#fuck look at her trance face
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How does it feel when I use your triggers, Sky?
That’s a pretty good, albeit fractionated, answer.
📸: @collarspyspiral36
#hypnosis#skyz#hypnotized#theo's favorites#hypnotized girl#beautiful subject#modeling#perfect drops#hypnotic#fractionated#fuck look at her trance face
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#ISABELLA ALWAYS HAD THE DAYDREAMS ABT PHINEAS CARRYING HER IN THE SHOW#BUT IF YOU LOOK AT THEIR PERSONALITIES AND ACTUAL DYNAMICS#SHE'S ALWAYS THE ONE SAVING HIM LIKE WITH THE CUTENESS TRANCE AND SNAPPING HIM OUT OF IT IN SBTY#AND WITH OFFERING HELP FROM THE FIRESIDE GIRLS#AND FUKCING CATHCHING HIM WHILE HE HAS THAT STUPID LOoK ON HIS FACE IN ONE GOOD SCARE#YOU CANT FUCKING TELL ME PHIN WOULDNT BE THE DAMSEL IN DISTRESS IN THIS RELATIONSHIP#anyway uh#ursa.doodlez#phineas and ferb#phineas flynn#isabella garcia shapiro#pnf#pnf fanart#fanart#my art#phineas and ferb fanart#phinabella#act your age#phinbella#phineas x isabella
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ BURNER ACCOUNTS — GOJO SATORU.
contents. fem! reader, loser ex-boyfriend! satoru, exes to lovers, college! au, satoru making burners to watch your stories, miscommunications—satoru is not perfect but he’s trying okay?, gossip icons shoko & suguru <3, i had a silly idea and it turned into 2.6k words my bad
there’s a peculiar account watching your instagram stories—@user273582838, to be exact. you don’t think it’s a very well timed coincidence seeing as you and satoru have just broken up—so you decide to do some digging.
which of course, means enlisting the help of shoko.
“i think satoru is stalking me,” you mumble, making her pause in the middle of sipping on her energy drink—for a med student, her habits don’t seem every healthy. this is her third one of the day.
“okay,” she nods, “i wouldn’t put it past him, but what makes you say that?”
“look,” you turn your phone to face her, the blank, anonymous instagram account right there on the list of users who have viewed your story. she crinkles her brows, blinking for a moment before humming.
“that definitely seems like something he’d do,” she nods—and then, “i have an idea.”
“okay,” you brighten, nodding enthusiastically, “what’s the plan?”
“try and log in with that user.”
“shoko,” you look at her like she’s grown two heads. maybe the lack of sleep is finally getting to her—no amount of energy drinks can save her at this point. “we don’t have the password—”
“—and that, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, making you scowl at the name, “is why we click forgot my password and see the last four digits of the phone number that registered the account. if it’s satoru’s number, we’ll know.”
okay—you take it back. shoko is a genius and a full-blown brilliant mastermind that you could never hope to come close to. you’re glad you chose her to help—you’re even more glad she agreed because you would not have thought of that. this is fantastic. a fool-proof plan.
you grin wide, eyes lighting up as you gasp, “shoko! you’re so smart, that’s a great idea!”
“i know,” she grumbles, “took you long enough to notice.”
ignoring her, you quickly pull out your phone and try to log onto the account, typing user273582838 into the username box and clicking forgot my password. shoko is hovering over your shoulder, and your breath is held as you wait for the page to load and the number to pop up. within just a few seconds, the first few digits are censored with asterisks, but the last four show, and—
yeah. it’s satoru’s fucking number. just as you suspected—you and shoko scoff together at the same time, rolling your eyes.
“well,” you look at her, lips pursed in irritation—of course, satoru refuses to give you space and leave you alone after your break up (which was his fault, might you add), “what now?”
“send the verification code to his number,” she presses, “it’ll definitely spook him when he sees.”
she’s so good at what she does, you think in awe, staring at her with heart-eyes. nodding quickly, you press send code.
hopefully, that’ll give satoru the heart attack you want it to.
———
satoru stares at his screen in abject horror—who could be trying to log into his burner account? the only person who should possibly stumble across it is you, but surely you’re not closely inspecting your story viewers, are you? so then, who could be trying to log onto the instagram account of @user273582838?
“suguru,” he says in a trance, “are you trying to log onto the burner?”
“are you bringing that shit up again?” suguru grumbles, controller in hand as he pays attention to the screen, “i told you that was a stupid idea. a pathetic one too—”
“well, i didn’t want to keep waiting for you to send screenshots to see the stories—”
“you’re a fucking loser, do you know that? pathetic,” suguru reiterates. “move on.”
“no,” satoru hisses in disbelief, “why would i do that? now, was that you or not? you’re the only other person who knows the user.”
“as if i care to log onto your loser burner account,” suguru snorts, shaking his head in amusement. he beats satoru’s high score, turning to give him a sly grin as he adds, “i wasn’t removed, so i can view the stories all i want.”
“you’re a jerk, you know that?” satoru grunts, crossing his arms and pouting, “i’m having the worst heartbreak of my life, and you—”
“who’s fault is it that you’re dumped?”
satoru deflates.
okay, so he supposedly hasn’t been the best boyfriend. it’s not that satoru isn’t helplessly committed to you—he’s so sickeningly obsessed with you, it’s actually a bit unhealthy. suguru says so, at least. but satoru is…well, satoru, and he doesn’t always seem to take things as seriously as most people would hope.
evidently, that includes your relationship—though, he does insist on disagreeing on that. according to you, he doesn’t take you on dates often enough, and sometimes he flirts back with random strangers. that’s not true—he’s simply a bit of a tease and enjoys it when you’re jealous, but he doesn’t flirt back. that’s outrageous. you’ve even claimed he’s mean about it and makes a joke out of it all—satoru would never be mean on purpose; he only teases because the banter is always endearing.
but, unfortunately, you don’t seem to see it the way he does, and now he’s woefully single and cold and alone in bed. no cuddles, no goodnight kisses, and no head scratches.
life is so cruel sometimes.
“suguru,” he says in distress, “i’m serious. someone’s trying to hack my burner—who could it be?”
“hmm, i don’t know…maybe the one and only person who would notice the account in the first place?”
“but why try and log in if the password is unknown?”
suguru looks at satoru like he’s stupid—apparently, he is because he’s not putting two and two together.
“maybe because sending a verification code shows the last four digits of the registered phone number? you’ve probably been caught, you idiot.”
satoru pales at that—he didn’t think about that. it slipped his mind completely. fuck, he should’ve used a burner email instead. he stares down at his phone numbly—yeah, he thinks, he’s screwed.
———
after two days of continuous log in attempts into satoru’s burner account—it’s only just to spook him extra—you finally decide to confront him.
we need to talk. is all you send him.
the three bubbles appear on his end multiple times before disappearing—you and shoko get a good cackle out of that and laugh at him for a bit before he finally answers.
miss me already? knew it ;)
wow. what a dickhead.
so, because you can be equally as much of a prick, you send him a screenshot of his phone number on the log in page followed by a message that says: no. it’s so you can explain this.
the three dots show up again for a few minutes before he finally responds with: okay. you caught me. when do you wanna meet?
well, that was easy. satoru is the type to not go down without a fight no matter how cornered he is—he’s stubborn and annoying like that. you turn to shoko for help.
“meet him now,” shoko crosses her arms, “don’t give him time to come up with some ridiculous excuse.”
“what excuse could he possibly come up with?” you snort, “that he was possessed and the evil spirit in his mind made him stalk his ex like a loser?”
“true,” she concedes, taking a sip from her energy drink—seriously, how many of these does this girl drink in a day? “i just want to know what happens,” she shrugs, “so do it now.”
of course, as on brand as ever, shoko is merely in it for the drama. you roll your eyes before sighing and nodding.
“okay,” you huff.
meet me at my place. now.
on my way, he sends back almost instantly.
“he’s probably just excited to see you,” shoko snorts, “like the loser he is.”
“you’re probably right,” you purse your lips in exasperation. in all your time knowing him, you’ve definitely realized that satoru is definitely…well, a case.
———
“hey,” shoko whispers to suguru through the phone, walking out your door so you can prepare to confront satoru. “did you know satoru’s been stalking—”
“—on a burner account? yeah, i know.”
okay, she frowns to herself, that was no fun at all. suguru is already aware of the drama. but that’s no matter—surely, he can’t possibly already know that satoru has been invited over to be scolded.
“yeah, well,” she says smugly, “did you know he’s actually on his way over to—”
“—get yelled at? yeah, i’m aware. he called me panicked. what a fucking loser.”
“okay, well since you’re up to speed,” shoko grumbles bitterly, rolling her eyes. she was supposed to be the knight in shining armor with the juicy updates—but evidently, satoru is pathetic enough to already cry to suguru about his dilemma. “wanna meet up and get sushi nearby? i bet they’ll get back together in twenty minutes.”
“i bet ten. loser pays for the food?”
“you’ve got yourself a deal.”
———
satoru sits on your couch in shame, bouncing his leg nervously as you sit on the opposite end with your arms crossed and brow raised.
it’s quiet. he doesn’t have the guts to say anything, waiting for you to break the silence. maybe you’re not that mad.
“so,” you start, “it’s nice to finally meet you, user273582838.”
he rubs his neck awkwardly, chuckling through his nerves as he mumbles, “oh, hey there! it’s a small world, huh?”
“satoru.”
yeah, never mind. you seem pretty mad.
“okay, look,” he begins, “you can’t blame me. you dumped me, your sweet, loving, and unsuspecting boyfriend out of nowhere! i was heartbroken and shattered—and then you didn’t even give me a chance to work it out! i was not in the right headspace to make wise decisions so…so this is basically not my fault.”
that doesn’t seem to help his case—in fact, it only makes it worse.
“so it’s my fault?”
“wha—no!” he says quickly, “no, definitely not.”
you sigh, rubbing your forehead in defeat as you mumble, “satoru, we are broken up for a reason. you can’t overstep and—”
“it’s a pretty stupid reason,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms and frowning. you glare at him from the side as you scoff in disbelief.
“of course,” you chuckle dryly, “of course you would say that. nothing is ever serious enough to you—”
“it’s pretty fucking serious to me,” he spits, shooting you a look that tells you he’s just as shocked as you, “that’s obviously why i’m the one who’s still not moved on as easily as you. how seriously did you really take it?”
“that’s not fair,” you grit, “you made it abundantly clear you didn’t care enough, so why should i—”
“i fucking cared a shit ton,” he says incredulously, “that’s bullshit, and you know it—”
“don’t curse at me, satoru—”
“well, don’t accuse me of not caring when i clearly—”
“oh, yeah cause you cared so much when you were laughing with that waitress as she hit on you,” you seethe, throwing a pillow from your couch at him. he can catch it easily—you know this for sure, but he lets it hit him out of what you’re sure is at least a little consideration to your feelings.
“i wasn’t laughing because i enjoyed it,” he crinkles his brows as if you’ve said the most ridiculous thing ever, “it was just funny because she was trying so hard. and you looked all cute when you got mad.”
“what kind of boyfriend enjoys watching his girlfriend get mad—”
“the kind of boyfriend who thinks his girlfriend is adorable when she’s mad—”
“yeah, well your idea of a date is going to the mall with shoko and suguru. what kind of date is that—”
“okay, i was a bit clueless sometimes, but you could’ve said something instead of just dumping me like i was some random guy in your dm’s—”
“you need to grow the fuck up, satoru—”
“now look at who's cursing!”
it’s silent—both you and him have your arms crossed and lips curled into scowls as you both glare at each other. you’re stubbornly convinced satoru doesn’t care as much as you do, and he’s firmly committed to the idea that you’re twisting him into some douche who doesn’t give two shits.
it’s quiet like that for a bit before he deflates and slumps against the couch, rubbing his face as he groans.
“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry. i never meant to make it seem like i enjoy attention from other girls, and i didn’t realize you wanted more dates. i’d have done things differently if you told me how you felt.”
he sounds sincere. and he’s looking at you with those eyes of his—god, those stupid little eyes that are so wide and blue and deep and full of love. even after that whole argument, satoru is clearly as painfully in love as ever.
you sigh before playing with a loose thread on your sweatpants.
“i…guess i could’ve talked it out first. i probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to breaking up,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes.
satoru stares glumly at you from the corner of his eyes before he adds bitterly, “you don’t seem to miss me. not even a little.”
“toru,” you pinch your nose, “of course i miss you. i was not gonna be mopey on instagram, though—”
“doesn’t seem like it,” he huffs. he’s a bit hurt—you can tell because he’s not meeting your eyes, and he’s not got that playful little upward curl of his lips.
you’re a bit weak, you realize—but you suppose you always have been for satoru, because you’re shuffling to his end of the couch and poking his cheek gently.
“i miss you tons, y’know,” you murmur—you smile a little at his pout before adding, “i want more dates this time around. and stop letting girls get away with being shameless flirts.”
he finally meets your eyes—it’s like a child on christmas, the way his face lights up and his lips curl into an excited grin.
“you mean i get to be your boyfriend again?”
it’s cute—the way he asks to be your boyfriend and not if you’ll be his girlfriend. maybe you’ve been a bit unfair, maybe satoru has always cared deeply in his dumb little clueless way of his own.
“fine,” you pretend to roll your eyes. he looks hopelessly excited as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, tucking you under his chin as he rests his cheek on your head.
“you should really talk to me more,” he murmurs, “i’m…things fly over my head sometimes. i’m sorry.”
“i’m sorry too,” you admit, “i’ll talk to you—but you better listen to me if i do. don’t turn it into jokes.”
“i never turn things into jokes,” he grumbles petulantly, huffing to the side as you shoot him an unimpressed raise of your brow. “does this mean i can follow you again?”
“yes,” you snort.
“and you’ll follow back, right?”
“yes, satoru,” you sigh, shaking your head in amusement. he’s already back to being a handful—but you can admit you might have missed it just a bit. “but for the love of god, please delete that burner.”
“fine,” he pouts, tugging you closer.
you giggle, he grins, and then you’re kissing—and everything feels as it should be.
———
“they’re back together,” shoko says in disbelief, staring at your text. suguru groans, pausing mid bite as he rubs over his forehead in defeat.
of course, you and satoru just have to make up in exactly fifteen minutes. not ten. not twenty. exactly fifteen.
how considerate of you both.
“are you kidding?” suguru grumbles, “so neither of us win.”
“guess not,” she says sourly, rolling her eyes.
woefully, they both agree to split the check.
suguru and shoko are so me and my friend every time our other friend argues with her boyfriend we deadass be making bets over when they make up and loser has to pay for boba LMAO
#teepods.writings#drabbles.#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo fluff#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff
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i saw u needed some idea and lemme just say: ex's dad!miguel o'hara
…oh fuck yes.
Tw: cheating, p in v, age gap,
He cheated. He fucking cheated with your roommate. And now here you were, standing in a long dress at his cousin’s wedding two months later. His cousin invited you because you two became close friends, but seeing him bring your old roommate, laughing with her in front of everyone while you didn’t even bring a plus one sucked.
You look up in the mirror as you tap some cold water on the back of your neck, nervous again after seeing him kiss her cheek and then make eye contact with you.
Most of the ceremony is a blur as you can barely focus on anything but keeping your breathing even. Once it’s over, you bee-line for the open bar and quickly down a shot of vodka before hissing at the burn and reaching for a lemon or lime, anything to help with the taste.
Your arm hits something hard and you feel the front of your dress become soaked as you glance to the side to see your ex boyfriend’s father looking down at where his Old Fashioned spilled on your torso. The syrup-sticky-feeling starts to sink in as you feel gross, groaning and imagining how you must look.
“Dios, I’m so sorry.” He apologized and sighs, “this is not the way I wanted to say hello.”
“It’s ok.” You nod and sigh. “I think the bridal suite has a shower in the bathroom.”
“Let me try to clean the dress while you rinse off, yeah?” He asks and you agree, walking together in silence to the bridal suite. As he opens the door for you, he speaks. “I’m sorry about what happened with my son. He’s young, can’t hold onto the good things in his life right now.”
