely enraged he was gaslighting you.
"staring at who?! you're making things up," mattheo ran his hand through his stupidly soft, brown hair.
"oh making things up?" you laughed at the stupidity that was coming out of his mouth, "i have eyes! i could see you checking her out as if i weren't right next to you!"
"yeah, whatever," he scoffed and walked away
he said he's six foot two
"and i'm like dude nice try," you giggled to pansy, gossiping about all the juicy drama to her.
"you love tall guys, he seems perfect," you blushed at her words, knowing she was right.
but he was so much fun, and he had such weird friends
"why do you have a ferret?" you questioned mattheo.
"it's just draco, i'm taking him back to snape to see if he can fix him," he chuckled and handed the white animal over to you.
"and how exactly did he get in this predicament?" you giggled as the little thing tried to bite
and he would take us out to parties and the night would ever end
another song, another club, another bar, another dance
you were pressed up against mattheo, grinding on him as the music deafened you. his hands were glued to your hips, gluing you to him.
"another drink?" he shouted in your ear.
"fuck yeah!" you shouted back, heading over to the bar to order another 10 shots.
and when he said something wrong he'd just fly me to france
"c'mon darlin, drivers here and he's taking us to my family's villa," you stepped off of the plane in paris, feeling like some sort of royalty.
"i can hardly speak french," you giggled, heading over to the personal driver who was parked, awaiting your arrival.
"i'll speak it for you, sweetheart," he winked, opening the car door for you.
so i miss him some nights when i'm feeling depressed
you laid on your side, mascara smudged all under your eyes as you continued to stare off into space; your mind on one person, and one person only.
you rolled onto your back, staring at the still ceiling as you reminisced the times he held you in his arms, the way his soft lips felt against your lips - and everywhere else on your body.
til i remember every time he made a pass on my friend
your eyebrows furrowed, frustrating growing through your body when you remember the one time mattheo hit on astoria right in front of you.
"hey," you watched as his hand was placed on the arch of her back.
"hey mattheo," she smiled and you frowned.
"you look gorgeous tonight, mind if i get you a drink?" be was now dangerously close to her and you felt as if steam was coming out of your ears.
do i love him? do i hate him? i guess it's up and down
if i had to choose, i would say it right now i wanna get him back i wanna make him really jealous wanna make him feel bad oh, i wanna get him back
cause then again i really miss him and it makes me real sad
oh, i want sweet revenge and i want him again i want to get him back, back, back
so irerite bim all these letters and i throw
them in the trash
"dear mattheo,
i hate you, but i love you. and i hate you again. you're a piece of shit. i never want you to speak to me again but i don't want you to ever stop trying to reach out. you confuse me so much. i know we're bad for each other but you're the only one i want. cause i miss the the way you kiss, and the way you make me laugh."
yeah, i pour my little heart out but as i'm hittin' send
i picture all the faces on my disappointed friends
"you did what?!" pansy screeched in the middle of the hall.
"girl shut up! pineapple might hear! plus, i only wrote it in my notes. merlin, do you really think i'm stupid enough to hit send?" you scolded her.
"i wouldn't put it past you," she began walking again and you rolled your eyes, knowing she was right.
because everyone knew all of the shit that he'd do
"he's not the type of guy you should be with, y/n,"
theo spoke to you, his thumb rubbing circles over your hands as you told him the things he did.
"he said i was the only girl but that just wasn't the truth," you felt your eyes water, theo giving you a pitiful look.
and when i told him how he hurt me, he'd tell me i was trippin'
"you keep giving me mixed signals, mattheo," you were now beyond exhausted of the arguing.
"you're trippin'," he couldn't even look you in the eyes as he knew what you were saying was factual.
you titled your head, "you're a fucking cunt." you poked your index finger into his chest, pushing past him as you headed to class.
but i am my fathers daughter, so maybe i could fix him?
your fingers were tangled in his hair, calming him down as he had yet another argument with his father.
mattheo was laid on your stomach, his body between your legs, hands wrapped around your back.
"i just hate him so much," warm, salty tears fell from his face to your stomach.
"i know baby, i know. i'll do my best to help you."
i wanna get him back
i wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad
oh, i wanna get him back
'cause then again, i really miss him, and it makes me real sad
oh, i want sweet revenge, and i want him again
i want to get him back
i want to get him back, back, back
i wanna key his car
"c'mon, hurry," you waved pansy over, the two of you disguised with all black, baggy outfits, and balaclavas as you hopped over the riddle's manor.
"which one is it?" pansy pulled out her endless assortment of keys.
"that one," you pointed over at the black mercedes.
"posh twat," pansy muttered and tossed you some keys.
"i wanna get him back," you smirked. you carefully went over to the parked car, trying to make as little noise as possible.
quickly you began to run the keys across any surface area of the sleek black car, ruining it as much as possible.
"this is for making me listen to y/n rant about you 24 fucking 7," pansy mumbled to herself.
i wanna make him lunch
"hey love," you gave mattheo a sweet kiss on the cheek as you handed over the bowl of pasta, his absolute favourite of yours.
"you truly have my heart," you fake smiled at his
comment.
i wanna break his beart
you straddled theo's lap, his large hands going under your skirt as he massaged away at your ass. his lips were hungry for yours, the kiss was rough but it was everything you wanted and needed.
you had thought because of the dark lighting, and crowds of people, that mattheo wouldn't see. but oh he did.
his heart shattered, dropping at the sight of you with his best friend. he downed the rest of his drink (aka straight whiskey) before heading over to the two of you, ready to fuck some shit up.
you moved your hips against theo's, grinding on his boner, his lips still eager for more of you. he knew it was bad - betraying his friend. but you wanted to get mattheo back, and theo was only there for some very 'moral', moral support.
you were ripped away from theo, landing on the foor with a thud, you looked up to see mattheo going ham at theo, punching him over and over as the fight broke out.
you stared in horror - enzo pulling you away from the horrific sight.
then be the one to stitch it up
"hey matty," you walked into mattheo's room. he was sat at his window ledge, head in his book which he was reading intently.
"what do you want?" he didn't even glance up at you.
"i'm sorry about last night," you made your way to him.
finally, mattheo looked up at you. his heart nearly bursted out of his chest seeing you in his hoodie - the one you always wore when you stayed over.
"baby," his voice was now softer, his eyes staring at you in adoration as the memories of the nights you spent together came back to him.
"i'm really sorry," you pouted your lips, knowing it was all so fake.
wanna kiss his face
you held mattheo close, his face rested on your chest. you leaned down, peppering kisses onto his face 'lovingly'.
you smiled down at him, "i love you."
"i love you too," you said, he put his face back in your chest. you looked up, the smile wiped immediately off of your face.
with an uppercut
wanna meet his mum
just to tell her her son sucks
"hi mrs riddle," you smiled at the older lady as she opened the door.
"hi, and who might you be?" you tried your hardest not to let the disappointment take over as you realised mattheo clearly had never talked about you at home.
"i'm y/n, and i'd love to tell you all about mattheo. i suppose he's clearly not mentioned me then?"
oh i wanna key his car
"what the fuck?!" mattheo yelled, his arms flailed up as he stared at his car, freshly bought and freshly keyed.
"what are you - oh," his father stepped out of the house, face dropping at the scene in front of them.
wanna make him lunch
mattheo was crouched over the toilet seat, uncontrollably puking over and over as draco rubbed his back.
"mate what the fuck is wrong with you?" draco was both disgusted yet trying not to laugh.
"y/n made me lunch. think she's poison-" he threw up, yet again into the toilet.
"suppose she's got to get you back somehow." mattheo shot draco a glare. "apologies," draco held up his hands in defence.
i wanna break his heart
"hey tom," you wandered into mattheo's older brothers room.
"what?" he turned around from his desk.
"oh nothing," you held your hands behind your back, innocently walking over to tom. "just wanted to see you, is all."
you sat on his lap, fixing his loose tie. tom's hand supported you on his lap, a slight firm grasp on your thigh too. you finished sorting his tie, your eyes flickering up to his eyes.
"have i ever told you how much hotter than mattheo you are?" tom smirked at your comment.
"my very own brother, hm?" his face was close to yours, millimetres away from each other.
you nodded, looking from his eyes down to his lips. "i do prefer older guys," you closed the space between you and tom.
as if on cue, mattheo walked in.
stitch it right back up
"mattheo, i don't know what got into him! he just pulled me onto his lap and you just walked in," you explained to mattheo.
"do you promise me?" he looked up at you, sadness in his eyes. you felt bad, but he felt nothing when you were depressed over him for months.
"promise, sweetie, you know i'd never," oh yes you absolutely would.
wanna kiss his face, with an uppercut
"oops!" you covered your mouth with your hand as you accidentally 'nudged' mattheo's arm as he was mid falling asleep in class, his face hitting off of the table.
"want me to kiss it better?" you asked him.
"please."
i wanna meet his mum, and tell her her son sucks
"oh he did not," his mum was appalled, hand covering her mouth as you told her about the year long situationship with her son.
"oh he did, and then, he had the audacity to be like "you're trippin',", ugh the cheek!" you took another sip of your tea.
"oh and don't get me started on the time he was flirting with my friend in front of me! but then he got upset cause i kissed one of his friends as payback."
i'll get him, i'll get him, i'll get him, i'll get him back
get him back
i'm gonna get him so good, he's not even gonna know what hit him
he's gonna love me and hate me at the same time
he didn't know wether to hate you or love you. but what he did know, was that he was undoubtedly obsessed with you.
"please, y/n, i'll do anything," he was on his knees in front of you, begging for your forgiveness.
you really wondered how he even had feelings towards you - you keyed his car, made him lunch that was poisoned, broke his heart by kissing his best friend and brother, told his mum all the shit he did and how he sucked.
but here he was, willing to give up anything and everything for you.
you had finally got him back.
❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃
#fanfic#slytherin#slytherin boys#mattheo x you#mattheoxreader#mattheo smut#mattheo x y/n#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle#mattheoriddlesmut#tom riddle imagine#tom marvolo riddle#tom riddle smut#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle x y/n#tom riddle x you#theo nott#theo nott imagine#theo nott x reader#theo nott x you#theodore nott#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott x you
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Carlos Sainz Jr (Scuderia Ferrari) - Mirrors
Requested: yes
Prompt: 37) "We can't do that here."
38) "Im supposes to be making you feel good."
Warnings: smut, 18+, riding, papi!carlos
Carlos had been in his gym working out, trying to keep up his fitness since it was the off season after all. He was just finishing up his deadlines, when a figure in the background caught his attention. He watched her through the floor to ceiling mirrors as she walked behind him. Her fingers gently touched his biceps. "Hi, papi." She not-so-innocently said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He sighed and watched as she watched back to whatever machine she wanted to use now. Recently his girlfriend Y/n had been so very needy. She had been trying to tease him and in all honesty it was working. Carlos found himself having to constantly go to her and have sex with her just to relieve himself. While yes, it was great, it was getting annoying, but for Y/n, nothing was better than getting fucked by Carlos whilst he's annoyed or angry, so it always worked out for her.
Y/n adjusted the weight on the leg on the laying leg curl before she lay down and started doing her sets. She wasn't doing them properly whatsoever. She instead let the curl hit her ass, catching the attention of the Spaniard behind her. She kept glancing over to him every so often through the mirrors and spotted how hot and bothered he was getting. She loved making him feel this way. She ended up finishing up and decided to deadlift instead. She set up her weights and went about her workout. This would definitely get a reaction. He loved her ass and She made sure for him to notice it. It didn't take long before Y/n had bent with the bar and bumped into the driver behind her. She set the weights down and looked up as Carlos stood behind her, with a disapproving look on his face.
"Do you need help?" He asked. Y/n smiled innocently. "No. Why?" She asked. His eyes fell to her cleavage. He swallowed hard. Her plan was working again. "You're clearly looking for something. My attention maybe?" She shook her head. "No, not at all. It's cute that you think I would revolve my workout on trying to get your attention." He clenched his jaw. "Fine. Be like that." Carlos said staring off to his side of the gym. Y/n smiled again. "I don't know what you mean." She turned and leaned down to grab the bar again, before she heard a low grumbling.
"Alright, I'm sick of this." He muttered. Y/n turned to look at him confused. "Get here now." He growled. "Oh no, we can't do that here." She teased. "Y/n. I said now." He repeated, his voice deeper and more commanding. Y/n grinned. Suddenly, her favourite workout would be her boyfriend. His arms were open, ready to lift her upon impact. Y/n hopped up and grabbed onto his broad and sweaty shoulders. Their lips met in a needy kiss and this is where it started getting messy. Carlos pulled Y/n's shirt off, lifting her breats with his hand and kissing them both hungrily, whilst Y/n tangled her fingers in his hair, her chest heaving with each kiss Carlos gave her. "You're so fucking annoying." He muttered, looking up at her. "So put some manners on me, Papi."
Carlos grinned and slowly dropped to the ground. "Touch yourself for me, princesa." He demanded lowly. Y/n's hands dropped from his shoulders and antagonisingly traced over his abs, before moving up her own torso. She licked her fingers and began pleasuring herself whilst Carlos simply watched, taking out his length. Y/n's head fell backwards. "Hey, eyes down here." He said, gripping her throat and pulling her head to look down to him. Y/n gasped and did what she was told. Carlos' fingers soon joined Y/n's and moved her shorts and panties to one side. "Raise your hips for me, please." He asked. Y/n sat up as Carlos aligned himself with her entrance. "Now, slowly princesa." He held her and helped her down onto his hard length slowly so she could get used to him. No matter how often they had sex, she always needed to adjust to him again.
"Slowly." He repeated as Y/ tried to start a qucik rhythm. "I thought you wanted to work out?" She grinned. Carlos' hands ran up her thigh. "Don't worry. I'll do my hip thrust sets now." Y/n felt herself growing wetter at his words. "Go on, Papi." He grinned and began lifting and lowering his hips as Y/n met his rhythm. They locked eyes. Who would break first? Who would go wild first? Y/n held in her moans, clutching her throat with her own hands. "Ah, no cheating." He said. "But it feels so good." She whimpered. "Hey!" His hand gripped her throat and squeezed lightly. "I'm supposed to be making you feel good." Y/n whimpered. "Oh fuck it." She leaned forward and began bouncing up and down much quicker, much to Carlos' dislike. Another hard slap landed onto her ass. "What did I just say?" He asked. "Papi, I can't help it. You're just too fucking good."
Carlos tutted and stopped his thrusts. "Get off." Y/n looked down. Did she finally push him too far? "Carlos, I didn't mean to. Come on, let's finish. I'll never do it again. I promise." Carlos smirked. "While I love to see you beg, its okay." He stood up, taking her with him and walked the short distance to the nearest wall. I just want to fuck you up against the mirror." She let out a shakey breath as Carlos had her lean against the mirrored wall, only being able to watch her face contort as Carlos done the most unholy of things to her. His hand reached around and took hold of her throat, giving a light squeeze. A strained moan managed to escape past her lips.