“Sounds like you want to get us back together.” You chuckle, though it feels dry in your throat. “Mr. O’Hara, it’s ok. It wasn’t meant to be.” You deadpan and he gives you an apologetic look, almost pity.
You head into the bathroom and as you begin to shut the door, a hand catches the knob and pushes it open once more. “Do you need help with the zipper?” His voice gets lower as he asks and you turn to see him coming closer, not even fully answering before he forces you around to look in the mirror and starts unzipping the dress. His breath is hot in your ear as he whispers, “my son doesn’t know how to keep a sexy, smart woman.” His words make you shiver as his fingers trance symbols on your back and down to your thong. “Tell me when to stop.”
“Don’t stop.” You reply and he smirks in the mirror at you, watching your eyes flutter closed as he dips his hands into the front of your underwear and rub small circles around your clit.
“Let me taste this pussy, cariño. Wanted to since the first day he brought you home.” He mumbles into your hair and lifts you effortlessly to sit on the edge of the sink, spreading your legs and putting your knees on his shoulders as he groans at the sight of your already wet pussy. “God damn, you even smell good.”
With that, his tongue licks a stripe over your pussy, pushing your thong to the side and flicking his tongue between your folds. Your moan and lean backwards against the mirror as he grinds his nose into your clit, your legs jolting from the sudden feeling. “Good girl, let out those sounds… let me hear you moan, so sweet for me…” his comments make you thrust into his face and make him laugh deeply, then beginning to push his tongue in and out of you at a faster pace.
“Cum on my face.” He instructs you and you oblige, shaking and almost screaming from pleasure. “Good girl.”
It wasn’t your wedding night, but you still celebrated.
#miguel spiderverse#miguel x reader#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara#miguel spiderman#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel smut#atsv miguel#angst
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—♡DOUMA X MALE READER WARNING: smut, non-con, cannibalism?, douma, reader having a huge chest, thoracic area called boobs/tits, daddy kink, face sitting, breeding kink, semi-public?, incest?, cliffhanger ending (only because I’m lazy), not proof read
A/N— okay I know I was gone for like 2 months but um— yeah
You were a member of his cult and your older sister got sick to the point she had to stay in bed instead of praying to your demon lord. For the past couple days you had been asking your lord to heal your sister. And at first DOUMA was uninterested or just ignored you but then he got a full look at you. (H/c) hair, beautiful bright (e/c) eyes, nice face, well shaped body, and lastly YOUR CHEST. Oh and how he was so in love.
“Oh look a new play thing. Just. For. Me~ and ONLY me~”
After that you notice changes. One, Douma would ONLY look at you if you in the room but the moment you leave his face becomes disinterested (even if he doesn’t have emotions he feels like his life just decrease by a life time). Two, you ALWAYS feel like you’re being watched no matter what you doing or where you are, there are always RAINBOW EYES watching. And three, when you go and pray to your lord you can notice the lust in his eyes like a predator eyeing their next meal.
“I can’t believe I haven’t noticed you sooner… I wonder if that man will let me keep you~ who know maybe I will quit bugging him~”
Knowing damn well that man can hear him
One time you went to douma and asked for his blessing so your sister could get better and by pure coincidence your sister gotten better and could move around better then before. You thanked douma for the blessing but even tho it was a complete coincidence douma wanted more than just a thanks. He gave you his blessing and healed your sister. He wants more and he will get want he wants whether you want it or not .
HaAh~ Oh you tastes Sooo~ good~ Your so good—Fuck! for daddy~
Grinding your hips into the pillow while Douma is thrusting in and out your ass. “Ahh~ you look like dog when you do that~” Douma said, moving his hand up your body and stopping at your chest. “W-wait~AH!” Slamming his cock back in he starts to grope your chest. “Hmm! What a— good boy you are, so good— for daddy” you start to feel yourself about to release and you try to warn your lord but all that came out was babbles. Douma seem to notice this and started to go even harder on you hearing your gummy walls take him in and out and all the noise you were making made him even more hard then white sticky cum came out your dick but that didn’t stop Douma in fact he decided to switch it up a lot bit.
He lifts you over his face, your legs are shaking then slams you down on his face. Taking his long slimy tongue starting with kitty licks, suddenly roughly gripping your thighs and full on eating your ass like there’s no tomorrow. When the door opens (you didn’t even notice at first) it reveals your sister. Your sister was in shock, she didn’t know you had a side like this. Hearing your moans and the licks your sister can feel a wet spot in her undergarment. While your sister was standing there Douma could smell her wetness and started to get upset.
“Why is she here.”
“She needs to leave can’t she see I’m playing with my plaything.”
“It’s her fault he’s in this situation”
“She shouldn’t be so selfish and get sick”
“You know what… It’s show time”
Taking out his tongue from your ass, he moves you to his lap. Picking you up with your legs wrapped around his waist Douma starts to walk to your sister. “You know it’s rude to stare” using one of his free hands and roughly grabbing your sister’s chin forcing her to look at his rainbow eyes. “W-what are you doing to my brother!” Yelled out your sister that was trying to force Douma’s hand off of her and trying to reach for you, when Douma grabs the hand that was reaching for you and pulling it off her body. Finally snapping out the trance you hear a bloody cuddling scream. Turning your head around to see your sister on the ground clutching her shoulder but before you can say anything you were placed on the ground on all fours in front of your sister.
“Why don’t we put a show on for your sister~ hmm dear~”
#douma x reader#douma x male reader#male reader#demon slayer smut#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer x male reader#douma smut#upper moons#sub male reader#uke male reader#bottom male reader#male reader smut#smut#yandere x reader#yandere x male reader#yandere
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𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃
Choso
Pairing: Bass Guitarist!Choso x f!Reader
Summary: You usually hang out with Choso after his concerts, only this time he wants to talk about your relationship. Luckily for you, you know how to distract him from important matters.
Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Friends with Benefits, Car Sex, Oral Sex (m. receiving), Vaginal Sex, Nipple Play, Squirting, Creampie, Angst if you squint
Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi
This art was sent in my server and I was forced to write about him in this AU, anyway I hope you lovelies enjoy!! likes and reblog always appreciated❤️
There’s a whole crowd that screams Choso’s name from the top of their lungs as his fingers strum against the strings of his bass. Choso, a very reserved man, someone who is not even the star of the band but the most beloved amongst fans. Is it because they barely know anything about him? Or is it because he looks too hot while he really gets into the song? For you, it’s the latter.
Choso lets himself loose as his mind, body and soul embrace the song. It becomes an issue for him to stay close to the microphone, until he realizes his vocals come up. He’s sweaty, his eyeshadow smudged and running down his cheeks; it’s a look that drives the fangirls wild, and you can’t exactly blame them for it.
They get louder when they hear Choso’s voice, and you wonder if it drives Suguru insane that even though he’s the lead vocalist, he doesn’t get as much attention as Choso. There’s just something about Choso that has everyone in a trance. He looks so seductive even when he barely tries.
The song ends, and the crowd cheers, wanting more from the band. For a moment the only thing you hear is the crowd chanting Choso’s name. You don’t understand why they go wild over him, but then again, you guess that the lack of knowledge about him makes him intriguing. However, you know all you need to know about him.
“I really don’t get why they go so crazy over him! I’d argue that Getou is hotter.” You yell to your friend, and she rolls her eyes. She knows you’re just talking to talk because given the option, you always choose Choso.
The noise dies as the sound of the bass begins again. All eyes are on Choso until Suguru begins to sing. Your eyes stay on Choso, and his eyes scan the crowd until they land on you. A smile comes onto his face as you maintain eye contact. His eyes finally look away, looking down at his guitar. You know you’ll be seeing each other later.
Just to tease you, he does something that he rarely does. Something that makes the crowd get louder, his tongue running up the neck of his guitar. You roll your eyes as your cheeks get hot. You fucking hate him.
You have no issue getting backstage after the show. The security guard looks at your friend funny, but he knows you so he assumes that she’s okay to pass. He doubts that anyone will have a problem since you’re beloved among the band members.
“Hi, Lexi.” You wave at the woman who talks with her boyfriend. Suguru’s arm is thrown over her shoulders while they head to the door that you just walked through. She waves at you, blowing a kiss your way before focusing on her boyfriend again.
“Where’s Gojo?” Your friend asks, her eyes searching for the white haired man, after all, she joined you just because she knew you could get her the opportunity to talk to Satoru. You were going to come either way since Choso sent you a message, it didn’t hurt for her to tag along.
You’re about to help her, but your eyes land on Choso. There’s a subtle smile on his face when he notices you. He walks toward you, and you completely ignore your friend as she continues asking about Satoru. She rolls her eyes, knowing damn well that you were acting tough and annoyed as everyone chanted Choso’s name because according to you he isn’t a big deal. It’s clear jealousy.
From what she knows, you and Choso have an unusual friendship– Which is another way of saying that you’re friends with benefits. You both came to an agreement where you could use each other’s bodies with no strings attached, however, tonight it might all come to an end. Whether you like it or not.
“I’m glad to see you here.” Choso says as you give him a side hug. You don’t like to get too touchy while others are around. He still kisses the top of your head, before he looks at your friend. “Who did you bring with you tonight?”
“Just my friend. She wants to meet Gojo.” You tell him, as his fingers intertwine with yours. Choso calls out for Satoru, hoping that the sooner your friend meets Satoru, the sooner you’ll get out of the place. Although getting out of the place so soon isn’t the best idea since there’s still an army of fans outside that will do just about anything to get a picture with Choso.
The band’s popularity has increased over the past couple of months, and suddenly Choso always has someone throwing themselves at him. It ticks you off more than you’d like to admit.
“What?” Satoru asks, clear annoyance in his voice. He notices you and he begins to approach you to give you a hug, but it earns a glare from Choso. All the members know you well and they consider you a good friend, which means they all know your situation with Choso. When Satoru notices the look, he sticks with a simple greeting. “Hey.”
“Hi, Gojo.” You smile at him. You then point to your friend, informing him, “She’s here to meet you.”
“Are you her ride home?” Choso questions, and you shake your head in response. She brought you here knowing that you would go your separate ways after the concert. She saw the message that Choso had left on your phone, and she urged you to come. “Does that mean we can leave?”
“I think so.” You answer. You still check to see if she’s okay being left alone with Satoru before leaving. When she says yes, you lead Choso out of the building. Your eyes stare at the case of his guitar and you ask, “Do you need help? I’m really strong, just so you know.”
He laughs, “No doubt about it, but I can handle it.”
“You’re in a hurry.” Choso comments when you step outside. He takes the lead, dragging you to his car.
“Weren’t you the one that was asking if we could leave?” You chuckle, and he laughs as well. He opens the trunk to put the case in before walking to the passenger door and opening it for you. He watches you get inside before he shuts the door for you. He nearly runs to the driver’s side, embarrassingly impatient.
“Do you want to join Lexi and Suguru tonight? Or what do you want to do?” Choso isn’t exactly the person to go hang out with his friends after a concert, especially at a bar. But he knows that you like that sort of stuff, so he sticks with you until you’re ready to go back home– Or back to his apartment, whichever place is closest to the place you’re hanging out in.
“Can we just go back to your place?” You respond, your eyes focused on his side profile. You were too jealous earlier to admire just how good he looks tonight.
“Can we talk about–” He begins, but you grab the collar of his shirt and put your lips on his before he can finish his sentence. You know he wants to talk about the message that he sent, something that made you want to stay home tonight. Can we talk about us? Or something along those lines, you just know that you don’t want to change this perfect arrangement.
Your tongue enters his mouth, pressing against his while your hands go to his belt. He doesn’t know why you’re so eager tonight, it doesn’t click in his head. Maybe the little trick from earlier worked to rile you up, and he’s certain that it was that when you unbutton his pants and begin to pull them down.
“Here? Aren’t you scared–” He begins when you pull away from the kiss but you begin to kiss his neck. Your lips go to that one sweet spot that makes him weak, sucking on it. You aren’t scared that you’ll get caught, that’s good to know. He’s the one that should be worried about getting caught since he’s the one that has to hold a public image.
The parking lot is private, and it’s pretty much empty. He isn’t too worried about that.
“Don’t you want to go somewhere more private?” He still asks but he doesn’t bother to stop you as you spit on his cock, your hand wrapping around the base and slowly stroking it.
“We can talk later. Right now, I need your cock in my mouth.” You kiss his shaft before your tongue drags on his length and begins to circle on his tip. You begin to kiss the tip, causing Choso to bite down his lip. He’s certainly not going to stop now.
Your mouth wraps around his cock, hearing the moan whimper just at the feeling of your pretty mouth wrapped around his dick. Everything you do drives him wild. It’s why he can’t stop you when he wants to talk about more serious issues– Issues that concern your relationship and what you’re doing.
He doesn’t like it like this though. He loves the sight of your pretty face as your mouth is wrapped around his cock. He still loves the feeling though. He praises you, “You’re doing so good, baby.”
You take all of him in your mouth, gagging on his length which causes the tears to build up in your eyes. It’s a sight that usually drives the man wild, although he doesn’t like to admit it; unluckily for him, he only sees the back of your head.
His head is thrown back as his eyes roll to the back of his head. You have complete control over him, and he hates it. But he certainly loves the way he feels at the moment. When the tears fall from your eyes, you lift up your head, detaching yourself from his cock. Your hand takes over, stroking his cock.
“Can we do it here?” You ask him as your thighs rub against one another, the heat between your legs getting too unbearable. Your libido is too high, you can’t wait to go back to his place. You need him now.
Choso’s cheeks are flushed, and the man’s brain goes a thousand miles per minute. What you’re thinking of is riskier, and if anyone walks by, you’ll get caught. But he doesn’t care. He needs you too.
“Yeah, let’s do it here.” He agrees, and you crawl over to his side. You lift up your skirt, moving your panties to the side. Two of his fingers run through your folds, noting just how wet you are when he’s done nothing to you. The mere thought of him drives you insane.
You align his cock with your entrance before slowly sitting on it. His lips land on yours, feeling your moans vibrate through your tongue as you move on his cock.
You move back and forth on his cock. You feel euphoric as his cock repeatedly hits your g-spot.
Choso pulls away, grabbing the back of your neck to pull your face away. He needs to admire your beautiful face, taking in every single detail about it. You look so alluring with your messed up makeup. Your mascara runs down your cheeks, and he gets a sense of satisfaction knowing that he caused it.
“You feel so good, baby.” He moans, his nose burying in the crook of your neck. He takes in your scent, getting more intoxicated by you. You’re controlling all of his thoughts lately, even though you’re not even trying.
“You’re so big.” You say, your back arching as Choso begins to thrust his hips instead of leaving it to you to handle it all. Your hand goes down to play with your clit, giving you more stimulation so your high approaches sooner. The faster you finish, the faster you can go again. “Oh– Choso!”
“Fuck–” He can’t help but curse. He’s getting so lost inside of you. In more ways than one.
His hand pulls down your tank top, and the man gets upset at the bra that gets in the way of what he wants. He pulls down the cups of your bra so his tongue circles around your nipples. He greedily kisses and licks before his mouth finally wraps around one of your tits.
His other hand begins to toy with the nipple that isn’t in his mouth, teasing it and pinching it. All the stimulation makes your brain foggy as your climax begins to get the best of you. You continue to chant his name, getting louder and louder.
“Oh, fuck!” You yell as you come around his cock. You make a mess all over him, squirting on him. You’d be embarrassed with someone else, but Choso has seen you do so much worse– It helps that you know he absolutely loves it. Choso bites down on your nipple before unlatching.
“You’re such a good girl. Making a mess all over me.” His hands move to your hips, his nails digging into your flesh.
“You always take me so well.” He’s kissing your neck, his thrusts getting sloppy. His warm cum fills you up not too long after, and you bite down your bottom lip to not moan. You fucking love it when he fills you up, but he rarely does it. He got too caught up in the moment.
He stays buried inside of you, continuing kissing your neck, going up to your face. He almost whispers, “Can we talk?”