The other hand held firmly onto her hips before he delved in without much warning. She held in her noises as best she could, knowing that Carlos would only fuck her harder to hear them and that's what she wanted. She bit her lip as Carlos' thrusts grew harder and harder, that was until he grabbed her hair and messily wrapped it around his fist until it was nothing but a clump. He pulled her head back to look at him in the reflection, her eyes dropping down to look at his delicious lips. "Grita para mi, princesa." He rasped into her ear as he began to pulsate in her, his pattern speeding up. Her head fell back as his hand let go of her hair and instead fell to grip the sweaty skin of her hips. "Te gusta cuando te hablo español?"She gasped as his hand landed a firm smack onto her ass.
"Yes." She moaned, one hand leaning on the mirror whilst the other fell behind her to grab Carlos' arm. "What did you say?" He interrogated. "Yes, papi." She looked back through hazy eyes to see his lazy grin resting on his face. "Dejame escucharte." Those were the only words he had to say and she was a mess. Her throat almost hurt from how loud she was being, but she didn't care; she had been waiting on this all week. His thrusts became sloppy as he felt himself coming towards his high. His hand fell from Y/n's throat, much to her distaste, but that soon ended as Carlos had instead started massaging her clit instead. "Papi, can I?" She begged.
"Wait for me, hermosa." He groaned, nearing with each stroke inside her. "Carlos! Please!" He knew once she started saying his name again, she just needed it and at this stage, he was too close to stop this and tease her. "Finish for me." Y/n gripped his forearm as her walls clenched around him and she found herself coming undone, Carlos finishing up soon after.
Carlos held her close, their bodies sticking together with the sweat. As they caught their breaths, Carlos left a trail of kisses down her back before pulling out gently and lifting her into his arms bridal style. "Too much?" He asked as he carried her to the bathroom. "Not enough." Y/n joked. "Maybe we can always go for a round two in the shower." She suggested, kissing his cheek delicately. "Not in the shower. The water gets everywhere. Not a fan." Y/n rolled her eyes. "You didn't mind in Brazil last year-"
"That was different." Y/n simply looked at him amazed as they got into the shower. Carlos put the water on and the water cascaded down their bodies, almost as if washing away their sins. He reached for Y/n's shampoo, taking some out and beginning to stroke it through her hair. Y/n stood with her head held back as she felt the intimacy of it all. "You're a true gentleman." She said quietly. He chuckled. "How so?" He asked. "You let me finish first and you're cleaning me. What more could I ask for?" He smiled and kissed her shoulder. "I will always look after you. You know that." Y/n turned and looked into Carlos' deep brown eyes, her arms reached up and around his broad shoulders as his hands took their usual place at her hips. "And I am the most fortunate woman to have you."
#f1 blurb#f1 imagine#f1 oneshot#f1 oneshots#carlos sainz smut#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz junior#carlos sainz jr imagine#carlos sainz x female reader#carlos sainz x oc#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz
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Random thought:
You and August Walker sneaking out of a work party to get some time in his private office.
Zombie
Well, Zombie, I'll tell you what I think would happen...
Title: Executive Temptation
Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI
Pairing: CEO!August Walker x Employee!Reader
Word Count: 2.4K
Summary: You’ve caught the eye of CEO August Walker. What happens when he asks you to go to his private office?
Warnings: (responsible) alcohol consumption, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie
A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.
Dividers by: @firefly-graphics
Support/Reblog banner by me
Cover Art by me
My Masterlist
When the elevator dings and the doors open, he holds out an arm to let you enter first. As you step inside, you catch the eye of your coworker, who is making an obscene gesture with her hands. You can’t exactly blame her. You did just get into an elevator with the damn CEO of Walker Logistics LLC.
That’s right. You and August Walker are in an elevator on the way to his private office to speak more discreetly.
A million different things went through your mind when he first asked you to step away to his office, and it showed on your face when you first stuttered through an excuse to stay at the party.
“Tell you what, why don’t we just continue our conversation about your ideas over better booze than what they have down here? I’ll behave as long as you do,” he offers, his sonorous baritone washing over you like a warm bath.
It was more than easy to agree with him; he just had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room.
As the elevator lifts, August leans against the left wall while you stand in the center. You try to maintain the silence that is only interrupted as the floor indicator dings every few seconds. The anxiety of feeling like you have to perform is strong, and you want to come up with something that he will find interesting.
But all you can come up with is, “You know, you can’t say happiness without saying penis.”
August’s head whips to you so fast, you think his neck may have broken. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Sometimes, when I’m nervous, I spout useless trivia. It’s the worst superpower,” you admit, hoping he would let it go.
“Sex is ten times more effective than Valium. So, maybe we shouldn’t be so coy,” he hums, pushing off of the wall and coming to stand next to you when the elevator stops.
When the doors open, you are greeted with quite a sight. The entirety of the top floor is closed off by walls, except for his secretary’s desk, which sits just outside double doors.
You are so surprised by the fact that you are in the CEO’s space that you just gawk at everything while staying in the elevator. It’s only when August stops the doors from closing on you that you close your mouth and follow him to the doors to his office.
Once they open, you’re greeted with a modern office space with two conference rooms around the left and right corners. His L-shaped desk sits in the center of the room, and the polished ebony wood stain reflects the lights of the city from the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the back wall. A leather sofa and armchair set that seems rather inviting fills the carpeted area in front of the mini-bar. You spy the bookshelves that line the right and left walls and wonder to yourself if he’s even read half of them.
Walking around the desk, your feet carry you to the right bookcase. You read the titles of book after book about business and the economy. How fucking boring!
From his spot at the mini-bar, August gets your attention. “So, what would the lady like to drink while she snoops?”
“I’m not snooping. Just looking,” you advise, your fingers swiping the various spines as you walk toward him. “And I would love some bourbon if you have it. No ice.”
“I think I’ll join you,” he remarks, retrieving two lowball glasses and a decanter of the amber liquid. Pouring about two fingers into one glass and then the other. He takes both glasses and places them on the glass coffee table that sits between the sofa and the two comfy chairs. He picks up his drink and turns to you. “What shall we toast to?”
The anxiety running through you is replaced by lust as you join him on the couch, close enough to feel his body heat. Pheromones must be wafting in the air because he smells like sex on legs. You bend forward to pick up your bourbon, and the top of your dress reveals some cleavage. Out of the corner of your eye, you see August tilt his head as he sneaks a peek.
“To not being coy,” you insist, offering your raised glass.
August clinks his glass with yours and says, “To not being coy.”
You both take a sip and when you put your drink down after a sizable gulp, August mirrors you and sits back against the couch. You turn, and he is watching you with hungry eyes. Now or never, you think to yourself.
Leaning in, you kiss the smirk right off his face. His soft, pink lips part and his tongue licks into your mouth. Deepening the kiss, you allow him entry and massage his tongue with yours as you move to his lap. His hands caress your thighs before sliding up your leg to land on your hips. You know what he is after, so you start to rock your hips and are awarded with a deep rumble of a groan from August.
With his hands grabbing onto your ass, you grow bold and swivel your hips once, then twice. As August bucks up into you, you whimper, and he breaks the kiss. Maintaining eye contact, he reaches up your dress and stops when his fingertips touch your panties.
“May I take these off?” he asks, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip as he looks up at you.
“Fuck, yes,” you yelp, your desire becoming too much to handle.
With your permission, he pulls them down your legs as far as they will go with you kneeling in his lap. Positioning you to lay back on the couch, he removes them completely, then dives in between your legs with his hands wrapped around your thighs to hold you close.
He kisses your inner thighs before focusing on your wet pussy. To say he must have been starving for you is an understatement. The way he licks from your hole to your swollen nub was just this side of overwhelming. Swirling his tongue around your pearl, he waits until you begin to buck your hips to take your clit into his mouth.
Your hands go to his hair, clutching his chestnut locks as he sucks your soul out of your body. You’re near tears when he slowly inserts a finger between your folds. You barely hold yourself together as he strokes your inner walls, paying attention to the inner bundle of nerves that drives you wild.
Inserting another finger, he picks up his speed while massaging your G-spot. Listening to your body, he knows that you are on the very edge. One wrong move, and he could ruin it completely.
But, lucky for you, he knows what he is doing.
He lets your clit slip past his lips, changing his tactic. Flicking his tongue up and down on your bud while adding a third finger to stretch you out, he puts on a master class at foreplay. Within moments, the hold you have on your faculties is all but forgotten as you are brought to orgasm. Your walls clench around his fingers, and he continues to play with your sweet spot. The noise of your sopping hole echoes in the office.
“That’s it; let it go. Such a good girl for me. So fucking delicious, too,” he praises, talking you through it. “You sound so fucking sexy right now.”
When you come down from your high, August is right there to kiss away the tear that escapes your eye as he caresses you. Your entire body is afire with sensations. His hands on you feel feather-soft. Looking up into his face, you can’t help but bring him down to kiss him. The kiss starts slow, but as it continues, tongues and teeth make an appearance. He nibbles and sucks on your bottom lip, eliciting a moan from deep in your throat.
He breaks the kiss again to kiss and nip at your jaw and neck. You wrap a leg around his waist, shoving your hand between you to stroke him through his slacks. The groan from him at the contact radiates through you. You can tell he has a monster under those clothes, and you want it.
Echoing his politeness from earlier, you speak up, “May I?”
“Please,” he gushes, sitting on his heels to give you better access.
You unzip and unbutton him, reaching inside to take him out. You thank him silently for prepping you with three fingers, because damn. The uncut snake in his pants is heavy in your hands. While you want nothing more than to have it inside you, you would also love to gag on it. August’s hand under your chin lifts your face until your eyes meet.
“As much as I would love your pretty lips around me, I need to be inside you,” he implores, his thumb ghosting over your lips. “I promise you can choke on it later.”
You gasp as he removes your hand from his dick and pushes you slightly to lay back down. He throws your legs over his shoulders, lining himself up with your core, before pushing in slowly. He takes his time, letting you get used to being so filled and allowing him to adapt to your tight heat.
Folding you into yourself, he retracts his hips and thrusts forward. You groan in unison. Pulling out until just the tip remains inside you, he slams back in, kissing your cervix with his cockhead. He picks up the speed, and you can hear how fucking wet you are. The sloshy slaps of flesh on flesh are enough to have you close to orgasm already.
The entire room smells like sex, and it is intoxicating. Your gasps and whines as he fucks you only spur him on to help you chase after your climax. Parting your legs, he grips your thighs, fucking into you harder and faster. The look of determination on his face has you reaching down to play with your sensitive clit.
He swats your hand away in favor of using his fingers to make you cum around him. It happens quicker than you planned, a testament to his expertise. He fucks you through your release, your overworked pussy leaving cream all over his cock. He slows down to a more intimate pace as you come back to yourself.
You tangle a hand in his messy curls and pull him down to kiss you. With your hand on his hip, you urge him to move again. He kisses you deeper as his hips pick up the pace fucking you. You swallow every grunt and grumble from his thrusts. When his lips part from yours, you see the want in his eyes. You know he’s close by the way his hips stutter and his dick twitches.
Tightening your legs around his waist, you push your heel into his ass, and he gets the hint.
“You want my cum? Ugh, fuck, I’m so close. Shit! Argh, fuck,” he gasps, his cock spasming as he spills inside you. He collapses on top of you with his face in your neck, and you rub his back while he comes down.
Once his softening length slips from you, he grunts and picks himself up to sit back on his heels. He watches as his cum leaks out of you and licks his lips. He gets up and tucks himself away before motioning for you to stay right where you are. He grabs a towel from the mini-bar, coming back to clean up his mess from between your legs. He tosses the towel on the coffee table and picks up his drink to take a sip.
“I wasn’t lying earlier, you know,” he discloses, moving to sit down when you pull yourself into a seated position.
“Huh?” you ask, wracking your brain to find out what he’s talking about.
“I still want to hear your ideas on how to expand our market reach. I mean, you don’t even work in our marketing department, and your ideas have my attention,” he praises, his voice sincere in tone.
“I do have a few ideas on how the company can grow,” you beam, happy to be noticed. “But I think I’d like to discuss that first thing on Monday. Right now, I’d rather enjoy this bourbon and spend time not talking about work. If you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind at all,” he affirms, sipping his drink before smiling at you. “I am actually looking forward to Monday for a change. But before then, would you let me take you to dinner? I promise there will be no work talk.”
You look into your glass, swirling the amber liquid while you think about it for all of three seconds. “I’ll let you take me to dinner on one condition,” you advise, a smirk playing on your lips.
“And what would that be?” he asks, his arm going to the back of the couch.
“You let me choke on it before tonight is over,” you flirt, holding in a giggle.
The way his eyes darken is a thing of beauty. He lowers his drink from his lips and says, “Fuck, where did that coy little thing go? I’m not complaining, by the way. I’ll make sure you get a taste; don’t you worry.”
You suddenly feel very warm, and you can’t believe this man is real. You wonder how his words can make you want nothing more than to kiss him until you can’t breathe. You put down your glass after downing the last bit in one go. Liquid courage, don’t fail me now, you think to yourself.
August puts down his glass and leans back. You crawl into his lap again, a knee on either side of his hips. Entwining a hand in his hair, you lean forward and capture his lips again. This time, the kiss is slow and sensual. Your tongue dances with his until your lips touch again. Nipping at his bottom lip elicits a whimper from him that is music to your ears.
His hands move to your ass, gripping the globes as if his life depended on it. When one hand leaves, you only miss it for a second before it lands back on your cheek with a slap. You moan into his mouth, and you can feel the rumble of a chuckle in his chest.
He’s got you right where he wants you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
A/N: This story was super fun to write. I would love to know what you think!!! Feedback is appreciated!
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#henry cavill#henry cavill characters#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill fanfic#august walker#august walker fanfiction#august walker smut#august walker fanfic#august walker x reader#ellethespaceunicorn fanfic#mission: impossible fallout#mission impossible: fallout#mission: impossible fallout#mission impossible fallout#mission impossible#henry cavill smut#executive temptation#ceo august walker
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Husk X Daughter reader
Requests open
I've always been a gambling man
Masterlist
Husk was your dad when you two were still alive. He was at his bar in the Hazbin Hotel, when you suddenly fell from Heaven down, through the roof of the hotel right into the bar
You died
Pretty simple right?
You died in a pretty normal way. No drink or drugs or pills just slipped away in your sleep.
At first, you felt weightless. like a balloon in the wind. Going up and up with no thoughts, just floating. The higher you went, the brighter it got. Brighter and brighter. It was all blurry.
You were so close. You felt warmth. You felt joy.
But then it stopped.
everything stopped when you felt something cold and heavy snap around your neck.
-----------------------------------
"OK, everyone. gather around were going to do another session" Charlie sang earning a groan from most of her guests.
It was an average day. Well ... as average as a hotel in hell could be. The Sky was red, the bar was full and Nifty was killing bugs.
"Seriously? What now?" Angel asked
"Yeah, do you need me to bring you some roaches to use as an example of what happens when they don't play nicely?" Nifty maniacally giggled with her knife.
"I appreciate the offer, Nifty, but maybe another time. No, today we will be doing 2 truths and a liiiiieeeee !!!! " Charlie cheered.
Another collective groan echoed through the lounge.
"Wiiiiithhhhhh alchoholllll !!!"
-------------------------------------------------------------
One by one everyone had their turn. some were relatively harmless and others not so much.
"And Alastor, It's your turn" Charlie smiled nervously
Across the room, a grumpy old cad was grumbled under his breath.
"As if you'll get that bastard to play this fucking game"
"Now now Husker don't be so quick to judge. that's what got YOU into trouble in the first place." Alastor chimed and walked to sit with the others in the lounge.