“Your dick is buried inside of me, might as well.” You chuckle, and he awkwardly returns the gesture. His soft eyes look into yours, and the look tells you all you need to know. You were suspecting it since lately Choso has been more… Romantic than what you had agreed upon. Getting flowers weekly isn’t what your friend is supposed to do.
“I want you.” He can’t put it any other way. Choso’s written what feels like hundreds of songs but he can’t find the right words to express himself. You don’t want to have this conversation now, or any time soon for that matter.
You take advantage of his indistinct way of expressing himself. It's not that you don't want him the same way, it's just easier to keep what you have going on. Choso is getting too big so fast, you don't want to start something that'll end up badly. Which is simply ironic.
You reach to the side of the seat, reclining the seat, pushing his back down. Your lips go to his ear, whispering, “You have me.”
It’s not the way he means it, not one bit. But he’ll take it until he can express himself properly.
#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk fanfic#jujutsu choso#choso#jjk choso#jujutsu kaisen choso#choso jjk#choso kamo#choso x reader#choso smut#kamo choso#choso x you#kamo choso smut#choso x y/n#choso x reader smut
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SOMETHING OVERWHELMING !!! MAX V. X FEM!READER (18+)
summary: max wanted her to do a lot of things and he enacted on his goal by overwhelming her.
💌 re:moony's planner request: "overstimulation with max please, like dom!max but body worship ✨."
content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, pwp, overstimulation, squirting, praise kink, dom-ish!max, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wear a glove before making love), i have written ✨fuckall✨
note: mmmm yes my biggest enemy rn— i did not do the body worship part (i made it praise instead 🫶). live laugh love him tho. enjoy xx (also! please don't hesitate to give me your opinion or talk to me!!!)
something sinful (smut) masterlist
a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist
if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out
his ego was at an all time high.
but so was her mind. she could’ve sworn that the throbbing she could hear wasn’t adrenaline pumping through her heart but rather her cunt that had been overstimulated by max.
her tear-stained cheeks were red, her hickey littered neck and collarbones were turning purple from the addictive touch of max’s lips as she squirmed under him.
he was smiling like a maniac, his fingers curling up against her spongy walls as the speed of his thrusting increased.
she supposed that being a three-time world champion would do this to a man. not only would his head grow big as he celebrated his victory— his body would also be on fire as he fucked her relentlessly.
“m- max,” she cried out, her hand trying to push his wrist away as he smacked her insistent fingers slightly. she babbled at the overwhelming feeling that rose in her stomach, “it’s too much!”
“c’mon, baby,” he murmured, pressing a sweet kiss on her lips as he goaded her into another orgasm, “you’ve got more.”
“n- no! no more,” she replied with a high pitched squeal as her hips rutted against his fingers. “‘s too much! i- hah~ fuck!”
he chuckled darkly, watching her cunt produce liquid as it trickled out of her. she squirted and whined loudly as the red bull driver smirked.
max tutted, “see? you’re such a good girl. look at this pretty cunt of yours.” he leaned over and traced over her glistening folds with his tongue, humming at the taste of her. “such a sweet taste, baby. fuck. i could fucking eat you all day.”
“mmm,” she murmured, her hips twitching as max continued to devour her cunt like it’s his last meal. feeling her clit being stimulated once more, she let out a soft whine as she told him incoherently, “m- maxie, ‘m cummin’ again. fuck.”
it was as if max couldn’t even hear her, getting lost in a trance as he inserted three fingers inside her and fucked her once more.
he almost moaned at the feeling of her cunt tightening around his thrusting fingers, vibrations sending her to a haywire as she mumbled, “oh- oh!” her mumbling turned into screaming, clutching the sheets under her as pressure built up in her stomach.
she wasn’t even certain how she got into this predicament. all she knew was that, midway through the season, she promised to be at his mercy when he received his trophy by the end.
she didn’t think that he would go this route: his hips rutting down the mattress as he sought for friction, his mouth and chin glistening as she came all over his face again and again.
she was expecting him to deny her of everything— like a king of the world— yet here he was on his stomach like a man starving for pussy.
he growled almost immediately when she tried to push his hand away again, his thrusts were getting faster and deeper as squelching noises filled the room.
her mewls and the filthy sounds of her cunt and his fingers were the only thing that they both could hear— she almost wanted to die of embarrassment and humiliation.
while he… he fucking loved it.
he wanted her to cum all over him. he wanted her to scream, to whine and to have her eyes rolling back until she saw nothing but white. he wanted her to cry because she was overstimulated.
he maneuvered her around until she had her back arched and ass up, easily sliding his cock inside her as she sobbed. his hips snapped against hers while his cock drilled inside her cunt easily, filling her to the brim with his girth and length as she let out a cry of pleasure.
“fuck, schat,” max groaned from behind her, his eyes peering down to watch his cock slide in and out of her hole. “you are such a good fucking girl to me.”
she only let out a whimper, her walls clenching around his cock as he continued to praise her, “taking me so well with this pussy of yours. takin’ everything you’re given without complaining— you are such an angel.”
“mmm…max, ‘m gonna cum again,” she dragged out her last word, her tears staining the sheets as much as her cum did. she mewled, “fuck, maxie! ‘s too much!”
“keep cumming for me, liefje,” max demanded, the tight grip that his hands had on her hips while he fucked her contrasted with his use of term of endearment, “cum all over my cock.”
he could see his cock with ring her cum all around it as he continued thrusting, giving himself a smile of excitement as she came all over his cock as he demanded.
“see? you listen then,” max crooned, pulling her up against his chest as he bottomed out inside of her once more.
she reached her high for the eighth time, her walls stilling around his girth. max tilted her head, kissing her as she moaned softly at the feeling of cumming while his cock remained inside of her.
“let’s see if we can give you more before i fill this pussy of yours with my cum,” max chuckled, making her squirm and mewl. “can’t wait to see my masterpiece, schatje.”
♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015
♡ moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1 @savrose129
#f1 smut#formula one smut#mv33 imagine#mv33#mv1#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen smut#formula one imagine#max verstappen#max verstappen fic#♔ something sinful ⎯ f1 smut#formula 1 smut#💌 re:moony’s planner
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all that you are | part 1 [mafiarry]
authors note: okay it's here!! part one of this mini-series, it is a long one and there's lots of violence (and will be in all parts of this series), i will list all warnings so if you’re not comfortable reading, i totally understand!! if you are, grab yourself some snacks and get comfy cos you're in for a long ride! i really hope you guys love this series like i do <3 p.s. this used to be an oc fic, i have edited to make it reader instead, so if you come across any certain descriptions of the readers hair colour, skin etc. let me know as they were all supposed to be edited out!
word count: 19,592
warnings: mentions of blood and violence, sexual themes, mentions of r*pe, swearing, arranged marriage, mentions of alcohol and drug use
summary: y/n is thrown into her new life as harry’s wife, and harry has to learn and prepare himself to take over the new york famiglia.
//
Her tears have dried, though they still threaten to spill from her eyes. Eighteen is supposed to mean a party and your first sip of alcohol for a woman of the mafia.
Not for Y/N.
It’s an engagement party and her final social activity as a free woman. As if she could ever have been considered free. Women are never free. Only free for men to fuck and abuse whenever they please.
Y/N has never liked parties and she doesn’t exactly like people, either. Well, the only parties she’s ever attended are those of strict rules and professionalism and, maybe, being locked away your whole life does that to someone; makes you socially awkward and nervous in the presence of boys.
She shivers at the thought of a boy even noticing her, and now she’s engaged to the most attractive Made Man she’s ever heard of.
Her mother stands behind her, stern face and dressed in a tight lavender dress. She zips up Y/N’s cream dress and admires it in the mirror for a moment.
It’s form-fitting, small ruffles across the waist and it ends a few inches above her knees. It’s the most daring and revealing dress Y/N has ever worn, and it bubbles nerves and excitement within her.
Gaia gazes at her through the mirror with a distant look in her eyes. She can remember when she was Y/N’s age, married off to Giovanni. She can remember the fear and terror that consumed her body… that still does.
Y/N frowns. “Are you okay, Mother?”
It’s meant to come out much louder than it does. She sounds like a frail child. She is. Gaia snaps out of her trance and plasters on a smile, but it’s the same smile she uses after Giovanni finishes beating her. It doesn’t sit well in her daughter's stomach.
“You look absolutely gorgeous, figlia,” she tells her.
Y/N keeps her back to her and continues to admire the dress in the tall mirror. At least she’ll look pretty. Gaia brushes the top of her shoulders and twirls her curled locks around her finger.
“Behave tonight. This is more than just an engagement party. We can’t have Stefano changing his mind.” She warns.
She isn’t thinking about the heartache and pain Y/N will have to endure, she’s thinking about the countless nights that Giovanni will abuse her if this wedding doesn’t happen. Y/N nods her head, nerves bubbling in her stomach.
In thirty minutes, she’ll be surrounded by strangers as they judge and prod her. In thirty minutes, she’ll be meeting her future husband; one of the youngest, most dangerous Made Men in New York.
She’s known for two months now, since she got home from school and Giovanni broke the news. She spent the night fighting, sobbing and kicking and begging him not to throw her away like that. Begged for him not to hand her over to a man of such power, who will beat and hurt and abuse her.
Though when she thinks about it, it’s not much different from her current home life. She gave up fighting after he beat her bloody and blue. Her lip is still swollen from it and a soft bruise is hidden under her eye.
It’s lucky Gaia knows how to apply makeup. Y/N supposes she’s had enough bruises and scars of her own to hide over the years.
She thinks she should consider herself lucky, really. Most girls in Y/N’s position never even meet their husbands before their wedding day. At least she will have an entire night to find out who her sick father has chosen and have three years to prepare herself. But it doesn’t make it any easier.
Her eyes meet Gaia’s in the mirror. She hopes to find a hint of sadness in them, a flicker of guilt that she’s allowing her husband to do such a thing to their daughter. Y/N can’t hate her, no matter how much she tries. Gaia doesn’t have a choice in the matter. This is business between her father and the New York Famiglia. She’ll only get a black eye and a bollocking if she tries to intervene.
“Where’s Bruno?” Y/N asks softly, voice hoarse from the way she cried herself to sleep the night before.
She hasn’t seen her brother in almost a week, and she’s beginning to wonder if he’s actually going to show up at the party tonight. She needs his support—not that he’ll ever really offer any. He’s too far up Giovanni’s ass.
Bruno Saccaro is his father's son. Dirty, loyal and merciless. He’s only three years older than Y/N, but every inch of his black heart serves for one thing only.
Murder.
He was initiated at thirteen, just two days after his first kill, where he tortured and maimed a man twice his age before stabbing him in the side of the head with his beloved knife. He’s sick, just like Giovanni.
Though when they were children, he was her protector, the second he took his first kill, he became blood-hungry and protecting his baby sister was at the bottom of his list of priorities. Y/N’s sure she isn’t even on the list anymore. The only thing Bruno cares about is pussy and the Famiglia. She wouldn’t be surprised if Bruno was the one that suggested marrying her off in the first place.
“Business,” Gaia responds. “He’ll be at the party later, don’t worry.” She must sense her discomfort, but even her words don’t soothe her.
Y/N can’t imagine what her brother will be like at the party. Will no doubt have his cock buried in some girl within the first ten minutes. The thought makes her heave. He’s not the brother she used to have. He’s just like their father now.
A soft tap on the door breaks Y/N from her daze and Maria pops her head through the crack in the door. Short pink hair is the first thing she sees and a relieved smile breaks onto her face.
Maria Saccaro. Y/N’s first and only cousin, barely three weeks younger than her and the only descendent of Romero Saccaro, Giovanni’s younger brother and Y/N’s Uncle.
“Auntie Gaia, can I have a moment with Y/N, please?” She asks softly, like butter wouldn’t melt on that pierced tongue of hers.
Y/N almost rolls her eyes at the girl. Her bright pink hair gives away everything anyone needs to know. Maria doesn’t obey rules, she breaks them and finds loopholes just to piss her father off.
Y/N remembers one night when they were ten, when Maria told her she purposely did stupid shit in hopes of giving her father a heart attack so he’d finally die. Six years later and she’s still unsuccessful. Though, Y/N did hear that her Uncle Romero has to watch his cholesterol. Maybe her cousin's insolence is finally paying off.
Gaia hums and leaves the room, not sparing a second glance at her niece, keeping the door ajar and Maria rolls her eyes, flouncing down onto the chaise lounge.
“God, your Mom is such a drip,” she scoffs.
Y/N stifles a laugh and stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her mother may be good at makeup but nothing will ever cover up the insecurity in her eyes and three weeks of sleep deprivation under them.
Y/N shakes her head and turns to her cousin. “What did Uncle Romero say about your hair?” she asks, concern swimming in her eyes and Maria lifts her bangs from her face.
There’s a thick purple bruise across her temple and an angry line of stitching down the centre of it. Y/N gasps, hand covering her mouth with wide eyes. Maria shakes her hand in dismissal.
“He clubbed me with his fucking ashtray,” she sighs. “The look on his face was totally worth it, though,” she tries to break out in a grin but Y/N sees right through it.
Maria may act like she doesn’t give a shit, but really, she’s just as scared of her father as Y/N is of hers.
Romero Saccaro, Consigliere to his older brother, Giovanni, and widowed father to Maria. He’s been married twice already in his lifetime. His first wife was killed by his own hands and his second by suicide.
Maria could never blame her Mother for taking the easy way out. She often contemplates it herself. It’s a surprise that he hasn’t tried to marry Maria off yet to form an alliance. Though perhaps it’s for the best that no one has tried. She’s too temperamental, too disobedient. Her husband would get tired of her and give her back.
When an arranged marriage occurs, the husband is promised a beautiful, unscathed wife. While Maria is incredibly beautiful and just as much of a virgin as Y/N, she’s also gobby and dominant. She fights back, and that kind of attitude will get her killed. Maybe Romero does care for his daughter after all. Or maybe his ego is too big for his daughter to ruin.
“Can’t believe you’re meeting your future husband today. Happy fucking birthday,” she mutters out, words laced with venom.
Y/N sighs, shoulders sagging as the nerves come back with full force. “He’s worse than Father. Harry Dellucci kills for fun. At least Father waits until he has good reason to murder somebody… not that it makes it any better,” she mumbles.
Maria stares at her cousin with an incredulous look. “Uncle Giovanni is a fifty-year-old fuck-tard with bigger tits than me,” she begins, trying not to laugh at Y/N’s grimace. “Harry Styles-Dellucci is a twenty-two-year-old God, with a body of a God, the voice of a God-“
“Okay, I get it. He’s God-like,” Y/N cuts her off through a burst of laughter, cheeks flushed and Maria howls that maniacal laugh with her.
“Who’s God-like?” A thick, northern voice booms through their laughter and the room falls silent.
Y/N jumps in her skin out of fear, shrivels into herself as she turns on her feet. A tall, brown-haired man stands before them, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips in a cynical yet playful manner and Y/N’s heart plummets to her knees.
In all of his 6 foot glory, Harry Styles-Dellucci stands tall, thick body clad in a typical oxford suit and Y/N gulps at the hard sight of him.
Harry eyes his future bride. Soft hair curled and twisted into an elegant updo, gentle makeup on her brazen features, but the look in her eyes screams terror. She’s tiny. He knew she was only eighteen, but God, he hoped she’d be somewhat of a woman already. But she isn’t, she’s a child, and Harry struggles to keep that smirk on his lips.
She’s a child.
Mike stands beside him, eyes focused on Maria and her bright pink hair. She catches his intense gaze, the flirtatious smirk on his lips that screams mischief and she blushes, returning the look with false confidence.
Though she may try, even Maria is a blushing mess in the presence of mafia men. No amount of hair dye and secret piercings in the world can ever change that.
“Does Uncle Giovanni know you’re up here?” Maria quips and Harry turns to her, brows raised.
He knows who she is, who all of Y/N’s family and her tiny group of socialites are. He did his homework. He takes in her pink hair, the attitude in her eyes and the way she pops her hip out with a hand resting on it. Definitely the troublemaker.