Husk growled.
"Now, let's see" Alastor grinned. " 1) I like dogs. 2) Jambalaya is my favourite food. 3) We will be expecting a new member of staff very soon."
Vaggie glared at the man " What?"
" A NEW PERSON!" Charlie beamed. "When are they gonna get here?"
Suddenly a loud crash was heard from the upper floors and came through the ceiling. Dust and rubble went flying everywhere leaving a thick cloud of muck in the air.
It smelled like fire and burning flesh. It made everyone caugh.
A claw crawled out of the mess. Large black eyes were darting around in panic. The creature stumbled to the bar, a mist of dust following close behind them.
"Ey! What the hell! My bar! Get away you fucker!"
"I just fell through your roof and you're giving me shit?" You hissed, trying to shake off as much dust as possible.
You erupted into a fit of coughs and wiped your eyes.
"Where the fuck am I?" you blinked. Your vision was hazy until a tall, red figure walked to meet you.
" Ah hello there my dear. Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. My name is Alastor, and you are?" He asked extending his hand for you to shake.
"I'm (Y/N)?" you answered, looking around.
It was a bit of a dump. But you did just fall through the ceiling. A lot of circus imagery covered the walls and everything was dripping stem to stern in red and gold.
The more you looked around the clearer it got you began to see other faces. One was a young lady. Long blond hair and a huge amazed and excited grin on her face. she was practically jumping for joy.
Another was a shorter lady. She wasn't as excited to see you. More like suspicious.
And then there was... A cat? A very horrified-looking cat... and a spider-person? A snake?
You started to panic. "W-What the fuck is this place? Why are some of you guys animals?"
"Speak for yourself there toots. You look like poos in boots" The spider laughed.
You looked at yourself and almost screamed. You were covered head to toe in ash grey fur, with black paw-like hands and claws for fingers. A long tail wrapped around your leg making you jump almost 3 feet in the air.
Tears were welling up in your black eyes and your heart was going a million miles an hour.
"Ok, understandably you're a little freaked out. Come with me. Im Charlie by the way." She smiled, taking your hand and leading you to a chair.
The second you were sat down Husk practically flew over the bar and dragged Alastor into the hall.
"What. The. Fuck. Is SHE doing here?!"
"The Hotel needed a Receptionist. She has plenty of experience and-"
"YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Husk seethed.
"Did you do this to her? Did YOU kill her?"
"Husker I can do a lot of things but killing the living, I can not. You know exactly why she is here."
Alastor walked over to the door and looked at you with an evil grin.
"I can't say I see much of a resemblance Husker. Must take after her mother."
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night shift
bradley bradshaw x reader
prompt- training for the mission is underway, and y/n has slept in bradley bradshaw's bed for more nights than she'd like to admit. when rooster has a bad dream next to her, it gets a little more personal than no strings attached should get
warnings- angst, cursing, ptsd mentioned, sex mentioned, not exactly smut
An: may be some typos, please give feedback and don't be afraid to request!
Y/n stared at the ceiling, enjoying bradley's arm wrapped tightly around her middle before they had to go back to pretending theyre just friendly collleagues during the work day.
She hadn't meant to have anything start between the two of them, but a drunken night at The Hard Deck changed that a few weeks ago. Rooster smelled good that day, tan and sculpted by the sun. Maybe his tank top was a little too tight, Hawaiian shirt a little too flowy. She had always thought he was attractive, but the alcohol really brought it out of her. They had been talking all night, rooster bought Y/n a drink. She cracked a tipsy joke and a lopsided smirk grew on his pretty face as he looked at her, head tilted. That's when she knew it was over for her.
Y/n thought she was in the clear when they all left the bar. She just had to go grab her charger from inside his house. Then he asked if you wanted water to sober up before driving home. Harmless. Then you couldn't reach the cup in his cabinet to get said water. Then he came up behind you to grab it for you, brushing against you slightly as he mumbled a "sorry" under his breath right beside you, almost touching your ear. It was then that your last shred of self-control somehow diminished, landing you right into his bed for the night.
It's been a few weeks since then, and you keep ending up here. It was supposed to just be friends with benefits, no strings attached. But sometimes it wasn't, even though neither of you would admit it. The way he splayed his massive hands across your stomach as he fucked you, gently pushing down so it'd feel better for you. The way that he would trace across your skin with his finger until you fell asleep, whispering praises in your ear, telling you how good you did. It was when he thought you fell asleep that he went to take a shower, kissing you on the forehead while running his thumb gently across your cheek. The two of you never really discussed what you were, you just were. These nights seemed to be doing more harm than good for you. It was hard to stay detached from something like this, spending your nights with someone so often. He didn’t feel like you did, you were sure, so you’d settle. You would take the nights over nothing, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting during the day.
The glow of Bradley’s alarm clock read 1:34 AM. His room was nicer than you’d expect. More than two pillows on the bed, light blue sheets, ivory paint on the walls. Your favorite part though, was the decor that made Rooster who he was, the decor that nobody else on the team had probably ever seen. Old baseball photos, pictures of his graduating class, polaroids of the beach, of his bronco. It made the room feel warm.
Now here you were, trying to soak it all in before it was a secret again. He hadn’t taken a shower tonight, and wore only boxers next to you. He had fallen asleep on top of you, holding you tight, though he had since rolled over to beside you. He looked so peaceful sleeping, his face void of the serious expression he usually took on. You were laying pressed against him, his arm around your middle holding you in place. You had pulled on some clothes since the hookup, and you now donned one of Rooster’s big t-shirts and your underwear. All your other clothes were trailed around his house somewhere. All you could hear was the combination of your breaths in the late night, and you began to doze off again.
Then his breath hitched. His arm snaked away from you as he shifted in his bed. His breathing became more rapid, and a sheen of sweat show on his forehead. His dog tag glistened in the night as they jingled across his bare chest. He was having a bad dream.
This was normal for the military. Bad, traumatic memories linger in the back of your head. It hits you when you least expect it. It even taints your dreams. Everything you refuse to remember when conscious comes to haunt you at night. You have it too, and seeing him like this made your chest ache. He was mumbling now.
“No no no,” he mumbled. You sat up. He had his jaw clenched; his whole body was tense as he continued mumbling. The breathing didn’t slow.
“Rooster,” you said out loud, putting your hand gently on his and squeezing. “Rooster,” you said again, louder.
He stayed dreaming.
“Bradley.” You spoke loud enough but gentle. It was hard coming out of these dreams.
He drew a sharp breath in and sat up, muscles rippling across his back and stomach as he moved. He used the heels of his hands to rub his eyes as he seemed to catch his breath. Your hand hadn’t left his.
“It’s okay, It’s okay. You were just dreaming,” you say as he tries to get his bearings. You push his hair out of his eyes. It’s messy from sleeping. Still holding his hand, the rapid beating of a pulse can be felt coming from his wrist.
“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. The covers were pooled at his waist and he looked up at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for- I don’t-“
“Don’t apologize. Here,” you handed him your water from his bedside table. In a quieter voice, you say, “You’re not the only one it happens to. I usually wake up a lot less graceful than you.” You try to let out a small laugh, more nervous than amused, but it wasn’t really funny. Many times have you woken up, tangled in the sheets alone, struggling to get away from something that’s not even there. It’s PTSD, and the military can only do so much to help. The damage is already done, the memories already happened. He looked at you, watching everything you did. He looked exhausted, even though he’d been sleeping. Drained.
“Thank you,” he whispered, like he didn’t want to disturb any more peace. “Did I wake you up?”
“No.” You didn’t really have any explanation other than that. Oh I was staying awake to remember your touch so I miss it less during the day. Yeah, like that would’ve gone over smooth.
He nodded. “That’s good,” he said. He ran his hand through his hair, the other that you’re holding still limp in the bed. You (tried to) smoothly let his hand go and put your hand back in your lap. You wanted to do something for him, to help, but thats not what you were here for. It wasn’t your place. You were just a girl in his bed to him. Your hands itched to run through his hair, across his skin, but you couldn’t. “I’m probably gonna go take a shower,” he said.
And off he goes again, didn’t even wait for you to fall asleep this time. You nodded, suppressing the sigh that wanted to erupt out of your chest.
He gets up, kicking the covers off. He stood in the middle of the hard wood floor of his bedroom, boxers only. The only light was from the moon and the glow of his alarm clock. His muscular silhouette walked towards the bathroom, then faltered, seemingly looking back.
“Oh. Are you not- uh…” he trails off in the dark. Did he want you to come?
“Oh…I didn’t know I was allowed to.”
You couldn’t see him, but heard a low chuckle in the dark. “..allowed to?”
“Oh shut up,” you said as you rolled out of bed, but you couldn’t help but smirk a bit. You squinted as he flipped on the lights to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door since you were both in there. You took a chance and looked in the mirror. Your hair was wild, with your mascara running down your face in faint lines. What a charmer.
Bradley had his back turned, turning the shower on. He turned, thumbing the waistband of his boxers to take off. You began to strip as well, and all of a sudden felt shy. He did this to you all the time, but doing it yourself while he watched made your cheeks tinge pink. The overhead light reflecting off the white tile walls didn’t help either. You slid your panties off easily and they dropped to the floor. Then the shirt.
He pulled you by the hand, and you both stepped under the hot water.
Once again, he met your gaze. He was being so quiet.
“What are you looking at?” He tilts his head at you with a slight smirk, his eyes still seemed tired.
“Just…you.” You’re guessing that you’re not hiding your worried expression very well. Your eyes flicked downward and you bit your lip.
“I’ve still got a pulse, you know, darlin’. I’m gonna live.”
“I know,” you mumbled, shy. You held one of his hands in yours, keeping from looking at him as you trace over his palm. “I was just…”
“Nervous?” he asked quietly.
“Mmhm,” you hummed. He took your hand that held his and pulled you towards him. The rush and warmth of the water relaxed you slightly. He pulled you close to wrap his arms around your waist. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. This is the most personal you’ve ever gotten. This pained you; somehow being closer to him made it hurt worse, being seen as just a hookup. You would’ve been better off without any of this, any of him, but you weren’t without him. You were right here, undressed in front of him night after night like clockwork, like having a night shift. You almost groaned out loud.
“You gonna be stiff as a board this whole time or…” There he was teasing you again.
“Sorry.” You were flustered, and exhausted, not because it was one something in the morning, but exhausted mentally. Who knew no strings attached was so much work? Well, it is when one of you is attached, you guessed.
You let out a sigh, tiredly resting your chin on his tanned, warm shoulder. He tightened his arms around you, his chin in the crook of your neck.
“Don’t apologize,” he murmured. His mustache and breath tickled your neck, causing you to shiver, and you began to melt all over again. “I don’t want you to be jumpy around me now. I didn’t scare you off did I?”
You picked your head up, moving back slightly to look at him. He has the hint of a smile on his face, but his eyes are serious. You let out a breathy laugh, releasing some tension. “No you didn’t scare me off. Still here.”
He smiled, an especially knee-buckling smile, and he pulled you close again. “Good,” he murmured. “I’d be lonesome if I did.”
You sighed, and a small, shy smile crept onto your face as you rested and leaned against him. “I think you’d find yourself more company in no time.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he laughed out his words. You just hummed in response.
“I’ll have you know I’m a gentleman.”
“Mmhmm.”
He squeezed your hips playfully. “I cant believe you,” he whispered in your ear, as all space previously between you two went elsewhere.
The night shift would do.
#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster x reader#top gun maverick#bradley bradshaw#hangman x reader#top gun fanfiction#fanfic#jake seresin#miles teller#pete maverick mitchell
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The most important question of all: What type of drunk is everyone in the hotel?
Deeply held personal beliefs here lmao
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
Alastor
𖦹Alastor loves being the center of attention and he drops his need for an air of mystery when he’s a few fingers deep into the rye. He grabs unwilling participants by the wrists and swing dances with them, despite their clear lack of understanding on how to swing.
𖦹He hums and sings under his breath while sitting in a comfy chair.
𖦹Loqacious! Vaggie would like him to shut the fuck up, Charlie is alarmed because he always reminisces about his real life murders like discussing a loving partner long gone. He is a talkative drunk through and through.
𖦹 Next day: No shame the next morning. Everyone’s annoyed and he might be a little sheepish, but ultimately he doesn’t care.
𖦹Smutty: Never lets you top, but once he’s had a few and has relaxed, will happily lie back and let you take care of yourself with his body while he watches you. Rarely vocal during sex, he’s suddenly talkative and showering you in groans and moans.
Lucifer
𖦹Lucifer doesn’t drink. He really doesn’t. Oh geez, okay well if Charlie is asking so sweetly and everyone else is what’s the harm in-
𖦹Shirt unbuttoned halfway, everything he says sounds like a double entendre even if it isn’t. Cannot stop flirting, even accidentally. The flirty drunk has arrived.
𖦹He stays put, picks a chair or stool and just hunkers down, watching happily over the gathering.
𖦹Pet names for everyone. CharChar, Magpie, Legs, Whiskers, Bambi… Niffty is just Niffty. Even drunk he is a little scared of her.
𖦹Next day: No hangover, excitedly and nervously listening to all the stories of things he did. “Yeah that sounds like me hahaha”
𖦹Smutty: Slow love making, takes his time and moves over you like molasses. Doesn’t care about finishing, just likes the feeling of being close to you and hearing the sounds you make. 50/50 you fall asleep together with him still in you.
Angel Dust
𖦹Angel handles his liquor like he’s handles his men; with an open throat and a smile. It’s genuinely hard to tell if he’s drunk unless he’s so gone his pitch of voice has changed.
𖦹With a little inebriation, he’s leaning into his friends and talking really openly about his feelings and problems in life.
𖦹Drunk? Like— drunk drunk? He’s loud and hanging on everyone for stability. Every grin borders on sleazy, but if the wrong person made a move they’d get four hands to the face pushing them away. Alastor thinks he is the life of the party; Angel is the party.
𖦹Next day: Angel has no memory of what happened the night before and even if he does he will just pull his sunglasses down and pretend he doesn’t.
𖦹Smutty: Angel likes drunk sex, because he can feel his body disconnect from his mind. His eyes would be unfocused, and no matter the lover his gaze would always be at the ceiling. His attention purely on the sensations his body was offering him. He’d be quiet, just enjoying himself.
Husker
𖦹Husk is usually ornery, but when drunk he becomes the wise old man who wont stop talking to you like a kid. Husk, I’m a grown ass adult? Ha, in my day you would still be in diapers. That doesn’t make any sense Husk. Sense? Your lot don’t know shit about sense.
𖦹When he isn’t pretending to be everyone’s drunk Gandalf, compliments flow like booze from a tipped bottle. You’re real pretty when you smile. Wish I saw more of it. — That’s what I like about you, you always get back up.
𖦹Husk is always topping up everyone’s glass, and even when drunk he’s the one who registers when someone’s had enough. On many occasions he has replaced Angel’s drink with just orange juice and soda water when he wasnt looking, too drunk to notice.
𖦹Next day: Yesterday didn’t happen, order a drink or get the fuck out of the bar.
𖦹Smutty: Husk doesn’t like sex when he’s drunk, he doesn’t like the implication anyone may not be fully aware of what’s happening. He’ll cuddle, caress, kiss, but no sex unless you’re relatively sober or you had explicitly made plans to enjoy a drunken romp. In which case, he relishes in changing positions often to find new ways to make you gasp out his name. Tipsy or not, his hands are always steady.
Charlie
𖦹Charlie is the happiest drunk to exist. Her confidence sores with a little liquid courage. She’ll clamor onto the bar and declare she is going to redeem all of Hell, making the Pride ring a glorified bus stop between death and the pearly gates.
𖦹Clumsy. She talks with her hands and spills her drink everywhere. Constantly running into things with her hips and feet. She will trip over nothing, and apologize to the air for the misstep.
𖦹Charlie oscillates between talking nonstop to being dead silent, big doe eyes watching intently as you speak. She’s hanging on every word.
𖦹Tells everyone she loves them, then cries about how much she loves them.
𖦹Next day: Hungover, doesn’t understand why people drink so often, this sucks. Slightly embarrassed about getting up on the bar but otherwise has no issues knowing she doted on everyone.
𖦹Smutty: The Morningstars are similar in that they take their time. They need to hear every little gasp, every held breath. Charlie would spend hours exploring the places she could make bring you pleasure. Little giggles from between your legs as she gives herself mental pats on the back.
Vaggie
𖦹Drunk Vaggie is similar to Sober Vaggie. Serious but caring, and relatively quiet. She wouldn’t become overly showy or loud. Your only indication she’s been drinking is the slight slur to her words and the way her hands tip her drink a little too much when talking.
𖦹Goes on full rants about heaven if the topic comes up. Just bashes the hypocrisy and curses her fellow angels.
𖦹Slips more into Spanish, her words dipping between the two languages.
𖦹Little more handsy, resting her chin on her darling’s shoulder and letting her hands come around their waist while they are talking to people.
𖦹Next day: Needs everyone to shut the fuck up and turn the lights off. She swears she’s never letting Angel mix her drinks again. Mortified to hear she was necking in the lobby.
𖦹Smutty: Drunk Vaggie just wants to kiss and hold you, enjoying the way the room spins a little around you both as you lose track of time. She’s down for more, but only if you’re taking the lead.
Niffty
𖦹Please stop handing her drinks.
𖦹Fuck, she’s drinking other people’s drinks when they aren’t looking.
𖦹She’s dusting the ceiling, she’s vacuuming the sofa, dear God she’s scrubbing Angel’s hands with pure bleach shrieking, “Diiiiirty.”
𖦹Unhinged. More so. Somehow. Makes everyone a crown of trash.
𖦹Next day: is she still drunk? No? This is just her natural state of being?!
𖦹Smutty: Bad boys welcome, everyone else can get shanked.
༻Masterlist༺
∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):
@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @alitaar , @maddiemouse-1226 , @christineblood , @zombiesnips-blog , @readergirlstuff
@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel headcanon#alastor hazbin hotel#niffty#husker hazbin hotel#angel dust hazbin hotel#vaggie#charlie morningstar#lucifer morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer#alastor headcanons
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𑣲 MINE, ALL MINE. ft. SATORU GOJO
⠀ — so when i die, which i must do,
⠀ OR
⠀ — it isn’t gojo’s death that kills you, not more so than the circumstances.
⚠︎ 236 spoilers, angst, gn reader, i miss him so much i’m literally spiralling, its been three months i actually can’t take it anymore, angst, Angst, maybe angst idk. wc 797
december 30th rolls around faster than you can hope to process.
nothing in your apartment has been moved even the slightest inch in the last week.
two coffee cups still sit atop the kitchen counter, their contents long spoiled and beginning to smell. one of them is far worse than the other due to the abundance of cream and sugar inside it.
a large pair of black boots, leather with a pointed toe stay messily in the doorway— you’ve already memorised the steps to take not to trip over them and knock them out of place.
the bed remains the same, blankets and pillows in the identical messy pattern they were on the morning of the 24th. (you haven’t even gone into the bedroom, actually. you don’t have the bravery. you sleep on the couch.)
…the place is empty. it’s full, what with the clutter and picture frames on the wall and furniture. but it’s empty. cold, even. like a hand reached in through the ceiling and grabbed any warmth, ripping it out without mercy and leaving you in the frigid remains.
he should be here, you keep thinking. this is his home too.
maybe you’re dramatic. maybe his death shouldn’t have turned you so utterly pathetic. maybe you should be able to get a semblance of a fucking grip and at least clean the apartment that is suffocating you with memories you can’t bare to discard because it’s all you have left.
but it isn’t satoru’s death that kills you, not more so than the circumstances. it’s how.
and it’s not that he went out in a blaze of glory, fighting against the strongest sorcerer of all time who he, momentarily, had backed into a corner. not that he died with a smile on his face, the adrenaline of combat surging through his veins because to his core he enjoyed it.
but that it was megumi who he had to go against. that he found it easy to fight him no holds barred because of the irreparable mark the boy’s father had left on his very soul when he himself was just a boy. why? why did he deserve such a fate? why was it placed upon him? it isn’t fair.
his death incapacitates you because of how sudden it is. with no warning, lured into a false sense of security, just to have the rug pulled out from under you. at only 29 years old, over ten years of companionship are reduced to nothing but what used to be.
you’ll soon forget how his hand feels in yours, the sound of his laugh, the tickling of his hair against your nose when he nuzzles your cheek. it’s nauseating just to think about, yet not being able to recall at all might just be more than you can handle.
it’s not satoru’s death that kills you, because everybody dies. and in your line of work, it’s always sooner rather than later. satoru, strongest or not, is—was human. his death would rear it’s head some day, that was something you both knew.
but fuck you’ll curse every night to a god that doesn’t listen, and to the walls of a room that no longer feels like yours that you didn’t get more time.
he deserved to hit 30, to have what remained of his students crack jokes and call him old, and to watch him whine and run to you with complaints. he deserved to grow old enough to where he could finally be at peace with the death of suguru getou, or at least find peace within it enough to where it didn’t plague his life anymore— despite his insistent denial that it didn’t.
fuck what he deserved, damn it all to hell. you wanted him to do these things. wholly and perhaps even selfishly.
you wanted him to grow old with you,
you wanted him to stay by your side so you could stay by his.
you wanted him to reach a point someday where jujutsu society no longer had the two of you bound in heavy chains like two puppeteers; despite satoru’s advocacy and determination to make it different. where you could live your life together free of its terror.
…you wanted to see him succeed at that so badly. to see the proud look on his face when he no longer had to watch more children be sent to death.
look how well that worked out, huh, satoru?
you open the front door to your apartment, feet weaving easily around the pair of shoes obstructing the walkway. you walk past the same two grey coffee mugs on the counter, past the half shut bedroom door, and sit on the couch. you lay down, still in the same clothes, the same shoes.
you spend the night wishing it was you who’d gone first.
maybe tomorrow you will have the bravery.
⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?
#i miss him so much it burns#this is also my coming out post as a batshit gojo fan#and that i will sometimes be posting for jjk now#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x gender neutral reader#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jjk 236#geto suguru#jjk gojo#jjk geto#UNEARTHLY#gojo headcanons#gojo hcs#gojo fluff#gojo angst#gojo imagine
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Another zosan post bc they invade my thoughts every waking moment !! also i'm typing on mobile so this might be weirdly formatted
anyways, hc that Sanji is the MOST TOUCHY DRUNK to ever exist and he's all over all of his crewmates all the time. in addition to this, Sanji is also a fucking horrible lightweight. like.... tipsy after two beers lightweight. Sanji also YAPS to whoever's nearest to him about everything and anything that comes to his mind. Zoro is his main victim all of the time and does not appreciate it (yes he does, hes so gay) and its so funny to the rest of the crew b/c he has to peel a rambling sanji off of him while blushing so much he looks like a really tan tomato.
Nami + Usopp appear briefly here b/c i love their friendship so much heart emoji!!! <3333
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ugh, marimo, get off of me."
Zoro sighs from his position pressed against the edge of a bench, having what is arguably the worst time ever in the corner of some random bar he's been dragged to by the rest of the crew.
"I'm not on you, cook. move your goddamn leg."
"No, you move your leg."
Zoro tries in vain to shuffle away from the lanky limb draped across his lap, narrowly avoiding spilling his beer all across said limb.
The blonde always got touchy when he was drunk, plastering his entire body on the nearest person and talking their ear off for the remainder of the night.
Somehow, it was always Zoro who ended up with a tipsy Sanji draped over him, his breath smelling strongly of cheap liquor as he rambled about god knows what.
Zoro sighs again, resigning himself to his fate as the blond proceeds to hook his heel around one of Zoro's legs and pull himself forward so that he's pressed up against the other man's side. Zoro feels Sanji's elbow poking his arm. He tells himself it's very unpleasant.
"Yknow, you're coming with me to get... uh... groceries tomorrow. Yeah. We need bread."
"You've told me that three times tonight."
"Well, I'm telling you again, you algae head." Sanji lolls his head back to look at the ceiling, using the hand not trapped between them to loosely gesture at the man next to him.
"Nice one," Zoro deadpans.
"Oh, fuck you," Sanji replies, and then rests his head on Zoro's shoulder. "you want hamburgers for lunch tomorrow?" he asks over the loud murmur of the bar.
Zoro, however, does not reply. Instead, he stares straight ahead and tries to focus on the fact that Sanji's chin is digging uncomfortably into his shoulder rather than how his face is inches away.
Sanji doesn't seem to notice, his breath fanning along Zoro's cheek as he prattles on about brioche buns.
Zoro is trying very hard to stay still, internally processing the warmth of the cook's flushed face against his own and sending a silent prayer to whatever deity is out there this will be over soon. He also pointedly does not look at Nami and Usopp snickering over their wine glasses in the corner either.
He's snapped out of his impromptu staring contest with a stain on the wall when he feels Sanji slump almost completely off of the chair, and then suffers a mini heart attack when the blond kicks his legs up on the other side of the bench and straight up puts his head in Zoro's lap.
Zoro stares down at him in surprise and Sanji stares back, both eyes visible with his bangs swept out of his face. They're half-lidded and his face is tinted red from the liquor. Neither of them says anything, for a moment. Sanji's gaze sweeps across Zoro's face, looking for something. He pauses, and Zoro has to clamp his mouth shut because every time he sees Sanji like this he suddenly gains the inexplicable urge to say I've been in love with you for three years, please make out with me, which would be very bad.
The cook's eyebrows furrow, and he parts his pretty, pink lips before mumbling softly;
"...Did you get a haircut?"
Zoro throws his head back and groans. "That's it, we're going back to the ship."
He can hear Nami and Usopp's shrieking laughter clearly, even over Sanji's slurred protests as Zoro chugs the rest of his beer, hoists the fucking idiot up on his back, and marches out of the bar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zoro did, in fact, get a haircut. Sanji should know b/c hes the one who did it lmao. Also, it takes Zoro an hour to walk the 15 minutes back to the ship, and Sanji talks about bread the entire time.
Am i making Zoro whipped for Sanji because i am whipped for Sanji? Interesting question, indeed. Will i ever stop? No.
Ty to my loyal 5 followers i gained yesterday!!! shoutout to yall.
Also i would REALLY appreciate comments about how i can improve my writing style so if you have any feedback please comment !!!!!
okay bye :p
#one piece#platonic usonami forever#cat burglar nami#usopp#zosan#zosan brainrot#roronoa zoro#vinsmoke sanji#theyre so gay#maybe one day i'll make them kiss#today is not that day
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Fuck, my heel. My head was clouded and my vision was doubled, and all I wanted was to get myself home. On the edge of the sidewalk, beneath a street lamp, I sat idly and dealt with my high heel with the broken strap. Removing it and attempting to lift myself up. Once. Twice.
"Need help there?" A startling voice that couldn't mean any good, but I found myself looking up into four pairs of attentive eyes. Two male faces, genuine kindness glinting in their iris's.
With my heels now in his hands, your hands helped me up and then granted me a water bottle because I need to stay hydrated. Especially when I'm this drunk.
One bare footstep in front of the other with two chivalrous men on either side of me. Dark hair getting in my eyes and fingers grasping my elbow and footsteps faltering and stumbling until my body leaned onto yours. Lightheaded and floating and unable to keep my head straight. I heard the murmurs and the chuckling but neither kept my body weight from finding you...
A muffled song replaying over and over again. The blurred vision of a rotating ceiling fan. Round and round and round at a speed I couldn't keep up with. Cracked walls and a lamp producing a somewhat decent amount of lighting. Chain bolted door with one, two, three, four locks. Uncomfortable faux leather beneath me in what I believe is a worn couch. And then my wrists, bound by ordinary rope you could buy at a hardware store. My ankles submitted to the same restrainment. My throat oddly dry and emitting a bitter taste on my tongue when I realized the cloth stuffed in my mouth. That is when my eyes snapped open and I began screaming. Screaming and screaming despite the energy it was consuming.
"Shit, shit, shit," I heard a voice, footsteps, "fucking shut up, bitch. Shut up." Desperate and manical speaking, crazed eyes that approached me and then found my body that I just noticed was bare. Entirely undressed save for my lace panties.
My screams slowly converted into ugly, heaving sobs. Tears blurring my vision and slipping down my face, cries muffled by this cloth. I'm going to die.
"Shut her up. Shut her up!" The same voice spoke to another.
The same four pairs of eyes looking down at me. The same two male faces, no longer so genuine.
And then you got onto your knees, cupping my too-warm face and examining my running makeup. "It's okay. It's okay, we're not gonna hurt you. Sshhh, stop screaming."
But your attempt at reassurance only did worse until my body was writhing, my limbs flailing to remove myself from this imprisonment. But, fuck, the ropes were tight and digging into my delicate skin. Everything I did was worthless and only made me look like a flopping fish out of water.
I felt the pad of your thumb beneath my eye, wiping away at the soaked, stained skin.
"You'll be good for us, no?" You said. The walls of my world collapsed inward at that moment. My night at the bar soon shifted into something far far worse than my worst nightmares.
The plan wasn't to kill me. It was never to kill me.
"A slut like you deserves this anyway. Dressing so naughty and tempting men."
My kicking was useless as hands found their way up my thighs, nearing my cunt with suspensive touches. My breasts fondled and groped and tortured. My legs grabbed and flipped up until my knees hit my chest. Cold air met my cunt as the crotch of my panties was pushed to the side. An unwanted finger sliding between my pussy lips, teasing my girly hole and then finding my clit. Gentle circles around the sensitive nub that made me squirm and twitch.
I couldn't help it. It was instinctive. Only natural for me to become aroused. Only natural for my cunnie to get wet, and wetter with each new touch. I was still crying as you swiped away my tears, cooing and praising.
Please please please, make it stop. Make it stop. I don't want this.
One finger inside my soft cunt. Then another. And then they were thrusting in and out of me, sloshing in my unapproved wetness and I could only lay there and squirm.
A cock inside of my cunnie and then my head was turned to the side, a cock down my throat aswell. I was sputtering and twitching, trying my best to jerk back. But the back of my head kept hitting the armrest painfully. Your fingers dug into my hair and gripped the dark roots, achingly tight. I screwed my eyes closed and prayed, wished, pleaded for this to be over. I tried to find another reality that wasn't this one, but with cock forcefully shoved down my throat, it was useless.
Please please please. Stop. Just stop.