“Giovanni sent me up here. I want to be alone with my fiancée for a moment before the celebrations begin,” he tells her.
God, his voice drips sex and the sound of it alone has both fear and comfort setting in Y/N’s stomach, and an unrelenting pulsing between her legs. She knows that feeling all too well, though she’ll never admit to it.
Y/N bites back a gasp and clears her throat. Harry watches her nervously twiddling her thumbs. “Is that even allowed? You’re not married yet.” Maria reminds him.
And thank God, Harry thinks to himself. She’s just a child.
“Maria, it’s okay. If Father sent him up, it’s okay. I’ll see you in a little while,” she nods to her cousin but Maria doesn’t want to leave her alone with the notorious Made Man and his right-hand man.
Harry notices her hesitancy.
“Mikey, why don’t you escort Maria downstairs.” His eyes never leave Y/N as he speaks in a slow, dulcet tone, but her eyes remain glued to the floor. Goosebumps break out onto her skin, but she isn’t cold.
Mike silently escorts the young girl out and closes the door behind him, leaving the soon-to-be couple alone. Harry squints at her. She’s curled into herself, fear dripping off her body in waves.
He takes a tentative step toward her, hands in his pockets and retrieves a small velvet box. Harry opens it and offers it to the girl.
“Happy birthday,” he whispers.
With arms around her middle, Y/N finally looks up at him and his breath is lodged in his throat. She’s beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Bright eyes and soft, gentle skin that he wants nothing more than to caress. If she’s this gorgeous now, Harry can’t comprehend what she’ll be like in three years time.
Being so up close, he sees her properly. The perfect slope of her nose, the sparkle in her distant eyes. He can see the sparse dotting of freckles across her nose and cheeks beneath the thin layer of makeup, the twitch in the arch of her shaped brows, the fullness of her painted lips.
Y/N takes the box from him slowly. The golden band stares right back at her, a thick diamond sitting in the centre and she lets out a shaky breath.
“It’s beautiful,” she forces herself to mutter out but Harry can see she’s trying to bite back a sob.
It is beautiful… but it’s plain, generic. A wedding ring should be personal, should mean something. Harry takes it from the box and gently reaches for her hand. Her skin is warm, even softer than it looks and his lips twitch. Y/N purses her lips. His fingers are rough and cold as he slides the ring onto her finger and just like that, she’s his.
The ring hangs heavy on her hand. A golden cage. She bites back another cry.
“Thank you,” she mumbles, hands close to her chest again and Harry tilts his head.
He can read her body like a book and he’s only known her for a few moments. There’s fear in the way she holds herself, but now her eyes are void of emotion, like she’s suddenly completely coming to terms with what will happen. Like she’s accepted it — like she’s empty.
Y/N looks back down to her feet and a strand of beautifully curled hair falls into her face. Harry reaches to brush it back, wonders if it’s also as soft as it looks, but she flinches back and he stills. Harry frowns. What has Giovanni done to the girl?
“Y/N,” he speaks softly, regarding the girl with a tone he’s only ever shown to his mother and sister.
The sound of her name slipping from his lips has her peering up at him, crystal eyes boring into his emerald ones and his heart leaps.
So fucking beautiful.
He reaches a hand against her face again and caresses her warm cheek. She flushes under his touch but doesn’t flinch away.
“Are you scared of me?” He asks.
Y/N gulps and lets out a shaky breath. “You’re a Made Man. You kill and you torture. Of course, I’m afraid of you,” she breathes and it’s the first proper sentence she’s directly said to him… that she’s afraid.
Harry remains quiet, letting himself revel in the sound of her voice. Silky soft, just like her skin and hair.
He dips his face down so he’s level with her. Even with her four-inch heels, he still towers above her, Y/N’s eyes level with his clavicle.
“I kill and torture those who deserve it, those who betray me,” he tells her. “But you are going to be my wife, Y/N. And fear has no place in a marriage.”
She dares to gaze up at him, his face stoic as she notices the sparse hairs that coat his chin and upper lip and she wishes she could read what he’s thinking, like he can read her. Her eyes are dazzling up at him, thick and dark lashes fluttering beneath the thin coating of mascara on them.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
“I’ve never not been afraid,” she admits and she isn’t sure why she’s telling him.
What if he uses the knowledge to prey on her? What if he laughs in her face? She doesn’t know why she tells him, but the bubbling in the pit of her stomach stops when she does. The confession burns something in the pit of Harry’s stomach and it’s only now that he notices the subtle discolouration beneath her left eye.
Bruises.
His thumb brushes over the soft skin and she shudders, tries to shy away but he keeps her head in place.
“He won’t hurt you anymore.”
Harry’s cocky smirk is gone as he peers down at her, a promising glint in his eyes and she’s never heard anything so tender and honest. She wants to believe him, that he won’t hurt her anymore. But she isn’t Harry’s wife yet, so Giovanni still has free reign over what he does to his daughter, no matter what Harry tries to promise.
Y/N nods her head and takes a step back. She avoids his gaze and Harry knows she doesn’t believe him. The wedding isn’t for another three years. Three years of being under Giovanni’s hold and dreading the day they’re bound for life.
He never asked for this marriage either, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to make his wife’s life a living hell. He’s seen the pain and torture Stefano inflicts on his Mother and in early years, on his sister too, and he’d rather be slaughtered than to inflict that same pain on another so undeserving.
He always promised himself that whether he marries for love or for the Famiglia, he’ll never lay a hand on his wife. Never do anything to hurt her.
Harry wishes to change many things when he becomes Capo, but what men do to their wives can never be one of them. Once married, the woman becomes the man’s possession, and not even a Capo dei Capi can decide what husbands do to their wives. Willing or not.
Y/N doesn’t say anything on the matter though, she knows how it works and she’s too couped up in her own thoughts. She doesn’t want to argue back, so she bites her tongue and remains silent.
She doesn’t want to be one of those submissive housewives that keeps a nice house and their husband's bed warm. She doesn't want to be silent like her Mother. But she has to be realistic, and in her unfortunate luck, she’ll never be able to marry for love. She'll never have the freedom of going anywhere without a guard, or have a job or go to college. She'll never make friends with women her age, or go clubbing and sleep around a little.
She’s his possession.
Her life was signed away the day she was born. Hell, Giovanni started seeking eligible husbands when she was still in the womb, it didn’t matter that they were already in their 20’s at the time. She’s considering herself lucky that Harry is only four years older than her.
She’s come to terms with it. Of never being able to make any decisions for herself. Of never having freedom. Of never feeling loved or safe. She’s spent her whole life in denial, hoping, praying that a fairytale Prince would crash into her life and sweep her off her feet, take her away from the mafia and the pain. She’s always known better, but maybe now it’s only just sunk in.
She glances back down at the golden cage on her finger. A beautiful ring to bind her to a lifetime of misery.
“Our fathers think it’s best if we arrive together.” His rugged voice cuts through the silence again.
Y/N clears her throat and nods her head, patting down the soft material of her dress and it clings to her body even tighter than before. Harry stifles a groan at the sight of her round hips and straightens his back. The longer he watches her, the less childlike she looks.
He offers his hand to her, palm outstretched and Y/N gawks at it like it’s from another planet. His fingers are adorned with intricately styled rings and he almost forgets she’s probably never held a man’s hand before.
He’ll be her first everything and the thought alone makes him twitch in excitement. She takes his warm hand with a hidden blush on her cheeks.
When they arrive at the doors, all eyes are on him and her. Hushed whispers echo through the ballroom, talk of her beauty and how he’s going to corrupt and break her. Harry smirks at the attention, he always has been one for the spotlight, but Y/N cowers into herself.
Her grip on his hand becomes tighter but she doesn’t notice it. Harry doesn’t say anything.
He tightens his hold on hers just enough for the reassurance she needs. Harry leads them both into the ballroom, soft music playing from the little string quartet in the corner and it looks like a fairytale wedding.
But it’s not.
It’s a forced engagement party for an arranged marriage that she doesn’t have a choice in. Harry had the choice of who he could marry, he wasn’t going to complain about the situation when she wasn’t given the same.
//
The party consists of uncomfortable dancing, heavy alcohol and Y/N and Harry’s families subtly digging at the other. She’s been tucked under his heavy arm for over an hour, a third glass of champagne in her hand and she bravely ignores the warning look on Giovanni’s face.
He told her before the party she was allowed two glasses at most. She knows what happens when she disobeys him, yet she finds herself finishing the third glass and reaching for a fourth.
Harry notices, too. He squeezes her hip each time she finishes a glass. It’s not a warning, nor a recommendation to stop. It’s a reminder of what Giovanni will do if she continues. It’s his way of trying to protect her while he can’t just yet. She ignores it, nonetheless. Maybe a good beating might make her feel a little more alive.
As his cousins leave their side, she lets out a deep breath and her shoulders relax with her exhale. Before Harry can say anything else, a broad figure is making its way over and he feels Y/N stiffen beside him again.
He reaches down for her hand, their fingers bumping and he loops his pinkie finger around hers. The touch doesn’t go unnoticed by the guest as he holds his hand out for Harry to shake.
“Congratulations on your engagement,” his gruff voice speaks and Y/N peers up through her lashes.
Dante Vitiello, The Boss.
People quaked in Harry’s presence, but in Dante’s? There were hardly any survivors. He’s a ruthless killer, initiated at the age of 11 after he killed a man with his bare hands. Y/N supposes that’s where he got his nickname from; Dante ‘The Vice’ Vitiello. She shudders under his gaze. She doesn’t know the man, only the stories that brave souls dared to chatter.
But Harry… Harry knows Dante. He trained with him when he was younger and they both thought themselves as friendly colleagues, a few stressed nights often sharing one another's company in Harry’s club, surrounded by a few women that they tended to pass around.
They had a bond, one Harry knew would always secure his position as future Capo and Dante always knew Harry would come through. Then there’s that one thing they both have in common; a mutual hatred for the fucked system their ancestors put in place; arranged marriages, the presentation of the sheets, disrespecting women.
Harry thanks him as Dante addresses Y/N, palm barely open as he offers a soft hold. She takes his hand and Dante brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He can feel her body stiffen further but it’s tradition. He drops her hand gently and she curls closer to Harry again. Even in the mere hours of knowing him, she seeks comfort in his embrace.
Harry says nothing.
Dante doesn’t look back at her. Though she appears much older than just eighteen, he’s nearing thirty and the last thing he wants is to make her even more uncomfortable. Besides, he remembers how he felt when the last Boss kissed his fiancée’s hand and eyed her up like a piece of meat, all those years ago.
“I’m sure Stefano and Giovanni will talk to you later about the arrangement but I’d like to let you know in advance,” Dante begins.
His accent is much thicker since the last time Harry saw him. He’s a typical Italian man. Tall and broad, dark hair, structured face and a well-maintained stubble.
“The wedding is set for October 16th…” he turns to Y/N, “... two weeks after your twenty-first birthday. The wedding will be here, again, and after the formalities and traditions, the next day you’ll both go back to New York.” All three wince at the sugar-coated mention of the bloody sheets but Y/N is the only one that makes it known.
She zones out after that, too caught in her own thoughts. Harry’s attractive, undeniably, but it doesn’t make the idea of having to sleep with him on their wedding night any easier.
Maybe if he was a family friend that she grew up with and was forced to marry, it wouldn’t be so bad. She’d have that bond of trust and familiarity with him, but that’s not the case. She doesn’t know him, therefore she can’t trust him. Every man in her life has beaten and abused her. Every man apart from Gomez.
Her eyes flutter across the hall in search of him. Now that she’s thought of him, she doesn’t remember seeing him since he came with her to the Saccaro Mansion. She searches and searches until she finds him standing off to the side, hands folded in front of him.
His dark blond hair is swept back in a formal quiff and his suit is tight on his body. Y/N doesn’t shudder when she looks at him, instead, she finds a sense of relief and safety wash over her.
Antonio Gomez has been by her side since she was born. He was Giovanni’s right-hand man when he first became Capo and was trusted with the job of protecting his little baby girl when she was born.
Gomez was only twenty when he was trusted with her life and had vowed to himself to always protect her. She still remembers the first time Giovanni hit her. She was five and had dropped her water on the rug.
She remembers the sting of her Father’s hand across her chubby face and the way Gomez ran for him, pinned him against the wall. But she remembers the sound of Giovanni’s gun exploding as he put a bullet in Gomez’ thigh as a warning. He never protected Y/N from him again, despite how much he wanted to.
“Y/N?” she hears Harry’s drawled voice call her name and she snaps her eyes away from her guard and back up to her fiancée.
“I need to speak with my Father. Would you like to come or join your family?” he asks her quietly and she reaches up to scratch at the bridge of her nose, a nervous habit, when she realises their pinkies are still linked.
He lets go and she clears her throat, taking a small step back and patting down the dress that hasn’t given her the confidence she hoped it would.
“Uh, I’ll go see Maria,” she mumbles with pursed lips and awkwardly walks past him, not standing around long enough for him to reach down and kiss her cheek in a polite manner.
Instead, he watches her walk away to her gushing, pink-haired cousin who has definitely drunk at least two bottles of champagne in the past hour. He waits until Y/N reaches her and he sees her shoulders relax, then a hand sits on his and he turns, his Father already by his side.
“She’s a real beauty, Harry. Don’t know how you can wait another three years for your wedding day.” Stefano’s perverted voice leaks through his ears.
Harry tries not to grimace or put a bullet in his leg for his comment. “I like my women with consent,” he mumbles, eyes back on her curved frame as she nervously wrings her hands while listening to Maria.
Stefano barks out a laugh, like not wanting to rape someone is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Suit yourself.”
He thinks that’ll be the end of it, that no more will be said about his fiancée, but Mike joins them both, eyes alert and posture sturdy. He reaches Harry and stands beside him, hands folded across his chest.
“Pretty little thing you got over there,” he remarks teasingly, though his voice holds no threat. He’s just stating facts but it still doesn’t sit well with Harry.
Mike has been his guard for three years now, and was one of Stefano’s soldiers beforehand. Harry and Mike have always been close, always shared too much between them both and Harry’s right-hand man and best friend, Jeff.
The three of them often spend their nights at the club, fucked between six or seven girls with strobe lights flashing. It’s a much more regular occurrence than when Harry does it with Dante.
He supposes there won’t be any more of that when he’s married.
He hums. Y/N’s eyes find him as she listens to something Maria says. She holds his gaze but something is off. Her body is rigid as she stands straight but her shoulders are slumped. Harry stares at her for another moment, eyes squinted when he notices hers are void of emotion.
She stares at him, like he’s not even there. Her face is blank, an expression that his soldiers have taken years to master. Harry gulps down something he doesn’t understand.
He hopes he hasn’t already broken her.
//
When the evening is over and the guests have left, Y/N and Harry are standing idly by the exit. Their separate cars are waiting for them as they say their goodbyes, families watching from their cars. She hasn’t relaxed much as the night progressed and now that she’s standing back by his side, her shoulders are stiff again and there’s a lump in her throat.
She knows she won’t be seeing him for another three years, that this is a temporary goodbye. Her heart begins to thump. Is he going to kiss her? Is he allowed? They’re not married yet but they will be.
Harry senses her quarrel and reaches for her hand, pulling out a little flip phone from his inner jacket pocket and turns her palm upright, sitting it in her hand. Y/N frowns, fingers closing around the old device and she looks up at him with pinched brows and an upturned lip.
“Um… what…” she doesn’t quite know what to say, doesn’t know how to ask him why he’s giving her a brick burner phone.
Harry reaches for her other hand and brings it over the phone, covering it and holding her hands in his. “My number’s in there and so is Mikey’s in case ya can’t reach me. I don’t know if your Father allows you t’have one, but now you do,” he explains briefly.
She doesn’t tell Harry that she’s never been allowed one, that she’ll no doubt get a black eye and a bloody lip for hiding it from Giovanni.
Instead, her tongue swipes across her lower lip and she nods. “Thank you.”