Struggling to suck in air. All the while, thrusting in and out of my cunt with furious brutality. Balls slapping against my ass. So deep, so uncomfortably deep. Hitting my cervix again and again. And oh my God, did it hurt- but it was only natural. Only natural for my body to enjoy it.
With a gasp from me, you yanked out of my throat. I revelled in the break and finally relaxed my jaw, panting harshly. Your large hand was rough against my chin, which you held upwards. My tits bouncing as he rammed into me. Getting himself off. Using me. And then reaching his own climax with a groan.
Reaching his own climax.
Fuck fuck fuck nononononono. NO!
My entire world crumbled at one moment. One brief moment where I was in the most uncomfortable position, cramps breaking out in my hips which were held up right. My body practically folded in half by the man keeping it that way. And there I fell limp, lost in a split second that crashed over me like furious waves.
Hot cum dripping out of my fertile cunt.
That same horrid song on loop. The spin spin spin of the ceiling fan. The dimmed light of the nearly spent lightbulb. Faux leather glueing to my sweaty skin. The panting, the stickiness, the skin-on-skin.
Fuck.
Hehe (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧
#rapekink#rapetoy#r4p3 m3#r@pe b@it#r@petoy#r@pe kink#r@pe play#r@pe fantasy#r@pe k!nk#forcedsex#intox kink#intox cnc#forced intox#abuse k1nk#abuse me pls#cnc somno#cnc kidnapping#kidnap fantasy
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the bouquet
lilac, chapter six
a/n: those kind of wet dreams are the best for real... like a fucking spell has been put on you, damn....
summary: “they should really put a warning up on those, plucking flowers is a dangerous thing.”
warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, smut, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, renovating an inn, no work gloves this time purely for the slutty need of hands, patching up a porch, wet dream, masturbation, townies thirsting over frank, pov shift (the end is from frank's), going to a bar, alcohol consumption, lots of pining
word count: 2253
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“H-holy shit,” you blew out a shaky breath as you blinked open your heavy lids to stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom.
Haven stirred from a dream but moments before, the imagery your mind had coaxed you with had been so intense that you still felt half asleep when you woke.
Half asleep and dripping wet.
Subconsciously, your hand had crept down below your pyjama pants before you’d even opened your eyes, determined to finish the job your fantasy had started.
Tangled in the sheets, it felt like you were still dreaming, the powerful and alluring imagery possessing your mind making it impossible not to tremble in want and near the edge faster than you’d thought imaginable.
But as your body laid there reeling in the afterglow, buzzing pearl sensitive beneath your fingertips, that’s when you truly woke and realised what, or whom, your carnal vision had been about. Who’s touch had felt so real, lips so sweet and words so honeyed…
Squinting up at the blossoming lilac flowers, the sun shined directly into your eyes as you raised yourself up onto your tip toes to see if you could reach them. The lower ones already plucked and secure in your left fist, your fingertips barely skimmed the deep green leaves on the gnarly branches you were attempting to grasp.
With an airy huff, you looked around the garden and quickly spotted a weathered fold-up chair that could no doubt grant you the necessary centimetres.
While dragging it over to the right spot underneath the blooming shrub, you feared that the old seat would be too wobbly for you to be able to balance on, though when you tried, it turned out to sink enough down into the grass to make the boost be just stable enough to hold you.
After snapping a few of the flowers off the branches, you came across one that was much fuller and more striking than the others already in your grasp, though when you tried to give it a firm tug, the unexpected stubbornness of the twig caused you to let out a curse for why you hadn’t brought out a pair of scissors with you.
“Come on,” you mumbled through your gritted teeth as you yanked at it, eventually leaning back to utilise some of your body weight, though when you did, when your spine reached a curved enough angle, that’s when the damn flower decided to snap off, sending you tumbling down to your doom.
Though as you let out a shrill yelp, you never managed to hit the ground, as you instead fell into a quick pair of arms.
“Wow, I’ve got you,” the deep voice alone caused your face to go flush.
“Uh,” you blinked up into the eyes of the one and only man whom your brain had decided to have a filthy dream about just last night, “h-hi!”
“Are you okay?” his strong grip on your form caused the vivid fantasy to come rushing back with a vengeance.
“Mhm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering hazily, “I’m good, I’m great,” your chest heaved as you then haphazardly raised up the bouquet in your grasp, “you know, just getting some flowers for the tables and stuff…”
“Yeah, I can see that,” an amused cock to his brow swiftly appeared, “I’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he said clearly, in a tone as if you’d hit your head.
Nodding fuzzily, “okay,” your hands, still tightly wound around the pastel blossoms, rested in support on either side of his broad shoulders long after he’d planted you back down on the ground.
“You good?” his head dipped to search your features, fiery touch still lingering on your waist a moment longer before it faded away.
“Yep,” you averted your gaze, awkwardly gesturing up towards the grand shrub, “they should really put a warning up on those, plucking flowers is a dangerous thing,” finally peeling your palms away from his radiating warmth, “but, uh, thank you for catching me.”
Tongue sweeping out in an effort to snuff out his beguiled smile, he gazed down at you and uttered, “any time.”
“So, um,” you cleared your throat, recalling why he was actually here today, “do you have t-the wood?”
“Yeah, it’s in the truck,” he gestured back over his shoulder towards the façade of the inn where the dirt road ended, widening out into a small patch before the veranda of the building flourished, his loaded vehicle indeed being vaguely visible from back here, “but we don’t have to work on the porch today if you don’t feel up for it.”
“No, no, I’m ready,” you hastily shook your head, shifting all of the florets into one hand, “there have been giant holes in that thing for as long as I can remember, so I am more than ready to bid them adieu.”
“Great, then I’ll just go get it while you finish this up.”
“Oh, I’m actually done, I was just supposed to get them for my dad,” you then heard yourself adding, “also, I can’t in good conscience make you carry that stuff all alone,” nearly poking him with the bouquet as you implored, “I mean, you’re already helping me out so much around here, it just wouldn’t be fair,” raising up a pleading finger, your feet then began to back up, slowly carrying you towards the backdoor, “just give me one second, let me run in with this real quick and then I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he offered you even a hint of confirmation, your stride took off, rushing indoors, chest heaving as you eventually caught yourself on the kitchen counter, though not from your speedy pace.
Settling the flowers down, your fingers grasped the edge of the cool tabletop, nearly doubling over as you sucked in calming breaths in an attempt to rid your body of the tingling sensations the lingering dream triggered.
When you eventually swung the doors back open, a purposeful shake of your clammy palms on either side of your frame was the last attempt you made to cool down.
Shoving the passenger side door shut, paint-chipped toolbox acquired and firm in his hand, you walked towards Pete as he unlatched the bed of the truck where lengthy planks of wood lay stacked.
“Hey,” you hesitantly called out as you neared him, his head rotating at the sound of your voice, “I just wanna apologise again for what happened that day at your cabin…”
“Christ, not this again,” he set the toolbox down with a heavy clank, “Y/n, you can’t keep doing this.”
“But-”
“No,” he nearly chuckled, “you literally did nothing wrong! One was an accident,” he counted on his fingers, “we’ve already established that, and the other? Sweetheart, that’s not something you should apologise for.”
Brows knit tightly together, you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, “but I cried, like really cried, and dumped all of that shit on you…”
“You didn’t dump anything, you shared,” he countered, “hey, look at me,” dipping his head down to catch your tense vision, he then continued softly, “I know that it was uncomfortable for you, but that doesn’t mean it was wrong,” his wide palm reassuringly found the top of your shoulder, “it’s not wrong to talk about something that’s hard, that’s the kind of shit that helps you move on from it,” searching you edgy expression a moment, his warm touch then faltered in favour of the pile of lumber, sliding one of the long stacks out as he urged light-heartedly, “now shut up and grab the other end of this,” gliding it out far enough for you to grasp the other end.
After curving halfway around the porch, you halted, “hold up,” fingers screaming out from the way the weight dug into your soft palms, “stop, one second,” you tried to prop your knee up under the many planks, “I just need to hold onto it a little differently.”
Glancing back at you, “okay,” he muttered before the lumber gingerly swung away from you, careful not to collide with you as he unexpectedly hauled the long and hefty bundle up in a more secure hold on his broad shoulder, “I can also just carry these the rest of the way, if you want,” the nonchalant offer coming out as if the timber didn’t weight a thing at all.
“Uh…” your breath became a thing of the past as your eyes fixated on the way his burly muscles bulged under his rolled-up sleeves.
“I think maybe if you go back and just grab one or two on your own it won’t be such a pain on your hands. I mean, no offence, I’m just–”
“No, that sounds great, you just–, uh,” your fumbling words cut off his suggestion as your feet already began to drag you back towards his truck, “I’ll go get some–, uhm, yeah…”
Dark hair gently falling down and tickling his brow, Pete’s eyes were fast on the plank under his broad palm as he fastened in two screws, securing the board and gradually patching up the gaping hole on the deck.
Kneeling as well, your clutch on the other end of the slat didn’t do much in the way of holding it in place. Your whole body felt like jelly as you caught sight of the way the veins on the back of his hand popped out from the stain of pressing down on the buzzing drill, forcing the screw to embed itself into the wood.
Lips slightly parted, you swore you felt your cunt clench around nothing as you fought the urge to let out an embarrassing whimper.
Pete’s head barely raised as his index finger slacked its force on the bulky button, unceremoniously passing the power tool to you as he had done a dozen times by now so that you could take care of the task in the other end, “here,” though when you didn’t move to snatch it out of his grasp, his features perked up, “Y/n?” letting out a short whistle in order to snap you out of your trance.
“Yeah?” your pulse thumped between your thighs, “oh, thanks,” giving your head a swift shake before you seized the gimlet and huffed out a big exhale, hoping you weren’t blushing as hard as it felt like you were.
As you clutched the drill, screwing in a few bolts on your side of the porch, a voice from the garden caught your ears.
“You know, my second husband was a carpenter,” you spotted Donna right on the other side of the railing, wafting a bright floral fan mere inches from her amble bosom as if she was some saucy Victorian woman in heat, “I’ve always loved a man who’s good with his hands…”
Her obvious innuendo made you bite down on your grin in order to not burst out a laugh.
Sucking in a controlled and mildly impatient breath, Pete averted his gaze and uttered formally, “hello ma'am.”
“It’s awfully chilly these nights, don’t you think?” the rotund woman continued to brashly bat her eyelashes at him, “perhaps you could personally come fill up my stack of firewood? Help warm me up a bit?”
“Ma'am, I already informed you before,” he kept his tone polite yet detached, “I don’t do deliveries, I just drop firewood off at the market, but perhaps someone there could help bring some to you.”
Pushing the doors open to the unacquainted roadside bar Frank found himself at, he had no idea how long he’d been driving for, simply that the sky had turned black long after he reached uncharted land in his desperate attempt at clearing his foggy mind.
“Evening,” the proprietor greeted him as he slumped down at the bar, “what can I get you?”
“Just a beer,” Frank answered distantly, his head elsewhere as it had unfortunately become acquainted with ever since nothing short of an angel had walked into his life.
“You’ve got it,” the bartender swiftly reached down into one of the compact coolers hiding back there and conjured an emerald flask, popping the lid off with an opener at his belt just before he slid it across the counter towards him, “here you are.”
Offering a courteous nod, “thanks,” Frank then began to drown his sorrows.
The establishment was mostly empty, only he and one other customer on the other side of the bar acted as its sole patrons.
“Hey,” the other man soon barked, “can I get a refill over here?” he lifted up his stout glass and tapped a ringed finger against the side, “and from the top shelf this time, I don’t want any more of this cheap hillbilly shit you try and call whiskey.”
When the bartender obliged, unable to hide how visibly peeved the rude customer made him feel, Frank’s eye line followed the proprietor’s movements as he served up the drink, still lazily fixated as he handed it off into the boorish man’s inked hand. Swiftly downing it as he rose from his tall stool, Frank’s tired vision momentarily got a chance to rest on the reptilian tattoo that decorated the back of the stranger's right hand. His sharp suit rose up ever so slightly to reveal that the striking design curled even higher on his tan skin than what was visible, before he promptly slammed it back down, along with crumbled compensation, and left, the sound of a garish engine soon acting as his last and final farewell.
© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble
#lea’s writing#lilac series#lumberjack!frank castle#frank castle x reader#frank castle smut#frank castle imagine#frank castle x you#frank castle x y/n#frank castle x female reader#frank castle x fem!reader#frank castle x f!reader#frank castle fic#the punisher fic#frank castle fanfiction#the punisher x reader#frank castle fluff#frank castle series#lumberjack au#frank castle hurt/comfort#frank castle angst#the punisher smut
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GASLIGHT - andrei svechnikov
Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x Reader (f)
Summary: A dance of desperation, destruction, and desire with the man who broke your heart.
Word Count: 5.4K
Author’s Note: This is about a year in the making thanks to the thirsty, depraved minds of @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech. Inspired strongly by gaslight by inji, I present to you: toxic, cocky ex Andrei.
Warnings: Toxic relationship, dubcon/drunk consent, infidelity. Alcohol use/mention. Smut (18+ ONLY): Unprotected sex, very public sex/exhibitionism, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), heavy degradation, Andrei has a filthy mouth.
Your media consumption is your responsibility. Do not proceed if any of the above warnings will trigger, hurt, or offend you.
Masterlist / Moodboard
In all fairness, you knew Andrei Svechnikov was trouble as soon as your eyes locked with his at that fateful frat party, bathed in a deep blue light strobing on the ceiling. Even then, it was etched into his handsome face, his smile far too confident to be anything but a terrible, terrible idea. But you were young, dumb, and all too willing to fall for the broad Russian with the dimples and a body that looked like it was sculpted out of clay. He was way too hot to resist, and really, what’s a girl to do?
In all honesty, he was sweet at first, even genuine. He held the door open for you, walked you to class, let you wear his jersey. He swept you off your feet with an ease that should’ve had your radar beeping, but you were already in too deep to notice. Besides, you had no reason to believe that the handsome, charming boy with a toothy smile would be anything but wonderful.
Oh, how wrong you were.
When you look back on the chapter of your life regretfully titled ‘Andrei’, the pages stained with tears and spilled ink from all of the letters you never sent, you’ll remember the red flags that you didn’t notice (or maybe willfully ignored), heading straight into a myriad of heartbreak. You two were toxic together, in a seemingly endless cycle of hurt and betrayal.
But it was hands down, unequivocally, the best sex you’ve ever had.
And that’s what kept you coming back, even when he’d pull his shit and make his excuses for the hickeys on his neck that you didn’t put there or the purple thong on his floor that was a size too small for you. You’d turn a blind eye, pretending not to see, pretending that it didn’t sting after the sweet nothings he’d whisper to you after a night in his sheets.
The real turning point of your relationship was when you saw him leaving your sorority house the morning after a night out, a clear walk of shame—except you’d gone to bed alone. Seeing the bedhead and hickeys on your sorority sister, Callie, was all you needed to put the pieces together, your heart shattering for the first time.
So, after crying until you made yourself sick, drinking more tequila than you’d care to admit, you brushed yourself off, rose from the ashes, and did what any logical and sane girl would do in your shoes: fuck his teammate. And then another. And another. You took your rage and all of the hurt that simmered beneath your surface and channeled it into sweet, satisfying, addicting revenge. The orgasms weren’t quite the same, but you were surprised at how good getting even felt. Seeing the look on his face when he’d come down the stairs to find you in the kitchen, in a ratty old t-shirt of one of his friends… priceless.
From then on, you and Andrei were locked in what felt like an eternal battle at who could out-toxic the other. You thrived on knowing you were riling him up, getting under his skin, burrowing your way into his psyche to ensure he’d never forget you and would forever regret betraying you. You were the one who got away, not the other way around.
From the moment you stepped into the bar that fateful night, instantly feeling his eyes crawling over your legs, you couldn’t deny that you had voluntarily set yourself up for it. Unable to resist his charm, dripping in honey, trouble etched into the predatory gaze he held on you, there was no way you were getting out unscathed.
His white button-up is a size too small, hugging his muscles in a way that makes the fabric fight against the buttons in the middle. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the corded muscle of his forearms on display, the expensive watch sitting on his thick wrist. He wears it everywhere he goes, so you know he couldn’t have done it on purpose, but you can’t help but feel he knew you’d be there tonight, exposing it with the sole intention of driving you wild.
So, it’s only to be expected that you make your way over to a friend of his, slinking up beside him at the bar with a seductive smile and wide eyes, leaning into him and letting your hand rest on his bicep while you laugh at his joke. It feels over the top—because it is—but you’re fueled by the knowledge that Andrei will be fuming once he sees it. It’s the same old cat-and-mouse game that you always play, pushing his buttons even from afar.
It makes for the best foreplay.
Your new beau—Scott—struts off to the bar, smug at how easy his win tonight is. He barely had to work to have you hanging all over him, and the prospect of getting you into his bed at the end of the night is all but a slam dunk. Your eyes watch him, appreciatively admiring the broad shoulders and built back, envisioning what it’ll look like littered with angry, red scratches from your pristine, hot pink nails.
He saunters up behind you, and you feel his presence without even needing to turn around.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His words, heavily accented, are slurred—just slightly, but enough for you to know he’s been heavy on the vodka tonics. Part of you wonders if your antics with Scott have influenced his state of mind. Judging by the way his arms are crossed, revealing the curve of his enormous bicep and the thickness of his forearms, you’d wager that they have.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Andrei,” you say, tossing your hair back, dismissing him instantly.
“Cut the shit, sweetheart,” he sneers. His eyes drag shamelessly over your figure, heat lingering where his gaze travels. “That’s the third one of my teammates you’ve tried to fuck.”
“Fourth, actually.”
“Do you actually want them, or are you just whoring around my friends to get a rise out of me?”
“That’s rich,” you scoff, voice dripping with distaste. The absolute nerve on this guy. “Can’t handle the thought of your friend fucking me better than you?”
Andrei’s smile is sickly sweet. “We both know that was never the issue, sweetheart.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. Memories of late nights punctured by a thick Russian accent, bite marks that turned into bruises that lasted for days flood your mind, a phantom touch along your hip making your shiver.
“Where's your new bitch?” you pivot. “Let me guess, busy taking your Insta pics?”
His smirk grows, enough to reveal his missing tooth. The mockery in his tone drips from every word as he says, “That’s no way to talk about your sister.”
You bite back your grimace and the urge to say, “That’s not my sister,” but unfortunately he’s picked up your strategy of ticking off your friends on his bedpost one by one, and this latest iteration has landed him in bed with your suitemate, Jenna. When she broke up with her long-term boyfriend, you knew it was only a matter of time before Andrei swooped in with his handsome smile, dimples, and delicious muscles, sisterhood be damned. The fact that you two shared a wall was only the cherry on top.
With a glance at the bar, you see that Scott is stuck in line, your 3rd Mezcal margarita too far away. He sends you an apologetic shrug, gesturing to the growing crowd and signaling to wait for him. Your lips curl into a forced smile, blowing a kiss and offering a cheeky wave.
Andrei shifts on his feet, amused at the overzealous act that his idiotic linemate seems to be buying. With another glance across your figure, doing far more than just undressing you with his eyes, he sidles back up to you. With the way you look, he supposes he shouldn’t expect to resist.
“Seems like your man is gonna be a while. Dance with me?” he whispers into your ear. You ignore the way the heat from his breath travels down your spine, arousal instantly pooling through you despite every nerve in your body trying to fight it.
“I’m not your girlfriend, Andrei.”
“Doesn’t mean two old friends can’t have a dance,” he counters.
You resist the urge to snort at the label, as if you were ever friends. It’s the same look in his eye as always, the one that got your heart broken a thousand times before, but you find your hand slipping into his—ignoring the sheer size of it compared to yours—and letting him lead you into the throng of people anyways.
The way Andrei’s firm body slots up behind yours is far too easy, his hands all too familiar on your hips as he pulls you into him, forcing a slow and steady grind to the beat of the music. It should be shocking the way that Jenna—and Scott—completely slips from your mind, replaced by the feeling of his groin pressed against the curve of your ass.
“Look so fucking hot tonight,” he purrs in your ear. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, but your body reacts involuntarily when his praise goes straight between your legs. “Made my dick hard just looking at you.”
“Wouldn’t want your girl hearing you talk like that,” you manage to retort, shaking away the arousal that threatens to warm your entire body.
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“That what you said about me?” you ask, ignoring the pang of hurt that strikes your heart. It’s the first—and only—glimpse of a real emotion, hidden beneath snark and quick remarks.
“Aw, baby, let’s let the past stay in the past,” Andrei says, deflecting by pressing your ass against his groin, allowing you to feel the firmness beneath his zipper. The flash of any serious conversation disappears when the tips of his fingers graze against the underside of your breast, fostering the spread of goosebumps over your body. It’s a diversion, and you hate that it works; his hands have always been a source of weakness for you.
Heat simmers in your core, gradually growing until it’s bubbling; his hands crawling over your body while your hips move in sync with his. The chance of rekindling whatever you had before is long gone, and you’re well past any apology or reparation, so you might as well have fun with it, right?
His hands trail fire down your sides, over the bare skin between your top and skirt, to your bare leg. You’ve lost the ability to speak, to protest—not that you would—when you feel his fingers curl under the hem, tugging it up until you're all but entirely exposed, challenging you to resist. The air, though warm from the crowd, feels heavenly on your hot thighs, cool against the damp fabric of your panties. Your body gives an involuntary shiver when one large hand splays possessively over your hip, the other creeping over to the inside of your thigh.
You know what Andrei’s up to, and as much as you hate him, there’s not a single ounce in your body that wants to stop him. Your legs fall open against your will, making more space for his hand.
“Fucking soaked,” he sneers, laughing at the way you shudder when his finger barely grazes your clit, pressing against the wet scrap of fabric covering your modesty. “Knew you would be. You can never get enough of me, can you?”
Refusing to give in so easily, you reply by slowing the roll of your hips, pressing further against his groin to grind against him. His chuckle is low in your ear, amused at your attempt to keep the playing field even. The pad of his middle finger runs over your pussy, collecting the wetness that’s seeping through the cotton.
Andrei’s hand stays gripped on your thigh while the other comes up to press his finger against your lips. You can taste your own essence on the tip of his finger, coating your lip with the moisture. It presses into your mouth, pushing against your tongue in a display of dominance; though you want to push him away, your body betrays you and your lips close around his digit, sucking hard.
The sound of your moan when he roughly tugs your panties to the side is covered by the heavy bass pumping through the room. The lights are dim enough, strobing around to hide the way Andrei plunges a thick finger into you, though admittedly you wouldn’t notice or care if someone were to spot you, the thought making you even hotter.
“Always so fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs in your ear, shifting his hand to add another finger. “Dripping all over my hand like a fucking whore.”
“Andrei,” you whisper, fruitlessly, the sound of your voice swallowed by the electronic wobs of the remixed rap song overhead. Your resolve is slipping quickly, with each deep twist of his fingers inside of you, knees losing strength with every passing moment. Maybe it’s the cocktail, or maybe it’s just him; either way, you’re intoxicated.
His marriage and middle pump their way into you, the slick between your thighs making it all too easy for him to slide them in and out. Your eyes flutter shut, head lolling back slightly when he strokes you perfectly, even despite the awkward angle of his wrist, shoved between your legs in the middle of a sweaty, crowded room. So far, no one’s seemed to notice—or perhaps, if they did, they just opted to ignore it.
“Fuck, kisa,” he murmurs, and the heat in his voice makes you clench around his digits. It’s rough, deep in your ear, followed by what you presume is cursing in Russian. Andrei grips your hips so tightly you’re certain there’ll be fingerprint-sized bruises on them tomorrow. “Such a desperate whore for me, you’d let me take you right here in front of everyone, wouldn’t you?”
His finger presses against your g-spot in a way that has your resolve completely melting; suddenly, all you can focus on is the feeling that’s blooming in your core, flooding pleasure through your veins. Fuck it.
“Fuck yeah, give it to me.”
You’re not really serious, at least not entirely, but your stomach flutters with excitement when you feel one of his hands fidgeting behind your ass, fishing out his erection to press it against you. He’s hard, and you can feel the way he throbs against you through the thin material of your skirt. Admittedly, you had missed that specific part of him. No one, not even his linemate Scott with the big dick, could replicate Andrei.
“This what you want, huh? Want it deep in that little cunt?” he says, tapping himself lightly against your ass in the limited space he has between your bodies. “Guess my dick doesn’t know how much of a bitch you are.”
“Probably because your dick has been inside way bigger bitches than me,” you bite back, the throb between your legs not enough to cull the sass and bitterness that lingers just beneath the surface. If his fingers weren’t just buried between your thighs, you probably would’ve had more to say about the matter.
When you feel the curl of his fingers tugging the material of your skirt up farther, you arch into him, your senses ablaze with adrenaline. You can’t help it, giving into the way you throb, empty, waiting for him to soothe the need with the harsh thrust of his cock.
Andrei is slow, drawing out your torture. He keeps his hips pressed against your backside, shielding his erection with your ass, because you are still in public, after all. His large hand grips your hip while the other reaches between your bodies, and you let out a whimper when you feel his tip lining up with your entrance.
He pushes in, slowly, mainly to avoid attracting attention. His hands flex against your waist, pulling you into him and encouraging you to resume the grind of your hips; only this time, his dick is buried deep inside of you and he’s pressed directly against your g-spot. He hasn’t been inside you for 5 seconds and your legs are already shaking, trying desperately to steady your breathing while heat floods through your body.
Even through the loud music, you can hear the way Andrei grunts lowly in your ear, and you’re pleased to know he’s just as strung out as you, fucking you in the middle of a dance floor. His hips begin to push forward, subtly, forcing you to feel each inch and ridge of his cock dragging in and out of your soaked pussy. Large hands crawl over your hips, guiding them to gyrate against him and using your body to drive himself deeper inside of you.
It shouldn’t feel so good, getting blatantly fucked by your sworn enemy in the middle of a sweaty crowd, grinding shamelessly on his dick. But the beat syncs with his thrusts, heat flooding your system as he hits the perfect spot at the perfect pace to have your legs squeezing tightly around him.
“You been thinkin’ about this?” he whispers in your ear, and you can hear the smug smirk on his face. “Think about you while I’m fucking Jenna sometimes. She’s hot, but her cunt isn’t as tight as this one.”
“You’re—” you gasp when he delivers a hard thrust at the beat drop of the song that’s playing, “—such a fucking dick.”
“Aw, but you love it, don’t you?”
You hate him. Him and everything that he’s done to you—breaking your heart, picking up the pieces, only to shatter it again. There had been more nights spent crying over him than nights with him, screaming into your pillow until there were no tears left in your body. Worse than that, he’d turned you into someone you barely knew: someone who takes the low road and stoops to his level when you know you deserve better than all of it.
But damn, if you don’t love the way he fucks you.
It happens before you even have a chance to think about how you’ll mask it, instead crying out as your body goes limp against Andrei’s. His strong arms hold you in place, stilling his hips to feel the way your cunt clenches around him as your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami. The sound of your moan is swallowed by the bass, evaporating into thin air before it has the chance to make its way to any of the club’s patrons around you.
“Fuck,” Andrei husks in your ear, breath heavy against your skin. Your walls flutter around him as he lets the waves siphon through your shaking limbs. “Barely had to do any work for you to fall apart on my cock, huh? Comin’ for me like the pretty little slut you are.”
The retort you want to snap back doesn’t come out, mind still completely blown from the force of your climax. Your heart pounds in your throat, pussy clenching weakly around his thick cock, and you know you have no space to try and pretend he didn’t feel the way you came all over it.
“You gonna give me another one, dorogoy?”
“Drei,” you choke out, a wave of clarity splashing over you. “Not here.”
He hums, the vibration in his chest pressed against your back, so deep that it travels down your spine. “Unfortunate. But I suppose getting arrested for public indecency probably isn’t very good for my career.”
Behind you, you feel him tucking himself back into his pants, using your body to shield the way he adjusts before he’s gripping your arm and dragging you with him. “C’mon. M’not done until your face is painted with my cum.”
He doesn’t bother to fix your skirt, and you’re frantically tugging it back down to cover yourself as he leads you through the crowd. The next thing you know, you’re being pushed into the dark, dingy bathroom before his hands are pushing your crop top up, exposing your bra. Your eyes glance to the unlocked door when he tugs the cups of your bra down.
“Nah, a slut like you doesn’t need privacy,” he purrs, like he’s reading your mind. His eyes glitter as he follows your line of sight. “I wouldn’t even bother charging anyone who walks in for the show. S’a free for all.”
He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s roughly pushing you against the countertop, growling when he pulls your skirt back up your hips. Your mouth opens to protest, but he speaks over you. “It’s so cute when you act all modest, but we both know you’re a cheap whore, huh? Pretendin’ that you wouldn’t like an audience. Like you wouldn’t let me bend you over one of those cocktail tables out there.”
“Think you wanna get caught, Svechnikov,” you tease, pressing your ass back against his pelvis, grinding on him in the same movements as earlier—only this time, you’re an orgasm deep, and you have at least some semblance of privacy, so you have no reservations. Your eyes lock with his in the reflection, holding his gaze. “Looking for an excuse to end things with Jenna, are you?”
“Nah, I think I’ll keep her around,” he says with a smile, pushing at your back to press your breasts against the cold countertop. “She’s a good fuck.”
“You gonna fuck me, or you just gonna talk about her? I can go get her, if you want. Catch her up on the details.”
With a laugh, Andrei tsks. “So impatient. Didn’t your mother ever teach you about manners?”
“More than yours ever taught you, that’s for sure,” you spit back. If only his mother knew the things he’d done and said to you; you’re sure she’d have plenty to say about her son’s behavior.
Andrei pulls himself out of his pants, fisting his dick before he’s dropping a wad of spit on the tip, running it through your folds. In the mirror, you see him watching the way it melds with your slick, coating the head of his dick. “I love when you talk dirty to me. Makes me so fuckin’ hard.”
He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of having the last word, shooting back whatever sassy comeback is lingering on your tongue, instead pushing into you so quickly a gasp is ripped from your throat. His hips press hard against your ass, buried to the hilt so you can throb around the entirety of him. “So tight, ‘specially for a cunt that gets used so often.”