She isn’t sure what she’s thanking him for? It’s an old burner phone with two numbers on it. She can’t access the internet, can’t play games. No doubt all other numbers are blocked and she’ll only be able to call him and his guard, but she still feels a sense of relief? Maybe because he gave her that little bit of freedom… could it even be considered that?
“If he lays a hand on you in these next three years, I want you to promise you’ll tell me. I don’t care what time it is, you tell me.” His face is stoic, stern and set jaw.
She can see the seriousness in his eyes and she nods, like she’s hypnotised by the way his concern and worry flitters in his eyes. Maybe she is, she’s never seen that look directed to her before, at least not for a very long time.
“I promise,” Y/N swears, her eyes on his, and for a moment, she forgets the whole arrangement, that he’s going to be her husband for the rest of her life.
Because for that fleeting second, she feels like a shy girl in front of a handsome man that makes her heart flutter. For a blink of an eye, she feels normal as he gazes down at her with a look she can’t point. But that’s all it is. A moment and a look.
He doesn’t expect her to actually tell him, not when he can tell how embarrassed she feels when it’s mentioned. So when he’s on the private jet back to New York that night and he gets a text, his heart sinks to his feet. He’d left her for three hours and Giovanni had his grubby hands on her already, punishing her for something she didn’t tell him.
From: Y/N
What was it that you said? That he wouldn’t hurt me anymore?
He calls her immediately, but before the first ring can sound through his ear, the call is ended. His grip on the phone tightens and it takes everything in him not to throw it across the fucking plane. He can’t afford Stefano pressuring him about what’s wrong, he can’t have him knowing that he wants to protect Y/N. He can’t show that weakness.
Mike sits beside him, clicking his tongue as Jeff sits across from them. No one says anything, they don’t need to. Harry always took pride in his stoic expressions in times of agitation or fear, but the boys know him better than that.
They grew with him, watched him master that monstrous cold exterior that refuses to falter when he was beaten and tortured. Harry has been forced to bite his tongue in worse scenarios, so why is something so minuscule so difficult for him?
“This isn’t going to end well. You’ve met her once and you’re getting attached,” Mike says quietly, lips barely moving so as to not attract Stefano’s attention while he talks on the phone to Harry’s Mother, no doubt scolding Anne for something he did wrong.
Harry’s knee is bouncing, a nervous tick he hasn’t shown in years. He’s pissed that Stefano wouldn’t allow Anne and Gemma to the engagement party, Harry wanted his mother and sister to meet his fiancée, needed that support, even if he would never admit that out loud.
Jeff reaches over and kicks Harry’s ankle, stopping the jitters and he gnaws at his inner cheek, nostrils flaring and gently shaking his head.
“Not getting attached, Mikey. Just don’t like the idea of her Father laying a hand on her,” he seethes quietly through gritted teeth and Jeff squints.
He’s known Harry his entire life, knows how he feels about the lack of respect women receive in mafia families, how much he fucking loves his Mum and Gemma. And he knows he’s never seen Harry this pissed over some girl before, much less some girl he’s met once and hasn’t even touched.
Nothing else is said on the matter and in the following sixteen months, he doesn’t hear from her. He calls often and most nights the call ends before it rings, and others, all it does is dial in his ears.
He knows she’s kept the phone on, that she’s been reading the two-weekly check-in texts that he makes. He can see every call she makes and texts she sends, but she doesn’t send or receive any. Only from him.
He’s found it difficult. He’s never believed in affairs or homewrecking, call him old fashioned, and being in an engagement to a woman he doesn’t know or love has taken its toll. He knew he’d never be able to marry for love, that he would have had to marry for the Famiglia, for power and status. And he truly thought he’d have no problem in remaining faithful to his future wife, that whether they grew to love each other or not, she would be able to quench his thirst.
But Harry didn’t expect to have to wait three years after getting engaged and for his fiancée to be only just legal when they first met. To him, a four-year age gap is nothing, but remembering she’s now just turned nineteen and he’s almost twenty-three, he feels a bit funny about the whole situation.
He’s cut down on his fucks of the week. No more endless nights at the club with Mike and Jeff, fucking six or seven of the dancers between them. He’s been re-acquainted with his hand and on the odd occasion that it isn’t enough, he’s found himself in one of the private rooms in the back of the bar with Lily, one of his favourite dancers and fucks, just like tonight.
It’s been a long day of calls and fights and bullets and blood, and he needed to fuck his frustrations out somewhere. It’s no surprise to him when he comes much sooner than usual, but Lily doesn’t seem to be complaining.
Harry always had a knack to make her cum long before he did. She’s panting and giggling, pushing those bleach blonde locks from her face as she readjusts her outfit and spins on her heels, dazed eyes and drunken smile.
Harry doesn’t need to look at her to know. She watches him tug off the condom and shove his softening, yet still impressive length back in his pants with a smirk, bottom lip caught between her teeth as he fixes his suit to a more presentable standard.
It’s when he’s tucking his shirt in that she notices the silver band around his ring finger and she’s reminded he’s engaged. Lily isn’t stupid, she’s been in the business long enough to know it’s an arranged one.
“You get married in a few months, right? Wonder if she’ll be able to satisfy you like I can… though you are here now, so I suppose she can’t,” she snickers, eyes dark like she thinks Harry is about to laugh and agree, like he’s pleased with his infidelity.
He isn’t. His eyes darken and not in the way she wants them to, bile rising to his throat. He’ll be damned if he lets anyone talk about his fiancée like that.
“Probably not, I hear she’s a little virgin anyway. But hey, maybe her Dad broke her in for y-”
Her back is smashing against the wall, air knocked out of her before she can finish her sentence. Harry’s got his ring-clad fingers gripping her chin and jaw, nose pressed to hers and he’s seething.
“You better watch your fucking mouth, Lily. Just because we fuck, doesn’t mean you can get away with shit. Have a little respect, or I won’t go so easy on your old man next week when he doesn’t have my fuckin’ money.”
He doesn’t stand around long enough to see the fear in her eyes grow. Instead, he lets go, grabs his gun and leaves the girl standing in shock, silent tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and a trembling jaw.
Harry’s never laid a forceful hand on a woman until now and he thought he’d hate himself for it, but right now, all he can think about is Y/N. Of the disgusting things Lily said.
He texts her when he gets to his car, his usual ‘just checking in, how are things?’ and he grows impatient when she doesn’t respond immediately. But she never responds immediately; usually, she never responds at all. He’s speeding his way back to the penthouse, knuckles white as he grips the wheel and it only takes the usual 20-minute-drive just six.
By the time he’s storming into the elevator and punching in the security code to get to his floor, his phone is vibrating in his pocket and he fishes it out quickly, shoulders tensing when he sees Maria’s name after he made it very clear to only contact him if it was an emergency for Y/N. He unlocks the phone and reads over the message.
From: Maria
He found the phone.
Harry’s blood runs cold, sweat dotting at his hairline and for a second, he feels an unfamiliar lump climb up his throat. All he sees is red and his chest is heaving. He hasn’t felt this angry in a long time, so rageful. Harry shakes his head, teeth gritted and jaw set hard. How fucking stupid does Giovanni think he is that Harry wouldn’t find out? That he wouldn’t have given another phone to Maria in case something like this happened? How fucking brave is he, laying a hand on something that belongs to Harry? How fucking dare he.
Harry’s dialling numbers before his mind can even catch up to his action and after the first three rings sound through his ears, he lets out a growl and seethes through his teeth.
“Move the wedding forward. I want her with me now.”
//
It feels like déjà vu, standing in front of the same curved mirror with her mother standing behind her, pulling the same distasteful expression.
The flowers decorating the bride’s suit are the same; beige carnation bouquets with baby’s breath scattered sparsely between. The same, stupid classical music plays from the same scratched record, and the same golden cage is still wrapped tight around her ring finger.
The only thing that’s changed is her.
She’s grown a few inches taller and she’s filled out nicely. Her hips have rounded well and her breasts are full and perky. The chubby cheeks left sometime six months ago and her facial structure is strong and defined.
Her eyes are different now, not the same as they were two years ago, and she’s cut most of her hair. It sits just below her shoulders now, gappy bangs long across her forehead.
She got Maria to cut it on her birthday.
Gaia is struggling behind her daughter, lacing the back bodice of her wedding dress. It’s pretty—gorgeous, actually; a long mesh train with embroidered roses and petals across the hem of it.
A perfect fit across the top, a generous amount of suitable cleavage and as it meets her hips, the embroidery fades and the dress gently puffs out, accentuating her curves just a little more.
She feels pretty, like a Princess, but she silently reminds herself this isn’t a fairytale wedding, no matter how badly she wishes it was. Y/N watches herself in the mirror, short hair curled and pinned perfectly, wavy bangs framing her face and she looks ethereal.
She doesn’t have a black eye beneath the makeup like last time, nor does she have a busted lip.
Gaia tugs at the back of the dress again.
“Succhialo, figlia,” she scolds and Y/N rolls her eyes but she sucks her stomach in even more, nonetheless.
The last few months leading up to the wedding have been gruelling, to say the least. Y/N has been poked and prodded by several tailors and designers and she’ll be happy once this whole thing is over with.
She’s also had time to think. With Harry’s insistent texts and sporadic calls, she’s felt a little more at ease about the situation, like she was starting to get to know him a little better through the blank messages.
But as she stands in front of the mirror again, her nerves are ten times bigger than two years ago.
Giovanni only told her three months ago that the wedding was being moved forward—that she’ll be a married woman before her both her 20th and 21st birthday.
She didn’t question it, not when by the looks of his face, it definitely wasn’t his idea and he didn’t have much of a say in the matter.
When she found out, a part of her was thankful, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders because Giovanni wouldn’t be able to hurt her anymore. He hasn’t laid a hand on her since the night he found the burner phone.
She stupidly left it on the bed while she showered and Harry had texted her. She didn’t hear the message alert, nor her Father waiting for her in her room.
She did, however, know about the mistake she made when she left the bathroom in a towel and his fist kissed her cheek in a brisk greeting.
A lump rises in her throat at the memory. It didn’t stop there, why would it. She cried herself to sleep that night and every night after for three weeks.
She was unrecognisable for twelve days, bloody and bruised and banned from leaving the house. She tried to end it all that night, after he left her sobbing on her floor, naked and vulnerable.
Maria had stopped her just in time, snuck into her bedroom through the window and held her until she passed out.
She hasn’t looked her parents in the eye since. Gaia had stood by and watched it all, face stoic and void of emotion. Bruno ignored her screams of terror and begs of mercy.
And Gomez?
Gomez was shot in the foot for trying to intervene. She’s only had one thing giving her the will to power through this, to marry a monster.
Fear has no place in a marriage.
Maybe this arrangement will be her escape.
Y/N zones out as Gaia finishes lacing the back of her dress, too busy trying to calm the erratic thumping in her chest and will the pooling tears away. She blindly follows her mother out of the suite and down the stairs, holding her dress gently bunched in her hands.
It’s like everything moves in slow motion and all sounds are white noise. She can hear her heart thumping against her rib cage, can feel the sweat growing between her fingers, the lump forming in her throat as she notices Giovanni waiting for her outside of the chapel doors.
She stands behind him silently, not daring to make eye contact as Gaia takes a side entrance to join the rest of the guests.
They wait, Giovanni watching his daughter with cautious eyes. She’s too busy staring at the dark oak doors, knowing her future is waiting on the other side, another ring to bind her angelic soul to his tainted one.
Y/N feels her eyes stinging with burning tears as Giovanni loops his arm around hers and the double doors slowly open.
“You look beautiful, figlia,” he tells her through a strained whisper, like the words any normal father would shower his daughter with were burning his lungs.
The lump swells back in her throat. Of all her eighteen years of life, he’s never once said something so fatherly.
She can feel her chest aching, the idea that maybe seeing his little girl marry a stranger is hurting his heart like it’s hurting hers, but as she peers up at him for the first time in months, she sees a smile pulling on his lips.
His heart isn’t hurting. He’s just happy to get a power boost.
Y/N doesn’t pay attention to the piano ballad that begins to play softly as her father guides her through the arch of the chapel. She doesn’t acknowledge her family and his standing from their seats and cooing at the gorgeous young woman she’s turned into.
She stares at her feet as they take their first step into purgatory, before her eyes find the devil.
Harry freezes from his view at the altar. Clad in a slick red suit with ungodly curls, his mouth runs dry and knees almost buckle.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
He can feel his heart thumping in his chest as she gets closer, can feel the anger bubble in his blood at the sight of Giovanni’s arm looped around hers.
His hands are tensed into tight fists in front of him, jaw ticking and teeth gritted. But then he glances back at his bride and his heart skips a pulse.
She doesn’t have a veil over her head and he can see just how gorgeous she’s become. He hasn’t seen her in two years and now he feels speechless.
She dodges his gaze as her father kisses her cheek briskly, leaving her to walk the little step of the platform and stand before their families.
She turns to Harry, hands trembling as she picks at her nails. His gaze wavers from her face, drinking her in and as he eyes her generous chest, he notices the little green emerald that sits across her neck.
The emerald necklace he gifted her for her birthday two weeks ago.
Neither of them pay attention to the priest as she looks up at him through fluttering lashes. He’s grown even more attractive in the past two years and it’s intimidating.
She feels small under his soft gaze, but not unsafe. Maybe she just feels uncomfortable knowing what’s to come between them, what will be expected of her as his new wife.
Over his shoulder, Bruno stands tall with a cocky smirk and shimmering eyes. He doesn’t watch his baby sister be sold off to a killer. Instead, his eyes are on a blonde from Harry’s family, a dirty smirk on his lips.
Mike stands behind him, stuck out like a sore thumb. The only redhead in the entire chapel yet he fits right in.
It’s Mike behind them both that catches Y/N’s attention. He’s watching her closely, just like Gomez has for years but there’s something off in the way he observes her; like he’s memorising every tick and nerve in her body.
Her eyes land back on Harry but he’s been watching her the entire time. He doesn’t need to look over her shoulder to know his Mother is gleaming and sister picking her nails in boredom. He doesn’t need to look to know how apprehensive Maria is.
Neither of them can focus on what the official says. Y/N doesn’t dare look anywhere besides his face, trying to gauge his reaction, his mood.
He’s stoic as ever but a hint of a smirk tugs at the deep corners of his pink lips and his eyes are twinkling with a thrill of the unknown.
Hers are swimming in tears.
She tries to master his same expression, to prove she feels emptiness––but while her heart thumps shallowly in her chest, her eyes sting with the realisation that this is the end.
“You may now say your vows.”
The words drum through her ears and Harry nods, taking her hands in his open palms. Neither of them look away and Harry knows his Mother is trying to bite back a cry.
She always wanted her boy to marry for love, not for this.
Their official holds a small cream cushion, two pretty bands sitting on the velvet and Harry reaches for Y/N’s, lining it with her ring finger.
“With this ring, I take thee to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to love and care, and cherish every inch of your body and soul. I promise to protect and provide and stand by your side through light and dark. I promise my soul and heart to you, to our future children. I promise to love you until my final breath.”
Y/N feels a piece of her heart break as he slides the ring down her finger, greeting the engagement and promising their unprecedented future.
Her facade doesn’t falter and her mind draws blank.
She doesn’t think about her childhood, when Bruno used to carry her around the house on his back, when she and Maria painted each other's nails, when Gaia taught her Italian for the first time, or when Giovanni taught her how to tie her shoes.
Y/N’s mind rolls blank, like the person she was before is dead. Like she’s just been rebirthed into another life.
She reaches for the cushion and takes the band between her fingers, crowning it over Harry’s first knuckle as she looks back up at him.
An arranged marriage takes two, but she knows she’s in this alone.
“With this ring, I take thee to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, to love and support. I promise to stand by your side through the dark and the light. I offer my heart and soul, my body and mind. I promise to be eternally yours, until my final breath.”
And as she slides the ring past his second knuckle and the official pronounces them man and wife, the shaking begins.
Her body screams, igniting in a blazing fire, eyes frantic in terror and uncertainty.
But Harry gently cups his palms around her soft cheeks and with eyes on her, he kneels just enough to press his soft lips to her full ones and the uncomfortable burning eases into a welcoming warmth.
Her screams are silenced as his kiss offers a sense of comfort, like a mother and child’s first touch.
Y/N Saccaro dies a coward, but Y/N Styles-Delluci is born a survivor.
//
When they stand outside the chapel, she doesn’t have time to think about anything. She gripped his hand tightly as he led her down the aisle, ignoring the cheers of praise and excitement for the two.
They stand in the little entryway, side by side with Gomez a few steps to her side and Mike a few steps to Harry’s.
Giovanni and Gaia are the first to follow the newlyweds into the entryway, shaking Harry’s hand before moving along a few steps to shake Y/N’s.
Her parents look at her like she’s a stranger, no pained smiles or familiarity in their eyes. They move along as quickly as they came and Maria follows, her Father close behind.
She shakes Harry’s hand timidly before moving to her cousin, eyes watering and chin trembling.
Y/N doesn’t hesitate to pull her into a quick embrace, arms strong around one another and Y/N can feel her cousin’s heart thumping against her chest.
Romero is who pulls them both apart, offering his niece a firm handshake before a tight clasp on Maria’s shoulder pushes her away from the couple.
Y/N’s eyes are glued to them, wild in fear of what will happen to her best friend now she won’t be home to protect and comfort her.
Harry reaches for her hand, notices her worry and loops his pinky around hers, squeezing just enough to get her attention. When she turns back to him, she blinks back tears and her blurry vision settles on three bodies that stand by Harry’s side.
Stefano stands in front of the two women, shaking his son's hand with a proud smirk before he moves along to his daughter-in-law, reaching for her hand and kissing her knuckles. There’s a dirty smirk on his lips and Y/N squeezes Harry’s finger.
“Welcome to the family, Y/N. You’re a Delluci now,” he grins.
She slips her hand from his hold and takes a tentative step closer to Harry’s side.
“Styles-Delluci,” Harry corrects him, jaw set and eyes gleaming a fire he’s desperate to burn.
Stefano grits his teeth behind closed lips and walks on, allowing Y/N to take a brief breath of relief before she’s quickly introduced to the rest of his immediate family.
Anne stands in front of the girl, eyes regarding her with concern and kindness. In a cream dress, she reaches for both of Y/N’s hands and smiles kindly at the young woman.
“My name is Anne, I’m Harry’s Mum,” she introduces herself.
Y/N looks back to her mother-in-law; a beautiful woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. Every inch of her screams maternal natures, something she’s lacked all her life.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she replies politely, allowing Anne to pull her into a cautious embrace, close enough to ensure warmth, but far enough to not warrant fear.
She squeezes her softly, lips finding her ear.
“You’re safe with him, I promise,” Anne swears and Y/N can do nothing but nod.
When they pull away, Gemma stands by her mother with a gleaming smile and she sticks her hand out for her sister-in-law to shake.
“I’m Gemma, Harry’s little sister… and you're really pretty,” Gemma grins through chubby cheeks, a silent squeal of excitement.
She doesn’t understand the full extent of the marriage, Harry and Anne have always tried to shield the fifteen-year-old from the harsh truths of the world she was born into.
Y/N’s eyes widen and a shy smile tugs at the corners of her pink painted lips. She can feel her heart flutter in her chest and she reaches to shake Gemma’s hand softly.
Part of her nerves seems to falter around the Delluci women and Y/N misses the way Harry watches the exchange with thin lips but sparkling eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you, Gemma. And you’re very pretty, too,” Y/N tells the young girl, a soft smile on her lips and the youngest Delluci blushes under her gaze, looping her arm around her mothers.
Harry reaches down slightly, bending to his mother’s level and pressing a kiss to her temple before turning to his sister to set his lips to the top of her head.
“We’ll see you both in there,” he tells them.
Y/N watches with curious eyes, can’t take her gaze off him as he stands by her side and their fingers brush again. This time, neither of them link their pinkies.
“They’re nice,” she finally speaks, gaze fluttering to the ground when Harry cranes his neck to look at her.
He hums with a small nod.
He doesn’t say anything else as the rest of the hundreds of family and friends filter their way through the little entrance, shaking the hands of the couple and offering words of congratulations to Harry.
Between great uncles and underbosses, Dante greets the newlyweds again. This time, he isn’t alone. There’s a gorgeous blonde on his arm, tucked in his side with a loving smile as she stares up at The Boss.
“Harry, Y/N, congratulations,” he shakes Harry’s hand first then reaches for Y/N.
He clasps another hand over her knuckles and nods politely. The blonde hugs Harry as he thanks her for coming and she turns Y/N, a bright smile on her lips.
“You make such a beautiful bride!” she gushes. “My name's Daigle, I’m Dante’s wife.”
Y/N’s eyes widen as she’s pulled into a warm embrace and another bundle of relief is whispered in her ear.
“You got lucky with Harry.”
When she pulls away, Y/N’s eyes are swimming with tears of relief and gratitude. The couple congratulates them again as they make their way toward the banquet hall.
As Y/N’s about to say something to her husband, to tell him she didn’t know Dante had a wife, his hand sits at the bottom of her back and pulls her to his side, effectively cutting her off before she can even start.
“Congratulations my boy, what an impressive little bride you’ve got yourself,” a dark voice rattles through her ears and Y/N feels herself coil into Harry’s side.
The man is a little shorter than her husband, dark hair on his balding scalp and a slight podge to his lower stomach. He looks at the young bride with a sickening grin that awakens something in the pit of her stomach.
This is what she’s used to.
The lingering looks from pervy uncles and passers-by. Being subjected to nothing but a pretty face, even since she was young.
“Uncle Salvatore,” Harry greets through pursed lips and gritted teeth.
Salvatore’s eyes are glued to Y/N’s chest and Harry’s blood is boiling, knows he’s going red in the face and the vein in his neck is no doubt ready to pop.
Salvatore reaches for Y/N’s hand and kisses her knuckles, gazing up at her with a creepy stare but it doesn’t make her squirm in discomfort. This is the look she’s grown accustomed to over the years.
She’s mastered her poker face when old men hit on her, touch her. For Y/N, this is the norm. What she isn’t used to and what does make her curl into Harry’s side, is Salvatore’s son.
“Nino Delluci…” he begins, eyes wonton as they reach the bride, “... And you are a sight for sore eyes. What in Hell are you doing with my cousin?”
She doesn’t break eye contact when he smirks down at her with hungry eyes, gnawing on his bottom lip. She doesn’t break eye contact when he reaches for her hand and kisses her knuckles.
Twice.
She only breaks eye contact when he hums something incoherent along the lines of ‘I’d love to make you bleed’ under his breath, while taking her in.
Harry’s grip on his wife’s side tightens.
“Can we go inside now?” she asks softly, a hand reaching up to rest on his chest.
Harry squares his shoulders, eyes firm on his cousin which only encourages Nino’s smug face. She doesn’t notice the small boy that gazes up at her with a lovestruck smile from Nino’s side, nor does she notice Salvatore smirking grimly by the door.
“So soon, baby? Don’t you wanna get to know your new family a little better?” Nino taunts, taking a step toward her but Harry’s quicker.
He gently nudges Y/N behind his towering frame and squares up to Nino, nostrils flared.
“Back the fuck off, Nino.” Harry’s jaw is locked in place, lips pursed.
His cousin chuckles to himself, hands up in surrender.
Gomez and Mike remain still in their positions. They know not to interfere unless it’s completely necessary. Nino walks away, the young boy following as Salvatore holds the door open for them.
Harry doesn’t let his posture fall as they walk through the door, and Y/N lets out a shaky breath, skin breaking out in goosebumps as she rolls her shoulders and twists her neck.
Harry turns back to her, eyes cautious as he tilts his head to get a better look. He knows Nino shook her up, that she’s used to the unwanted attention from older men, but never from men so close to her age.
But what he doesn’t realise is while Y/N heard him raise his voice, her mind was sent into turmoil. Will he shout at her like that? Should she feel safe because she knows he can protect her? Would he use that same tone with her if she doesn’t do what he wants?
“Your cousin’s a little forward,” she coughs out nervously, shaking her head to rid the thoughts. Harry’s heart ticks and he scoffs a laugh.
“My cousin’s a cunt,” he corrects her.
Y/N’s eyes widen as she stares up at him, innocence swimming in her features. Harry forgets again that she’s been raised a young lady, that she’s never been around much potty mouth, and he realises just how much he’s going to corrupt her in this marriage.
As much as Harry wants to protect his wife, he won’t pretend to be someone he isn’t for the sake of an arranged marriage. His potty mouth is just one of the things she’ll have to get used to.
“Stay away from Nino. You may think I’m a monster, but I have my morals. Nino is merciless and evil. He will do whatever he wants and take whatever he pleases. No matter the consequences,” he warns her, his voice timid.
Y/N doesn’t say anything. She thinks her father is the same, so what could someone two decades younger do to scare her?
She listens, though; takes what he said into consideration. Y/N doesn’t have any desire to talk to Nino ever again.
//
Her fork has scraped across her full plate for almost forty minutes now. She’s not hungry, not even in the slightest.
Harry’s been watching her, peering over to his side and often gently nudging his elbow into her arm, nodding to the plate which only makes her shoulders slump.
Y/N hasn’t listened to any of the speeches from their families, nor has she acknowledged much of what Harry’s said to her all evening.
But Harry has hardly looked away.
He isn’t angry, he couldn’t be. But she’s only eaten a few mouthfuls of the meat and she’s almost drunk her body weight in champagne and rosé. He’s a little worried. Her eyes have been drooping for over fifteen minutes and her vibrant skin looks sickly grey.
The last thing he wants is for her to embarrass them both and throw up all over the head table.
“The potatoes are good,” he murmurs slowly in her ear.
She slowly turns her head to look at him, blinking slowly. She cranes her neck and purses her lips together. He’s handsome, that much she can’t deny, and in her hazy, drunken state, she wonders what her lips would feel like on hers again.
He is her husband now, surely she could just… reach up… connect their lips…
“And now for the first dance!” Y/N sinks back a little more in her chair and she suddenly feels sick for even considering kissing him again.
He’s dangerous and he’s a monster.
He doesn’t love you, he doesn’t care for you, Y/N, stop this!
Harry raises from his seat as all eyes find the couple.. He’s danced drunkenly with his Mother enough times to know how to cover up her alcohol intolerance.
She’s tucked in his side, their fingers intertwined as he guides them both to the dancefloor. The lights are dim, a twinkle from the fairy lights that are wrapped around wooden beams and looped across curtains illuminating the stuffy room.
With her hand in his, he raises it above her head and gently nudges her hip to spin beneath his arm. She falls gently into his chest with a soft ‘oof’ and Harry wraps his arms around her.
Y/N’s head rests against his hard pecs as he slowly begins to dance with her. She can’t keep up, though, the heels are too high in her drunken state and her knees start to buckle.
She feels her cheeks warm in embarrassment and she knows all eyes are on them. Harry hears her whine softly in his chest and with one arm around her waist, he gently lifts her so her feet sit on his.
He guides her arms around his neck, slowly stepping in a slow dance and she dares to peek up at him, innocent eyes and swollen lips. Harry cranes his neck down to meet her gaze, and those gorgeous eyes are swimming with threatening tears.
He doesn’t understand that she’s grateful for something as little as saving her from embarrassment. He doesn’t understand that she can’t understand her own thoughts.
Neither of them pay attention to the beautiful ballad that plays through the hall, nor do they appreciate the piano or string quartet that carries their dance.
Instead, she stares at him like it’ll be the last time she ever sees his handsome face, and he watches her with wonder and curiosity while his heart begs his mind not to break her like he knows he inevitably will.
For a fleeting moment, all of her doubts slip from her mind. She lets herself believe that he will protect her from pain and anguish, that he will love and cherish her, that she will be able to trust him for the rest of her life.
For a fleeting moment, she forgets again that this isn’t a marriage bound by love, but one bound by honour and duty.
Then the music stops and Salvatore takes a step forward, raising a half-empty glass in the air to gain the attention of the other guests.
“You wed her, now bed her!”
And just like that, the entirety of the male wedding party is chanting those same words. The pair pull apart and Y/N’s wide eyes are scanning the crowd for an escape. She knows she can’t run but fuck, does she want to.
“Wed her, now bed her! Wed her, now bed her!”
“Make a masterpiece on those sheets for us, Harry.”
“Make your wife bleed!”
“Wed her, now bed her!”
Her frantic eyes find those of her mothers, but Gaia looks away, head tilted and chin up like she can’t bear the thought of looking in her daughter's desperate eyes. Y/N begins to panic, chest rising and falling in terror and she finds Maria.
Her cousin stares at her in shock, jaw slack and she tries to run for her, to pull her away from Harry but Mike stands in her way, blocking her from Y/N and ultimately escorting her out of the hall.
Gomez watches, swallowing the bile that crawls up his throat. He knew this day would come, that one day Y/N would be married off and forced into a new life she never agreed to.
He just hoped it wouldn’t hurt so much watching it happen. With a tentative hand on her back, Harry leads Y/N out of the hall. The party follows, cheering them on as she holds her dress and wanders up the thick spiral stairs.
Their room is at the very far end of the hall, away from all the others where they can’t be disturbed… or heard.
Her heart thumps sporadically and the alcohol feels like it’s worn off, and she’s far too aware of what’s supposed to happen now.
Because now, she has to give herself to him. Every inch and fibre of her entire being is about to be his, by choice or not, he’s going to take it all.
He closes the door behind them as they wander in and the frantic terror begins, surges of confidence smacking her.
Harry turns to face her, face stoic as ever and she stumbles over her feet, hands reaching out to steady herself and she shoves at his chest. Harry can smell the alcohol on her breath. He doesn’t know if it’s the first or third bottle of champagne.
He cocks a brow at her bravery and she glares up at him through droopy eyes.
“Just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean I’ll bow down to your every order.” She slurs, almost losing her footing.
Harry holds her up by her elbow.
He’s shocked by her sudden change in attitude and he has to bite back a laugh. Was this the real Y/N breaking through?
“Is that so?”
There’s an amused grin on his lips. He finds it fucking hilarious. He’s never been turned down by a woman before, but it’s too amusing to watch her in her drunken state for him to take her refusal as a punch to his ever-growing ego.
He was never going to take advantage of her in such a vulnerable state. Maybe that’s why he’s so amused by the situation.
Y/N stumbles again.
“If you so much as force yourself on me tonight, I’ll make your life a living hell.”
It’s an empty threat, Harry’s sure of it. He squints his eyes at his wife, but she doesn’t show any signs that she’s unsure of her own words. He thinks the seriousness of the situation is starting to sober her up and she’s brave, too brave.
“Think you’re forgetting who the Capo is here, princess.” He warns.
She holds her glare as he dips his head closer to her face. He expects her to look away, to cower under his gaze like every other woman, but she doesn’t. She holds her chin high.
“You’re not Capo yet. But when you are, I will make deals impossible, I will run and believe me, I can run. I will burn you and your stupid Famiglia.”
Something flashes in his eyes, and it’s not amusement. He no longer finds her insolence funny. It’s anger. Anger that she thinks she can talk to him like that and get away with it.
But he’s conflicted. He knows she’s scared, that she’s shaking as she grits her teeth and stares in defiance.
“Then I’ll just have to torture you like all the other traitors.”
Lies. Big fat lies.
He’d never lay a hand on a woman, traitor or not. But his blood still boils at Y/N’s stubbornness. He never intended on taking what is rightfully his without her permission.
Y/N coils in disgust, a sardonic laugh slipping past her lips. Her sad smile falls as quickly as it had appeared, and she’s back to looking stoic.
“Do it, I dare you. Because I’ll just keep rebelling. I’ll publicly humiliate us both, just to see you fall.” She threatens, and Harry wants to believe it’s an empty one.
He doesn’t think he’d ever go against his own morals, but she’s beginning to wear his patience thin, not that he’s ever had much of it.
“Then I’ll put a fucking bullet through your skull.” Another fucking lie.