The degradation pours out of his mouth, a hot wave of arousal trailing up your spine with every word. He’s the only one that can pull it off, igniting the blue flame inside of you with filthy whispers, paired perfectly with each precise thrust. His hands dig into your hips, pulling you back against him roughly, loud slaps of your ass against his pelvis echoing around the room.
A large hand makes its way up your spine, slipping into your hair and tugging you back until your spine is arched and his chest is pressed against your back. You take in your own reflection in the mirror, cheeks growing warm at the sight: hair mussed, makeup smeared, clothes disheveled across your frame. At the apex of your thighs, you can’t help but stare at his thick cock driving into you, glistening with your slick.
Andrei hums lowly in your ear. “Look at you, filthy fuckin’ whore with your tits out, getting this slutty little cunt destroyed by my dick.”
“Andrei,” you gasp out—whether at the filth spewing out of his mouth, or from the way he’s driving into you, relentless, you aren’t sure.
“Yeah, baby, you gonna come?”
Your reply is a choked cry. “No–”
“No? Yeah, you are, can feel the way you’re gripping my cock. You’re gonna gush all over me.”
Your hand betrays you, slipping from the edge of the counter to paw at your clit. His chuckle makes your cheeks hot, burning even hotter when his breath fans against your neck. “Say ‘please.’”
The last shred of dignity you have left lodges in your throat, and you glare at him in the reflection, refusing to take his bait. His eyebrow raises, and a moment later, his hips cease their movements.
An involuntary whine claws its way out of your throat, feeling the way your pussy flutters helplessly around him. You know he can feel it, too, judging by the way his eyes glitter as he looks at you. His voice is deep, rumbling lowly in your ear, “We both know you want it. Need it. Scott wasn’t gonna give it to you, was he? Not like this. Not like me.”
You purse your lips, shaking your head. You’re not quite sure what game you’re playing, not when he can read you like a book, can feel the evidence of your pending release, pulsing desperately around him. Begging.
When you don’t answer, still stubbornly clinging onto your last, desperate piece of humility, his hand slithers up to roughly grope at your breast. He massages, then pinches your peaked nipple between two large fingers. “Use your manners.”
Your hips cant backwards, attempting to goad him into moving—all you need is just a little bit, and you’ll be falling off the cliff into oblivion. He chuckles, hips moving quickly to avoid being sheathed fully inside you; you’re reprimanded with a slap to your breast. No words are necessary; he isn’t going to bother repeating himself, so you steel yourself and say with a shaky voice, “P-please, Andrei.”
A satisfied smirk curls onto his stupid, handsome face as he releases your breast, knocking your own hand out of the way to rub at your clit as he resumes the same brutal rhythm as before. The warmth of his finger sends a spark up your spine, heightening the pleasure that surges through you.
“C’mon, kisa. Come on it.”
You have no choice but to obey, the world shattering around you after freezing entirely for the briefest of moments. You swear your soul leaves your body in the middle of that dingy bathroom in the city’s hottest club; one set of fingers pressed against your throbbing clit, the other gripping the edge of the countertop, holding on for dear life. The sound of Andrei’s groan of satisfaction is deep in your ear, approving of the way your hips twitch in his hands.
“You’re so pretty when you come,” he says, patronizing, nipping affectionately at your shoulder. You don’t have it in you to roll your eyes, but you sigh loudly when he pulls out of you; the empty void in your pussy is devastating. “On your knees, sweetheart. Gotta clean up the mess you made.”
He isn’t rough, but he isn’t entirely gentle as he encourages you to your knees; you do your best not to imagine what is on the sticky, tiled floor of the bathroom—or the last time it was cleaned. Andrei smirks as he tilts his head down to look at you. “Knew I’d get you back here someday.”
“You want me to suck your dick or not?”
“I do,” he says slowly. “But I know you want that even more.”
Now, you do roll your eyes, ignoring him and leaning forward to take him in your mouth.
“Ah ah ah,” he stops you. You hate that he makes you feel like a greedy child going for a piece of candy before you say ‘thank you’. “Want you to say it.”
“Fuck you,” you spit out.
“Already did, sweetheart,” he winks, and you scowl in response. He’s the worst when he’s right.
“Wanna suck your dick, Andrei,” you say reluctantly, the words tasting awful in your mouth. You’re tempted to slap the smug look on his stupid, handsome face.
Your eyes draw to the way he takes his length in his hand, stroking it slowly. “Want it in your throat, hm?”
A glare, burning hot, shot in his direction. He watches you, expectant, and you know he’s waiting for you to repeat his words. The sooner you say it, the sooner it’ll be over. “Want it in my throat.”
“Want me to spill my cum all over that pretty face?” he smirks. You swallow, hot from the inside out.
“Want you to come all over my face, Drei.”
It sounds so sincere he pauses to stare. Then the smirk returns. “Aw, baby, all you had to do was ask.”
His dick meets your lips and you whimper as soon as it presses into your mouth. The weight of him is familiar, almost comforting on your tongue, though the width of him is something you never got used to. He’s big, and he knows it.
“Forgot how much I like the way you look with my cock stuffed in your mouth,” he says, pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his unzipped pants to snap a photo of you. “Should I post on my private story, you think?”
“You post and I’ll never suck your dick again, Svechnikov.”
“Don’t worry, kisa,” he coos. “Want to keep that for my eyes only. Now, put that pretty mouth to work, yeah?”
With a scoff, you roll your eyes and part your lips again—reluctantly. You can’t explain why, but there’s an inexplicable urge to have him back in your mouth, to deliver the pleasure he never fails to offer you.
To keep him addicted to you the same way you are him.
He presses in, doesn’t give you the time to adjust before he’s hitting the back of your throat, nor does he bother to hide his dark chuckle when you choke, tears brimming in your eyes. With a groan, his thrusts grow quicker, drool spilling out the side of your mouth.
“Not sure what I like fucking more: your cunt or your face,” he drawls, accent thick as he draws closer to his release. Thick fingers card through your hair, securing a hold at the back of your head and you blink away the stream of tears pooling in your eyes. A string of broken Russian falls from his mouth, eyes squeezed shut while his hips increase their pace. “Fuckin’ love when you gag on it though, baby.”
Andrei lets out another loud groan and a frantic series of thrusts before he’s pulling out of your mouth quickly, wrapping his fingers around length and stroking himself. He jerks a few times before releasing another curse in Russian before he spills onto your face, dripping thickly over your skin.
“Fuck,” he says, this time in English. “Now I gotta get a picture of that.”
When he tugs his phone out, you do your best to scramble away, but you hear the telltale click of the camera anyways. Andrei’s hum is smug as he admires his artistry. “M’sure Scott will love this preview of you for later.”
“You are the worst,” you huff, glaring at him as you clean up your face. Still, you can’t help the heat that creeps into your cheeks.
“What? All I was doing was warming you up for him. Think about how much dick you can take now that I’ve stretched you out.”
Not bothering to even waste the energy arguing back, you opt to flip him off. The effect is much less powerful given that you’re tossing out the paper towel that wiped his cum off your face. He raises an amused eyebrow, eyes raking over your figure before stepping beside you to grab his own paper towel.
While he’s cleaning himself up, you adjust your skirt, ensuring you’re properly covered. A glance in the mirror renders your reflection less than stellar, but you clean up the smudged lip gloss and wipe away the runny mascara from under your eyes. When you look back at Andrei, he’s distracted by his phone, so you seize the opportunity to take his wallet and pull out two crisp hundred dollar bills, fresh from the ATM.
Rubbing the bills together catches his attention, and he grimaces as he lunges toward you. Holding them just out of his grasp, you offer a big pucker of your lips, pressed to his cheek with a loud, “mwah!” before tucking the bills into your top, snug against your breast. With a wink, you walk out, feeling his gaze hot on your ass as the door swings shut behind you.
#andrei svechnikov fic#andrei svechnikov imagine#hockey fic#hockey imagine#nhl imagine#nhl fic#andrei svechnikov smut#andrei svechnikov x reader
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Chemical Reactions (P. 11)
Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader
Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut
Words: 3,456
Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.
Previous Parts: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9; 10
Notes for this part:
In this part I have tried something new and written it from two perspectives.
One of the perspectives is that of the reader as she arrives at the Four Seasons Hotel and has an intimate and long overdue encounter with Robert.
The other perspective is that of the two army officers listening into the reader’s encounter with Robert. I have given these officers the names Officer Nichols and Officer Kent. The Officers will later joined by General Lesley Groves and the perspective of these officers is written in italics.
A new encounter…
An hour before you knew that Robert was due to arrive at the Four Seasons Hotel, you checked in to the room he had booked for the night, thinking that this would give you enough time to get ready.
The room itself was more luxurious than anywhere else you had ever stayed before and there was even a bottle of champagne on the nightstand for you both, which you thought was a nice gesture. “With compliments” it said on the note left in front of it and, whilst you were keen to open it, you ought it to be polite to wait for Robert.
With that in mind, you chose to spend the entire hour prior to his arrival to get ready for him, stripping off your clothes and then heading in to the bathroom before starring at yourself in the counter-to-ceiling mirror adjacent to the basinet.
Knowing that Robert desired you, you smiled as you studied your naked reflection before, eventually, you picked up the bar of fresh soap which had provided by the hotel, taking in its scent. It was rose scented and smelled more luxurious than anything you had washed yourself with before, making it perfect for you to use in a hot warm bath.
***Listening in***
“What’s wrong?” Officer Nichols asked as he watched Officer Kent turn off the listening device for a short moment of time.
“She is turning on the tap” he pointed out to his superior who looked his colleague with confusion.
“So?” Officer Nicholas asked before he turned the device back on so that he could hear what was going on.
“It’s the bathroom, sir. With respect, we should give this poor woman some privacy. She is having a bath” Officer Kent pointed out but Officer Nichols clearly did not care.
“This is a matter of national security and I have clear instructions from General Groves to make note of every word spoken between this woman and Dr Robert Oppenheimer in so far as the project is concerned. This includes anything she mumbles to herself while washing her fucking hair. Now listen and make notes…” Officer Nichols instructed and, of course, Officer Kent agreed to follow his orders.
“Yes Sir” he thus said to his superior before continuing his investigation into your bathroom habits.
***
Without knowing that you were being listened to and, after adjusting the water, you stepped into the tub and spread the soap luxuriously over your body. You inhaled the spicy, floral aroma and thought about Robert’s hands on your body which were what you missed the most. You missed his gentle, passionate, and erotic touch along with his kisses and the feeling of him being inside of you, making your two bodies become one.
You needed him to touch you again so desperately and, just as you ran your soapy hands over your hardening nipples, you unconsciously closed your eyes and enjoyed the memory of how turned on you had been when Robert made love to you last.
As such, you slipped your magic fingers down your smooth stomach and pressed one teasingly between your waiting lips with the subtle urge to masturbate growing. But then, suddenly, remembering the things that were about to occur, you reluctantly stopped touching yourself and rinsed off. You wanted Robert to be the one to make you cum and knew that he would not have appreciated you making a start without him.
You thus stepped out of the tub and wrapped one of the luxurious towels around your body before you walked, still dripping, into the bedroom and, just as you glanced towards the bed, you noticed that there was a new suit-bag standing in front of it.
“You are early” you then heard a familiar voice say to you from behind, which is when you turned around and saw the man you had been waiting for.
“So are you” you told him in response as Roberts took your hands in to his and looked deeply into your eyes.
“I missed you” he then told you with great desire in your voice and our reply was simply to place your lips on to his and give him a long and passionate kiss, which he returned with enthusiasm.
Your tongues were soon dancing around each other's mouths and you decided to drop the towel in a haste as you kissed passionately, furiously grasping at each other with your hands, unable to kiss fast or deep enough to satisfy your wants.
***Listening in***
“Sir?” Officer Kent asked while taking off his headphones momentarily.
“What is it?” Officer Nichols wanted to know and, by this point, he sounded somewhat annoyed.
“With respect, I don’t think that their relationship has anything to do with conspiracy against the US government” Officer Kent pointed out, seeing that you and Robert were clearly about to engage in intercourse rather than a discussion about bomb or communism. “I think they are just lovers” he thus pointed out but Officer Nichols did not care.
“She wouldn’t the first spy to use these kind of techniques Kent. Keep listening” Officer Nichols argued, but Officer Kent was still reluctant.
“Sir, I am not going to listen to…” he thus said before being interrupted by his superior again.
“I expect you to do your fucking job” Officer Nichols said which was the last discussion they had until, several hours later, they were visited by General Groves.
***
Still not knowing that you were listened to, your kissing continued like this for several minutes while your hands were tugging against Robert’s clothes and his hands were roaming your naked and still somewhat wet body, passionately touching every bit of exposed skin he could reach.
“It’s been way too long Robert and I can’t wait any longer” you murmured against his lips as you managed to get your right hand between you and him and find his already erect length inside his trousers.
“Neither can I. I can’t stand being without you” Robert told you and, by that time, he had moved his mouth down to your neck and then your breasts which were glistening from your bath.
“You have absolutely no idea how much I graved this” he then said before he was alternatively licking and kissing your naked flesh, eliciting a moan from deep within your throat.
“I think I may have a slight idea, going by the letters you wrote me. Some of them were quite explicit Robert” you teased in between moans as you let go of his cock and used your hands to work on his jacket and shirt, removing them both.
“And what did you do with the letters?” Robert then asked before a gasp escaped his lips.
“I masturbated to them before hiding them beneath my bed, which is where no one can find them” you smirked seductively and Robert’s pleasure was expressed with another bout of amorous kissing.
“You shouldn’t have kept them Y/N” Robert told you before he gave your breasts the attention they so craved.
“I had to Robert. It is all I had from you for three fucking months. I had no idea where you went and I know you cannot tell me anything, but I missed you. I missed this” you told Robert through several quiet moans as he went to work on your breasts while you unbuttoned his shirt some more and virtually tore if from his body before dumping it alongside your own clothes.
“I need you to fuck me Robert” you then whispered said as you took the opportunity to kiss his nipples too and then worked your way down his torso to his stomach, fully intending to unbutton his trousers and release that snake trying to force its way out the fly. Robert, however, had other ideas and he gently lifted you onto the bed and laid you on your back before he stood there open mouthed for a few seconds, looking at your naked body.
“You are stunning and I can’t wait to make love to you again” Robert then said before, eventually, he lowered his head in between your legs.
“Spread your legs wider for me, so that I can taste you” he told and, as soon as you complied with his request, Robert buried his tongue in your already sopping wet pussy.
At the first touch of his tongue, you let out a moan and then a gasp as he moved to your clit and began sucking and flicking your little knob.
“Fuck, Robert” you groaned and, after having been abstinent for about three months, you were not ashamed to say that your first orgasm happened within minutes - the first of several that afternoon and many since.
The orgasm started as a familiar tingling feeling deep inside your tummy, moving down to your womb and finally to your love tunnel. As it moved south your hips began to gyrate and Robert had to use both hands to push you down until you finally let out a loud moan and your love juices flowed freely from your pussy.
Robert clamped his mouth over your gaping hole and sucked out every last drop before moving back up the bed to give you another passionate kiss.
“You taste even better than I had remembered” Robert then told you after your lips drifted apart and you were quick to announce that, now, it was your turn.
“Let me repay the favour now, professor” you smirked and Robert voluntarily rolled onto his back on the bed and looked into your eyes with anticipation.