She steps closer, alcohol thick on her breath but she looks as sober as the day they first met.
“Baby, I’ll be pulling the trigger. My life ended the day I was born. Killing me would do us both a favour. You might as well just get it over with.”
Harry regards the girl for a moment as her voice breaks. He tries to read her, to get a glint of any flicker of emotion he can. But there’s nothing. Plain emptiness. He knows that resolve would fall under the touch of a blade or pliers pulling off her painted fingernails.
The thought of someone even touching a hair on her perfect head sends fury through his veins.
He doesn’t notice just how angry the thought makes him until the metallic taste of blood lingers on his tongue, a taste all too familiar. He’s bit into his lip.
“Forget what I said on your birthday. Fear has every place in a marriage and I hope you’re fucking terrified.”
He spits blood on the white sheets, his saliva turning it pink as it soaks into the fabric. “There, you saved your virginity for the night.”
She stares at him, shoulders sagging just an inch as she wobbles on her feet. It’s like the alcohol is making another appearance as she grimaces at him.
“Who said I was a virgin?”
//
When dawn breaks and light filters through the musty room, Y/N stirs from her slumber with a groggy head and unsettled stomach.
At first, she doesn’t recall the night before, but from the dull throbbing across her temples, she knows alcohol had a strong play in the evening.
It’s when she shifts in the bed, that she realises something is off.
Her bed isn’t this soft… and the sheets in her room are definitely not white cotton. She turns her head, eyes meeting the sleeping face of the notorious mobster, and she shrieks, startling him from his light slumber.
Y/N falls off the bed in an attempt to flee the situation, but when she stands, she realises she’s not in her heavy wedding dress anymore and she feels light.
Bile crawls up her throat at the realisation that she’s in his dress shirt, that she isn’t wearing a bra and while the shirt ends mid-thigh, she’s only got on those sheer panties underneath.
Harry watches her gaze trail over his body–his very naked body, besides his black boxers. She gulps at the sight, shaking her head and trying to ignore his thick thighs and toned abdomen.
Her mind conjures up the worst.
She slept with him, he took what innocence she had left.
Her thoughts are only confirmed when she notices the dark pinkish spots of blood on the sheets and she feels sick, lightheaded – and she knows it’s not from the hangover.
Harry watches her freak for a moment, watches the regret and fear flood her eyes and he quickly realises she doesn’t remember a damn thing.
He doesn’t do anything to reassure her. Doesn’t remind her that he spat blood on the sheets, or that the reason she’s in his shirt is because she struggled too much to get out of her dress and didn’t have any other clothes to change into, so he gave her his shirt.
He doesn’t tell her that he didn’t lay a hand on her, that he waited until she was asleep before laying beside her peaceful body.
“You were willing, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he breaks the silence, voice rugged and he rubs the sleep from his eyes.
She doesn’t dare look at him, arms wrapped tightly around herself and she feels ashamed, so fucking ashamed. She believes him, though. He may be a monster but he’s known to be an honourable man, a man of his words, not a liar.
“And even if you weren’t…” he stands from the bed as an insistent knocking begins to pound on their door.
“You’re my wife now, so I have the right to take what I want.”
He doesn’t believe a word he just said. He’d never force himself on her or any other woman, no matter what. That’s one thing he’ll always stay true to.
Y/N backs into the wall at his words. She ignores him opening the door with a tired grin, ignores the gossiping women of the family flooding through the room and whispering about the frail wife.
Her mind is on such an overdrive that she doesn’t see the truth right in front of her. She doesn’t realise that her thighs don’t ache and her core isn’t tender. She doesn’t notice that she doesn’t have any bruises decorating her soft skin, that Harry’s back isn’t littered in claw marks like it should be.
She believes the worst because it’s all she’s ever known.
They take the sheets with giddy smiles and gushing giggles as Harry steps into his dress pants from last night.
There’s no robe for her to cover herself with and unless she wants to wear the wedding dress that carried her into her new, caged life, she’ll have to go downstairs in Harry’s shirt and her panties.
She keeps her distance from him as they descend the staircase, arms still tight around her middle and she curls a little, just to make sure the shirt covers everything.
Everybody is watching as they enter the hall again, waiting for the bloody sheets to be presented for men to howl at and women to blush over.
Y/N keeps her eyes glued to the ground, wiggling her painted toes and biting back a cry that wants to tumble from her trembling mouth.
She ignores the cheers of pervy uncles and distant cousins, pretends she doesn’t notice the praise Harry gets and the pity looks she recieves with jealousy glares from the women.
It isn’t until the fuss dies down that she dares to look up with tear-stained cheeks and a quivering chin. Gaia still refuses to look at her from across the hall, but Maria doesn’t waste a second to see her cousin when Harry turns to talk to Mike.
“Y/N…” she breathes softly, reaching for her cousin’s arm but Y/N shy’s away from her family's touch and clears her throat, blinking back tears.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she mumbles hoarsely, shaking her head and looking away from her concerned eyes.
Maria frowns, glaring up at the tall man beside her and pointing a jabbed finger in his face.
“Hope you’re fucking proud of yourself,” she seethes.
Harry stares at the young girl. Her hair is blue now and her nose is pierced with a hoop, something he didn’t notice last night. He doesn’t entertain the girl, though. Instead, he shoves a hand in his trouser pocket and reaches for Y/N with the other.
They’re both shocked that she doesn’t cower away from his touch when he rests his palm on the small of her back.
“Let’s go get ready, then we can say goodbye. Jet leaves for New York in two hours,” he tells her.
Y/N doesn’t say anything about a honeymoon, doesn’t question why they aren’t going on one. She’s thankful they’ll only have to be on that plane for 4 hours together, there is no way in hell she could survive two weeks in complete isolation with him.
She gets ready in the bathroom, legs jelly as she changes from his shirt and her underwear. She throws the panties in the bin, not ever wanting to see them again.
She’s about to dress in what her mother packed; a beige pencil skirt and a flowy white blouse with four-inch heels, when she notices another small bag beside it.
She doesn’t need to wonder where it came from, she knows Maria found a way to pack her something more comfortable after a bad night and in preparation for a 4 hour flight.
So instead, she dresses in a pair of black leggings and an oversized grey sweater. Her hair is tied in a quick ponytail and her face is void of makeup and emotion.
She feels shy when she leaves the bathroom, wearing something so simple and looking so vulnerable. He’s dressed in another suit when she comes back into the bedroom, a simple black one with a white shirt and he’s strapping a gun to his chest when he notices her.
She looks tired, simple. She looks normal. He knows for a fact Gaia did not pack that outfit.
“You look comfy,” he mentions.
She swallows visibly and raises her chin, lips pursed as she stares at his forehead. He knows that trick. He knows she’s pretending to look him in the eye. He bites back a smile. She’s trying to hide her discomfort.
“The jet’s ready when you are. Would you like to say goodbye to your family now?”
A leather duffle bag hangs in his hand and her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she shakes her head.
“Um… actually, I don’t… want to say goodbye…” she admits quietly.
It’s silent for a moment as Harry’s brows bunch and he tries to figure her out.
“You know we’re not just going to New York for a weekend away, right? You’re going to be moving there, to live with me. I don’t know when you’ll next see them again,” he reminds her carefully, his words slow like he needs her to comprehend them properly.
But Y/N nods her head and relieves a breath.
“I know,” she tells him, her voice the most confident he’s ever heard and he nods once, agreeing.
“Okay, then let’s go.”
//
She’s been sitting beside him the entire time, curled up against the window. Neither of them have said a word, both too in their heads.
For Harry, he thinks about how he’s lied to her, how he’s letting her believe he took her innocence. He thinks about her desire to leave without saying goodbye to her family, about what was said on their wedding night, how empty she looked.
For Y/N, she thinks about her new life. She wonders if it’ll be better or worse. When she was at home, Giovanni took his frustration out on her, was cruel and abusive if she or someone else annoyed him.
She wonders if Harry will be the same when they’re back on his land, in his territory. She only remembers one thing from their wedding night. Fear has every place in a marriage, and I hope you’re terrified. She hopes he didn’t mean it.
It’s only the newlyweds on the plane and sleep comes quicker to her than she expected. The others had taken another jet, insisting that Harry and Y/N needed more time alone together. Really, it was just Anne's way of making sure Y/N didn’t feel overwhelmed on a plane full of Delluci’s.
Harry doesn’t wake her when they stop midway to get fuel. She wakes hours after he sleeps beside her, but she doesn’t wake him. Instead, she observes him for a little while; acknowledges the twitch in the corner of his lip, the little movement behind his eyelids, the gentle snores that tumble through his throat.
She appreciates his dark lashes fanned across his cheekbones, his ungodly waves. This version of him doesn’t look scary, doesn’t look monstrous. This version of Harry looks approachable, soft… dare she think… vulnerable. His jaw isn’t set and his lips aren’t pursed.
She wants to reach forward and caress his cheek, maybe one day she might.
When they land back in New York, a car is waiting for them; tinted windows and bulletproof glass. Y/N isn’t silly. Harry helps her with her bags, piling them into the trunk and they both clamber inside.
A partition separates the couple from the driver as the journey begins again. Y/N is looking out of the window, the soft evening consuming her but she already misses the Californian views.
“I recently had the penthouse redecorated to give you some sense of home there,” Harry tells her and when she turns, his eyes are already on her face.
“I want you to remember that it isn’t just a place that you live in. It’s your home now. I want you to treat it as such,” he says.
Y/N nods but she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say. How do you treat a place like a home when there’s no sense of safety?
“And as for security,” he catches her attention again before she can focus her gaze back outside the window.
“Mike will be your new guard. I’ve known him for years and he’s good. I trust him. If you want to go anywhere and I’m not around to go with you, Mike needs to be by your side.” Y/N can’t help the frown that grows on her face.
Not only is he entrusted with her life, but she doesn’t know him, she can’t trust him.
“Why can’t Gomez still be my guard? Why can’t he come here and guard me?” she questions, brows knitted.
Harry scratches his nose.
“Because while your Father trusted him in his territory, I wouldn’t trust him to protect you in mine. Where you go, Mike goes. No arguments.”
First order.
Neither of them say anything else for the remainder of the drive, but when the driver pulls up to a stop, Y/N’s eyes are wide as she stares out the window in awe.
A fifty story building stands tall before her, tucked between two slightly shorter builds. Her parents' home is massive, but this is something else.
This… this was an apartment building?
Harry doesn’t say anything as he walks her inside the lobby; everything is all white and pristine. The blonde receptionist behind the desk offers Harry a flirty smile that Y/N watches him completely ignore and something flips in her stomach. In the elevator, he reaches for the code and shows her the seven digits he punches in.
“We’re in the penthouse, right at the top. That’s the code. Only a select few know it, so don’t go telling everyone,” he warns, standing back as the doors close.
When they arrive at the penthouse, Y/N doesn’t know what to expect, but softwood undertones and fluffy rugs are not it. He guides her inside as she takes it all in.
The entirety of the first floor is open planned, white walls with gorgeous art hanging across them. The kitchen is huge, black and white and Y/N feels her heart flutter at the thought of all the baking she’ll be able to do.
She isn’t given much time to admire it before Harry leads her through the kitchen towards a staircase.
“There’s a library and a gym up here and our bedroom, my home office is up here too,” he says, leading her up the stairs and into a dark room.
He flips on the light as she follows him inside.
“Our room? You mean we’re going to share the bed every night?” there’s a twinge of panic in her voice.
Harry doesn’t think anything of it other than she’s innocent, nervous about sleeping with his body so close to hers every night. But that’s not it, at least, not all of it.
Really, Y/N doesn’t understand why he even wanted to sleep with her on their wedding night in the first place, and now he wants to share a bed with her for the rest of their lives?
She thinks it’s a pride thing, to have his wife sleep in the same bed as him. That has to be it. Because compared to Harry’s past lovers and flings that Maria graciously told her about, Y/N is repulsive – doesn’t compare.
“Yeah… why? Is that a problem for you?” he asks softly.
Y/N shakes her head quickly, clearing her throat and pulling her sweater sleeves past her hands.
“No, not at all… just didn’t think you’d want me in your bed, is all,” she admits, but she doesn’t mean it in the way Harry takes it. He smirks to himself though.
“You’re my wife, Y/N. I’ll always want you in my bed,” he flirts, watching as her cheeks blush in realisation of how she made her statement sound.
She clears her throat awkwardly and Harry places her bag on the bed.
“Anyway, make yourself at home. I have some business to attend to, so Mike will be around, but remember if you want to leave, he goes with you.”
He brushes past her without another word or a kiss to her forehead like he usually would to his mother or little sister. Y/N thinks nothing of it, she much prefers the space.
It isn’t until she begins unpacking one of her bags that she notices a wrapped gift on her nightstand with her name written on a note that sits on top of it.
You’re not a prisoner anymore x
With furrowed brows, she tears the paper off the gift and opens the box. A phone sits waiting for her, her family’s phone numbers saved along with Harry’s, Mike’s and Anne’s already. She feels tears sting her eyes and with a trembling thumb, she calls Maria.
//
In the week of Y/N’s new life, she’s grown accustomed to her new place of residence. She’s gotten used to the penthouse by now, knows where everything is if she needs anything.
She’s spent a fair amount of time in the kitchen (after the first few days of refraining from using anything), making cookies and brownies for her and Mike to snack on.
She’s mainly tucked herself away in the library, often draped across the chaise with a soft blanket and a good book.
That’s about all she’s grown accustomed to, though. She hasn’t seen her husband, at least, not properly. She’s been asleep when he gets home and asleep when he leaves.
Y/N tries to consider herself lucky. She’s thankful that she hasn’t had to interact with him, save for the two days in passing when he offers her a tightlipped smile before scurrying out of the door.
She doesn’t know why his lack of presence brings a sense of uneasiness, not after she’s gotten to know Mike just a little bit over the past seven days.
Y/N tries not to dwell on the fact that she knows Mike’s favourite frosting flavour but has no idea what her husband’s birthday is. She doesn’t know why part of her wishes to know Harry better, wishes for some type of emotional intimacy between them both.
Y/N knows she needs to accept the fact that she’s safe with how things are, not wish for possible problems that could endanger her in the long run.
But then, she supposes she’s never not been endangered, so what does she know? Maybe she wishes for the sense of comfortability with her new spouse because he’s already offered her something she’s never had before: safety.
Maybe she supposes safety and comfortability are meant to come hand-in-hand. Or maybe she’s just lonely, craves the intimacy she no longer has with her cousin.
Either way, she doesn’t get that relief of intimacy from Harry. Instead, she learns an odd quirk of Mike’s every couple of days and loses herself in the stories that occupy her mind.
The library has become somewhat of a safe haven. And despite having the means to remain in contact with Maria, Romero tends to keep his daughter on a tighter leash now and Y/N often worries with the wonder if it’s her fault.
She thinks Giovanni may have said something to intervene, and she’s been letting blame sit idly on her shoulders as the week slowly strolled past.
It’s been hard for Y/N. She’s been confined to the many walls of the penthouse, despite having the ability to leave (with Mike, of course, something Harry made very clear). But she doesn’t want to leave her new home with her guard.
She wants her husband to show her around and maybe show a little attention to her. She tells herself it’s because she needs the reassurance that she hasn’t done anything wrong, that she hasn’t upset him.
She needs him to do something that suggests he doesn’t have a reason to hurt her.
It’s fucked and she knows it. That hearing nothing is considered bad news to her. Y/N hates not knowing, hates uncertainty. She should be well used to it by now, that’s all her life has ever been.
But things are drastically different in New York with Harry, even if it’s only been a week and she hasn’t seen him.
It doesn’t matter that she feels lighter at the fact of no longer being in Giovanni’s reach or hold. She needs Harry to communicate. She needs to know she’s not doing anything wrong.
But Harry’s a busy man, has business to attend to and bullets to fire. He doesn’t have the time right now to reassure his virgin wife of anything.
And why should he?
Not only did she directly disrespect him but she somehow, someway crawled under his skin and made him grow defensive of the frail woman. Weakness is something he can’t afford.
But it’s not that he hasn’t wanted to.