“I missed this” Robert acknowledged as you unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers. With some help from Robert they, and his boxer shorts, were soon cluttering up the floor and he led there with his length standing to attention just waiting for some action.
“So did” you told him as you positioned yourself between his legs, leant forward and tickled the tip of his length with the tip of your tongue.
Robert groaned loudly and, given the way he jerked, you could tell he liked that but before you took him fully into your mouth, you wanted to tease him a little more so you moved up his body to kiss his belly button which brough your breasts into contact with his very hard member.
“That is very sexy” Robert groaned as you swayed slightly and your nipples brushed against the head of his cock and you were rewarded by a smear of pre-cum on your breasts, which you licked off whilst looking into his eyes. Moving back down you licked your tongue up and down the length of his cock a few times before opening your lips and swallowing him into your mouth.
“God, that’s it Y/N. That feels so good” Robert groaned as, with up and down motions of your head, you sucked on the length filling your mouth and heard some gratifying noises coming from this beautiful man.
Whilst mouth fucking his cock you used your right hand to fondle his balls until after a few minutes he lifted your head.
“You better stop or I won’t be able to control myself” he told you and you knew that he wanted to be inside you when he came.
“Do you want me on top?” you thus asked and, after he nodded his head and answered with a simple “yes” you moved to straddle him in the cowgirl position.
“What a perfect view” Robert acknowledged as you positioned yourself directly above his cock and reached between your legs to open your love tunnel for him.
“Oh god. Fuck” was all you then managed to say with a loud moan as, in unison, you sank down onto him as he pushed up.
The feeling of his cock pushing into and filling your pussy was immense and once fully inserted you just squatted there for a few moments to savour the feeling before starting to slowly move up to the point his cock head was still just in your pussy before sinking back down again.
“Fuck you feel so good” you moaned loudly as your inner labia lips were very sensitive and Robert's bulbous head was soon doing the trick and your movements became faster and faster until he had to start working with you to keep himself inside.
Your love making was frantic and loud. Groans and moans were filling the room and, after about twenty minutes of this action, you could feel yourself starting to orgasm again.
“Oh god Robert. I am so fucking close” you cursed and this spurred him into even faster action and the familiar feelings were rapidly building up inside you.
“Cum for me” Robert groaned and, as he reached up and pinched your nipples, you went over the top in a rush, a rather noisy rush.
“Oh my fucking god” you cried out as you came hard and, when your walls began to convulse and your body started to shake, Robert too let go of the built up tension in his loins.
“Fuck” he simply groaned as he jerked upwards again while tumbling over the edge himself, which is when you felt a jet of hot cum burst into you and explode against your cervix.
You moaned again and Robert kept up his thrusting until he was completely spent which is when, after a little while, you lifted yourself off and Robert’s length slid out of your love tunnel.
“Jesus Christ I fucking missed this” you cursed as you could feel your combined essence drip from your slit, arousing you all over again just you laid down next to each other, panting.
“Well don’t think I am done with you yet. We will have until midday tomorrow before I have to leave and see my wife” Robert explained while lightening himself a cigarette and you sat up in order to finally crack open the bottle of champagne.
“Your wife is not someone I want to talk about Robert, so don’t mention her again” you lectured him before pouring yourself and Robert a glass of champagne.
“I apologise” Robert said while sitting up straight and taking the glass from your hands while you snatched the cigarette he had lit from his.
“Now tell me, how is your thesis on dark matter coming along” Robert then wanted to know which is what you talked about for an hour before engaging in some steamy intimacy again all while being listened to by army officials.
In the end though, after several hours of love making, you finally laid on the bed in the spoon position, with Robert's hands on your breasts and your hand on his semi-hard length, and fell asleep.
It was a very satisfied sleep until an hour or two later you were awoken by the sensation of having your breasts massaged.
“You can’t get enough, can you?” you teased as you began to stroke Robert’s cock and turned your head towards him.
“Never” Robert confirmed before kissing you again, passionately, and full of lust.
With just a few hours of sleep, your passion certainly had not abated and Robert soon lifted one of your legs to give him access to your pussy. You felt his finger enter and gave a little moan, followed by a slightly louder one as a second finger entered you. He soon found your G-spot and went to work, finger fucking you whilst tweaking your nipples at the same time. Not content with this he used his thumb to rub your clit, which started you off again.
"Not with your fingers; put your cock in there" you eventually whispered and this was a request he willingly went along with. As his cock found its way into your pussy his fingers replaced his thumb on your clit, where they performed magical deeds adding to the feelings you were already having.
Robert now started kissing your back and neck, nibbling your ears and sucking on the lobes, so that you were feeling totally consumed by the act of making love with him. A few minutes later Robert pulled himself out of you and rolled you onto your stomach then raised your ass into the air to give a perfect angle for his cock to fuck you from behind.
“Oh god Robert. Please take me” you moaned, thinking that this was the sluttiest position of all as, to you, it suggested that the woman is totally subservient to the man and at that moment that was exactly how you felt.
Robert began with long slow strokes which, as before, steadily got shorter and faster until you had to begin to sway back and forth in time with him to keep you both coupled. Every time he thrusted into you, you could feel his balls slap against your clit and that was very erotic.
After a while, you felt him lean forward and his hands came around your body until he had a grasp of your breasts, which he began to knead and pinch again.
“I am so close” you moaned as this whole experience was having the desired effect and your orgasm began to build.
“So am I" was Robert’s reply and almost immediately after that you climaxed together and you felt more of his sperm fill you, but only this time it seemed to go on for ever as spurt after spurt exploded into you, right against the entrance to your cervix.
Moments later, you collapsed into a big, spent, heap on the bed; both breathing very heavily but managing to continue massaging each other's bodies before getting some more rest and even another few hours of sleep until, at around 5 o’clock in the morning, there was a knock on your hotel room door.
“Open up Robert. We need to talk” you heard a familiar voice of an angry General say, speaking heavily and frustrated, causing you to break out in fear for the inevitable.
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Colby Brock x Reader
Summary - Colby didn't realize that another girl had been trying to pull him away from you. He fucks up big time and has to earn back your trust, earn back that unconditional love he's close to losing.
WARNINGS - angst, mentions of cheating, depressed thoughts, self hate, arguing, mentions of light violence, and swearing.
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You sat in your room, tears cascading down your face. You were currently living with Sam, Kat, and Colby in one large house. You and Katrina did have your own rooms, but they had been transformed into small office spaces where you both could do work from home or anything you needed to do without distractions around. Your office space did involve a small single person bed for the nights where you would get lost in work, or so overloaded that you would stay locked away in there. But Colby did have a key to your room and would usually carry you away to his room. That was where you normally stayed, since you two had been dating for so long. It was typical by now for any couple to be comfortable with sharing a room. So you two did.
Today had been your 25th birthday, Katrina being your closest friend had planed you a big party inviting all the friends you had made over the last few years. Seeing everyone was so great, especially Jake and Tara. Even though they were no longer together, they still were my close friends. On a scale they would sit together right below Katrina. As the night went on, I had become more and more frustrated. There was still no sign of my boyfriend, the one person I should have been guaranteed to celebrate with.
It was only 3 hours into the party when he posted on his instagram. It was him and Stan, they were hanging out together at some random bar or nightclub. I didn't pay attention that much, only that Colby was with Stas. That he forgot my birthday and had gone to a bar with another girl without telling me before hand.
Some may think that is insecure and jealous of me to expect him to tell me when he hangs out with girls. However when both of us are popular YouTubers who have fans watching and theorizing about our every move on a daily basis. Honesty about where we are and who we are with is the best way to keep our relationship happy and stable. I was already getting spam from comments trying to tel me Colby must be a cheat this time for hanging out with Stas on my birthday without me. They knew I wasn't there cause all of my friends and I had made a post about my party. Them wishing me happy birthday on different socials.
After seeing that text, I had begun overly drinking trying my best to get wasted. Jake, Tara, and Kat were keeping close eyes on me the whole time. Sometimes they tried to slow me down, or calm me down, anything that would get me to stop pushing myself. Sam had even told me that he was on my side about this whole mess up from Colby. He was trying his best to get in contact with his friend. But all of that was to no avail.
Which is why I now laid in my bed, locked away in my own room. I had stolen Colby's key to my room from him. He always kept it in the same drawer in his room. It was rare that he needed to use it so he always left it in the same place. I had thrown it onto my desk with my own key after locking the door.
It had been 1 hour since everyone told me goodbye and left back to their homes. I stared at my ceiling, the time I had spent crying had finally begun to lull me to sleep.
However when the front door opened, I could hear the footsteps of someone coming closer and closer to my room. When they tried the door handle, that is when I knew it must have been Colby. He tried knocking on the door, but I continued to ignore his attempts.
I even heard Sam talking to him. "Leave her alone Colby" He said with venom dripping from his voice. "You fucked up, and while you do owe her an apology and explanation, she had an emotional breakdown. You know what that means right? Maybe you don't since you had the audacity to forget such an important day. Well she went and got herself wasted, I was sure she would blackout or throw up in a matter of minutes after she started. So even if she was awake, she would be in no way able to talk to you." Sam finished. "But I-" Colby started but sam cut him off. "she could barely get up here by herself Colby. Jake, Tara, and Kat had to convince her in anyway possible to stop drinking and go to bed. You know what she talked about the whole time?" Sam asked. I heard another pair of footsteps come up, Katrina. She spoke finishing Sam's story for him. "She started to talk about everything she 'thinks' is wrong about herself. Don't you remember how many guys broke her heart like this Colby? You and I were her closest friends at the time. The way she came running to us back then, well that's exactly what happened tonight. She's in there probably covered in tear stains thinking the worst of herself. Until she found out where you were, she would ask us if we had heard from you yet. In a room of all her favorite people she still looked for you. She wouldn't have cared if you were just late, she just wanted to celebrate her birthday with you." I heard Katrina scoff before continuing. "And to think, she had spent a week preparing for your birthday, spending all of her time that day with you just last month. You couldn't even remember her birthday."
Sam spoke up once more. "Colby we are so disappointed in you, You better fix this, make it up to her. For now though, just go to bed and leave her alone for the night. She deserves that much from you." Colby said nothing more before walking off. Sam and Katrina also leaving to their room moments later. My body slowly gave out only a few minutes later, succumbing to the sweet release that accompanied well earned sleep.
When I woke up the next morning, my head had a dull small ache. Looking at myself in the mirror across from my bed. I saw that I looked like a mess. So I got up, changing into a pair of sweats and a random hoodie of mine. I then brushed out my hair and put it up into a messy bun. Checking myself over, I grabbed my phone and room key before heading out. I locked the door behind me, before waltzing down to the kitchen. I was in need of some water, I felt the dehydration buzzing through my system.
Turning the corner into the kitchen I saw Sam and Katrina. Across from them sat Colby and Stas. Colby looked like he slept horribly, Stas never once faltered the smile on her face. Katrina was scowling at them but gave me a sympathetic smile. Sam was the one to speak seeing me. "Hey y/n, there's some water bottles in the fridge for you. We left some medicine to help with the hangover on the counter over. The two burgers next to it are also your to help the hang over." He pointed to the counter where the meds and burgers sat. I nodded. "Thanks Sam."
Within the next two steps, Colby was already trying to get up and come over to me. "Y/n I'm so sorry-" I put my hand up towards him and he stopped mid step. "Now is not the time Brock, We will talk later, not while I'm suffering from a hangover. Especially when I have barely had any real time to process what the fuck you did last night. So sit you ass back down and continue with your conversation that I so terribly interrupted." He returned to his seat sadly, watching me with worry.
With that Stas got up coming over to me. "What is your problem y/n? he's just trying to explain himself, he deserves more respect from someone who just let their insecurity take over on some random night." I shook my head and rolled my eyes. She didn't deserve shit from me. In the next second my head was forced to the side, my left cheek slowly increasing in a hot burning sensation. The others yelling at Stas for slapping me. When I looked back at her, I watched her face fall from the angry smirk she gave me. I looked at her with the exact same blank stare I was giving her before. No reaction to her actions like she wanted.
"Actually Anastasia, I wasn't insecure about him being with you. I could care less because I know Colby has long gotten past whatever minuscule amount of adoration he held for you. The only girl he wants to be with is me. What I am upset about is that my boyfriend, forgot my birthday and instead spent the day with someone else. He could have hung out with anyone else in the world, I would still be the same way. Oh but keep trying to steal him away sweetie, maybe if you are lucky enough he may change his mind. However if you have a brain behind those eyes, then you would know to give up now and move the fuck on." I spoke to her in the same dead flat tone that my face showed.
I picked up my burgers and meds, grabbed a water bottle and walked out of the room. On the way back up to my room I could hear Kat yelling. "Stas, get the fuck out of our house. I don't want to hear from you or see you for a long time. Maybe until you know how to get your act together and move on from your hopeless love. Y/n used to be your goddman friend, how could you hurt her happiness just cause e you were crushing on her man!? Nope! Don't even try to explain yourself right now! OUT!" I smiled, I was glad to know that Kat would pick me over her without hesitation. I never wanted her to have to pick between me and Stas when the two of us fell out. But right now, it was nice to know someone had my side.
I opened the door to my separate room and went in. The door shut behind me as I sat down at my computer. After taking the meds, I began to edit some footage for a vlog I had gotten last week. Occasionally I had some bites of burger, this was how I was going to destress and calm down from that whole interaction. About 30 minutes later there was a knock at my door. "Come in." Glacing back I saw Colby open the door and peek in. "is it really okay for me to come in babe?" I sighed. I would have to get this over eventually.
"Alright, I can take a break, come in and sit." I turned around and watched him walk slowly over to my bed sitting down next to me. I looked at him and spoke first. "You have 5 minutes tops to explain yourself or whatever you wanted to tell me, then it's my turn to talk without interruption no matter what I say." He nodded and began.
"y/n, I am so sorry for what I did. I completely forgot the one day a year to celebrate you and just you. I wasn't actually planning to meet stas that day, I was actually attending a sponsorship meeting for Sam and I. She texted me asking if I had time to go to the bar with her and hang out. After that long and boring meeting I was in need of a stress relief. But this isn't my excuse or my way to push the blame of me. It is my fault for forgetting in that moment about you. I promise you that I love you and only you. Whatever it takes and no matter how long it takes, I will make it up to you. I only want to see you happy. I'm sorry." With that Colby finished what he wanted to say.
I took a breath and began my speech. "Colby I can forgive your forgetfulness but it's gonna take a lot for me to forget it. Right now I just need you to be honest with me, Do you still want to be with me or not? If you have lost the feeling we used to share then we can end it right now, it will hurt a lot less." Colby shook his head. "No! I love you please don't say otherwise." I sighed at his words. "Okay, then you better stick to you words cause I have spiraled for the last 12 hours, I didn't know if I could ever try love again had you really lost love or worse cheated. I have been through that too many times. You are literally my last hope." I felt ears brim and fall from my eyes again. Colby's expression softening more.
He held his arms open and I hesitantly fell into them. He slowly moved to lay us together on the small bed meant for one person. He pet my hair as I cried into his shirt. "I'm so sorry for making you feel this way. I really fucked up. I will make it up to you. I will show you how much I love you, how desperate I am to be with you, all the reasons I love you. I will do this till the day I die. I love you y/n" His words slowly soothed me to sleep. Cuddling with him as we both napped in each others arms.
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