Women cowering under his influence has never been something Harry has enjoyed, but she isn’t just any woman anymore; she’s his wife, bound by love and honour and duty, she’s his wife.
Perhaps she’s in the same boat. Putting a label on a relationship tends to force some sense of kindred feelings on people.
A marriage is the union between two undying souls, for kindred lovers and harnessed spirits. A marriage is a symbol of devotion, trust and love. Everything their relationship is not.
Maybe that’s why he silently observes her while she sleeps, making sure her breathing is steady and comfortable, and why she misses his presence when he’s gone and wants to know more.
Stories of other lovers are what seem to take her mind off things best, but also have her brain reeling and mustering up impossible scenarios in the light of day, encouraging them to run wild through her head in the dead of night.
Y/N doesn’t know whether to be thankful of them or not--whether it gives her a sense of false hope or weightless relief.
Today is no different from the past six. She wakes alone with no idea where Harry is or what he’s doing.
After her shower and getting ready for the day, she finds herself in the library, lounging across the chaise with Jane Eyre in her hands, but she can’t seem to grasp the words on the first page.
It’s with a sigh that Y/N puts the book back and allows her fingers to brush against the spines of endless stories and fantasies.
There’s not a speck of dirt on the pad of her finger when she comes to the end of the shelf and she wonders if it’s because Harry secretly loves to read or because a maid frequents.
She can’t help but suppose it’s the latter. The thought of Harry reading is somewhat amusing to Y/N, but she knows it’s not something she can just rule out. She doesn’t know the man.
She’s huffing with boredom when she’s ready to leave the room, but as her eyes flitter effortlessly across the clinically white bookcases, she catches something golden that’s tucked away at the far end of the room, shoved beneath a lip at the bottom of a case.
With a tilted head and gently furrowed brows, she goes to inspect it, pulling out a large photo album.
It’s dusty, looks like it hasn’t come out to reminisce old times in a while and Y/N blows the thick coating of fine powder off. There’s nothing but soft, intricate golden leaves designed and embroidered across the expanse of the outer book and it feels heavy in her hands.
Maybe not the weight of the book itself, but the weight behind it.
She doesn’t know what compels her to leave the library with it wrapped in her arms, what forces her to sit on the couch with it out in the open on the coffee table in front of her.
Y/N feels sick at herself for even opening it, she knows old photos are precious past memories that she suspects someone like Harry would not particularly wish to share with his new wife.
It doesn’t stop her from looking, though – doesn’t stop her heart from aching and swelling at the sight of a three-year-old Harry wandering around butt-naked in a backyard with a cheesy grin on his lips and a green bucket hat on his head.
She keeps looking; flipping the pages with a gentle smile but it quickly fades with one of slight confusion.
The only people in the almost hundred photos are the same three: Harry, Anne, and a mysterious man. Y/N’s never seen him before but he looks familiar, she can’t help but see traces of Harry in him.
She supposes maybe it’s Harry’s uncle; maybe even a family friend and Y/N’s just thinking too deep into it. She needs to stop allowing her mind to think everything to be a fucking conspiracy.
She wants to appreciate the pure vulnerability she’s able to see in regards to Harry, even if it is just through photos that are almost twenty years old – older than her.
She doesn’t know whether she’ll get to see a side of him that isn’t stone cold and doesn’t absolutely petrify her.
Knowing some part of him used to be young and innocent offers a sense of relief, a reminder that he has some sanity about him; whether he wants to admit it or not.
She gets to the end of the photo album when she learns the strange man's name. On the back of a photo of the unfamiliar face and Harry digging dirt in the garden, dressed in overalls with a beer in the man’s hand and a sippy cup in Harry’s, there’s a little note written in what she supposes is Anne’s calligraphy.
Danny and Harry -- summer 2000 x
Y/N finds herself mumbling his name under her breath, brows furrowed as she scours her brain. She’s heard that name before, she’s sure of it.
She doesn’t have much time to continue her mindful search before the creaking of the living room floorboards quirk in her ears and Mike is slowly swaying into the room.
He’s dressed in a slick suit, something that Y/N has tried to tell him isn’t necessary and he has ignored, and his hands are stuffed in his pockets with a stoic expression on his regularly threatening face.
“Where’d you find that?” his low voice asks and even though it’s just about audible, it manages to sound through the room and ricochet against the walls and beams.
Y/N nearly jumps in her skin, despite already knowing of his presence.
She feels no threat from Mike--she knows he’s here to protect her and both he and Harry have made that very clear--but he’s still very intimidating in the way his posture holds him and his general blank expression.
It’s something about his eyes. Icy blue but she knows something dark burns behind them.
She clears her throat and quickly closes the book, tucking loose curls behind her ear. Y/N pushes the album to the centre of the coffee table and sits further back on the couch, as if to make a point--she’s just not sure what point she’s trying to make or prove.
She clears her throat.
“Uh, I found it in the library,” she explains lamely and Mike notices she can’t make eye contact with him.
He also knows she isn’t lying.
Over the week he’s been guarding her, he’s learnt all her ticks and tells. Y/N isn’t a liar, she’s just constantly in fear and silently requires the reassurance that she hasn’t done anything to upset anyone.
Mike hums, nodding his head, knows she has more to say; he knows what photos are in that book.
“There’s uh, there’s a lot of pictures of Harry with his Mom and some man… Danny,” she says carefully, articulating her words in a way that isn’t going to seem out of place or something he’ll consider mentioning to Harry to have her scolded and punished.
“That’s for Harry to explain, if he ever wishes to,” he responds cooly, hands still shoved in his pockets but Y/N’s eyes are fixed on the book and she wonders if she has the balls to try and push further.
“It’s just… he looks like him, you know? Looks like he could be a relative,” she speaks freely, though her throat feels like it’s being constricted.
She tries to word it casually, like she’s making an innocent observation but they both know it’s more than that. Mike doesn’t say anything for a few moments, allowing her to understand that he isn’t about to say anything in regards to the photos.
“Are you missing yours?” He asks, her eyes meeting him with a frown and he shifts his weight from his feet, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest.
He clears his throat.
“Your family, I mean… are you missing them? I know it's a long way from sunny California,” he tries to lighten the mood for her sake; he doesn’t particularly want her to grow agitated with him for not telling her part of Harry's past.
Y/N purses her lips and maybe keeping quiet would’ve been a better idea but Mike tends to run his mouth before really thinking out situations that involve sad emotions.
“Not really. I feel safer here than I ever have back in Cali,” she admits through a pathetic laugh, like she’s trying to cover up the hurt.
“Your Dad?” he asks in a gentle tone, one she’s never heard before but she’s only known him a week.
She smiles weakly, nodding her head and Mike hums, adjusting his suit as he stands taller. Y/N’s gnawing at the inside of her cheek and picking at the skin around her nails -- nervous habits, Mike’s come to learn -- so he takes a step closer to her and clears his throat once more.
“Come on. Let me take you for lunch and show you around New York a little,” he offers, a hint of a smile on his lips but Y/N thinks she might be seeing things.
She isn’t used to this type of kindness from men of any ages. She frowns harder.
“Is that a good idea? Won’t Harry be mad?” she twists her hands nervously.
“Harry entrusted me with your life, Y/N. I’ll always keep you safe when he’s not here. And you’re not a prisoner anymore. He’ll never treat you like one.”
//
It’s a little after three when Harry feels a nervous twitch in his cheek and a tick in his fingers. He’s been gnawing on his bottom lip for the past twelve minutes and both Gemma and Anne have noticed.
His mother is concerned for him while his younger sister offers a look of disgust and is five seconds away from chastising her brother about how chapped his lips will be.
“As much as your sister and I want to stay, Harry… we can’t. You’re going to have to prove to Stefano that you can do this. We believe in you.”
Her gentle voice tries to coax him back into the room but the only thing that does is when the elevator sounds just seconds later and he stands from the couch.
Harry doesn’t fucking know what’s gotten him in such an aggy and irritated mood. His palms are sweaty and he doesn’t know why. He tells himself it’s because Y/N’s never been out before and that she and Mike have been gone for almost three hours.
It’s not that he doesn’t trust either of them; he trusts Mike with his life and he trusts that Y/N won’t try something stupid. Ideally, Harry would have liked to have been the one to take Y/N out first, maybe to prove something to the people watching his every move, he’s not sure.
Part of him feels a little guilty. He hasn’t seen her for more than five minutes since she moved to New York and he feels a little bit sick. He’s taken her from her family and everything she’s ever known.
As her husband, it should be his duty to care for her and ensure she doesn’t feel alone in this transitioning time. But Harry has to remind himself that this isn’t any regular marriage and there are no loving feelings shared between the two beneath their label.
But that doesn’t make it easier for Harry to try and understand why he feels the way he does about the matter.
When the elevator doors slide open, she’s got a shy smile on her lips and her shoulders are drooped in a relaxed state. The sight is a jolt of relief to Harry.
Wife or not, he never wants a woman to feel unsafe or intimidated in his presence or his men’s. He takes a brief moment to quickly get a good look at her.
She seems a lot lighter in the way she carries herself since she arrived at her new home. In a pretty beige pinafore with a ribbed white turtleneck underneath, she looks pretty -- very pretty.
Her hair falls in loose curls that sit just past her shoulders and her plump lips are painted pink with a subtle gloss.
When her eyes flitter up from her feet, she finally notices him watching her, a warmth rising to her cheeks and she shuffles in the penthouse behind Mike.
Her eyes are too glued on Harry, worried she may have done something wrong, for her to notice the presence of Anne and Gemma.
It isn’t until Anne is cooing at her and pulling her into a motherly embrace that she breaks her nervous gaze on her husband and shakily returns the hug to her mother-in-law.
“Was worried we wouldn’t see you before we left, love. Mike took you out for lunch, Harry said,” she smiles warmly, holding the girl by her shoulders and Y/N nods, lips pursed inwardly.
“Before you left? Where are you going?” she asks, ignoring the latter part of her question but she doesn’t mean to… she wonders if Harry will scold her for it when they leave.
Anne lets out a soft huff.
“Back to England, love. Now you’re married, Harry’s got his trial period as Capo to prove himself in the event Stefano is no longer able to reign as Capo,” she explains briefly, hands waving a seemingly dismissive manner, like she doesn’t much care for the topic.
But Y/N sees the glimmer of fear in her eyes.
She nods her head and smiles softly at the youngest Delluci who’s already gleaming up at her. Y/N doesn’t know what it is, but knowing Gemma appears to like her makes her feel a little more at ease.
“Will we be seeing you soon?” Y/N queries shyly, wondering if Anne can sense her need of having them around.
She does, and she reaches for the young girl's hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
“I hope so, darling.”
She zones out as Harry kisses their cheeks goodbye and sees them to the elevator, she’s too busy twiddling her thumbs and preparing herself for the numbing loneliness she'll be forced to face again tonight.
“Mike, you’re off for the night,” Harry’s low voice squeaks in her ears and Y/N’s head perks up, brows furrowed with sweaty palms.
“Do you not have work?” she blurts out before she can even think about what she’s doing.
Her face pales, head lowering as her gaze fixes on the floor. If she spoke like that to Giovanni, he would’ve kicked her to the ground by now.
Harry hates the way she quickly reels into herself, a vile taste on his tongue at the thought of her thinking he’d ever lay a hand on her like that.
He shakes his head and lowers his voice to a softer tone, ignoring the squinted look Mike gives him.
“Not tonight, I figured we could spend some time together,” he starts, dipping his head slightly as Y/N slowly raises hers to look up at him through mascara-coated lashes.
Mike bites back a smirk. In all his life, he’s known Harry to only ever use that soft tone with the women of his family: his mother and sister. He leaves the couple without another word and when Harry hears the elevator doors close again, he continues.
“I feel bad for not spending any time with you and leaving you all alone since we got here.”
Y/N feels part of her heart swell at his confession and she feels her cheeks blush harder than before. She offers a shy chuckle and shrugs her shoulders.
“Not all alone, Mike’s kept me a little company,” she’s nervous and she wonders if this is actually his way of making sure he gets laid tonight.
She doesn’t want to sleep with him again, doesn't want to go through the pain of remembering it this time.
She can feel herself beginning to panic, the sweat in her palms increasing by the second. Maybe if she plays along it won’t hurt so much, maybe he won’t be so hard on her.
She doesn’t want to think of him as such a person to do such a thing, but he’s a Made Man and Y/N is his wife. Her permission doesn’t matter.
He seems to notice her apprehension and takes a tentative step closer, trying to sag his shoulders to make himself look smaller; less intimidating.
“I thought maybe we could cook together? Get to know each other a little more,” he suggests and with a brief second of her gnawing on her inner cheek, she agrees.
They settle for making pizza. Harry’s kneading the dough as she stirs the tomato puree in a small bowl. She’s cut the pepperoni and mushrooms, a little plate full of peppers and spices ready to be sprinkled on when the dough is thick enough.
Y/N takes her time to admire Harry.
He’s got his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tie long forgotten on the couch and the first few buttons by his collar are undone, dark and sparse chest hair peeking through.
He looks good, she can’t lie about it. And there's something about seeing an easy smile on his lips that makes him seem all the more normal, she finds herself feeling comfortable in his presence, safe.
In the hour of prepping, they’ve learnt little bits of information about each other. Harry learnt that Y/N’s favourite colour is yellow because it brings her a sense of light. She told him that her favourite movie is Romeo and Juliet, “Cliche, I know,” and that ever since she was little, books have been her little escape from how bad her home life has always been.
He learnt about her relationship with her brother when she was growing up and how it all fell to shit when he was initiated, when he sided with their Father and left her alone.
It isn’t all one sided with learning new information. Y/N learnt about Harry’s ability to hold his breath for seven minutes, how he taught himself to play the guitar at a young age, and as much as he was tempted to tell her he once killed a man with his guitar string, he didn’t.
He lets her revel in the innocence he offers her in sheltered childhood memories. Like how he used to read Gemma bedtime stories and train with Mike and Jeff every evening.
It’s when he mentions how he once made homemade pizzas with Anne when he was younger and she thinks he’s opening up to her.
She doesn’t understand that he only tells her these things to make her feel a little more comfortable. She mistakes his consideration for trust.
“I uh, I found some old photos in the library this morning. A bunch of ones of you and your Mom,” she begins in a shaky tone and Harry hums, sprinkling the cheese over the tomato based path she created for him.
She dares to snatch a peek at his face, fearing the worst -- but he’s calm and concentrated as he evenly distributes slices of pepperoni in the cheese’s wake.
“And there was a man in them, too. You look kinda like him, you know,” she continues, fiddling with a couple of olives between her fingers and she’s too caught in the way they roll against her fingertips to notice his mood falter and body stiffen.
So she continues.
“Is he your uncle? I didn’t see him at uh, at the wedding,” she cranes her neck just enough to wince at his reaction and he’s sprinkling chopped onions and mushrooms with a little more force than he did with the cheese.
Y/N swallows.
“No. He was my father,” he tells her.
His voice is rough and short -- a quip, less than a casual reply. Y/N frowns at his bluntness and the new information, dropping the olives in the ceramic bowl and twisting to face him.
“What?” she asks, brows furrowed. “But I thought that—“
“That Stefano is my Father? No, my step-father. Why else do you think you and I are Styles-Delluci?”
His replies are short and blunt and he doesn’t miss the way she sinks into herself out of fear and embarrassment. Nothing more is said on the matter, Harry opting to change the subject and attempting to lighten the mood to the best of his ability, but Y/N doesn’t budge.
He’s come to learn that when she fears she’s upset someone or gotten herself in some kind of trouble, she tends to bottle herself up and doesn’t allow forgiveness upon her.
Or maybe it’s that she doesn’t believe the forgiveness is ever genuine and Harry starts to wonder if she’s ever even been forgiven before. The thought rattles something unsettling within the pit of Harry’s stomach.
They wait for the food to cook in silence and eat in silence, opposite ends of the dining table. Y/N keeps her gaze on her food while Harry keeps his gaze on her, but neither says a word.
Harry cleans the dishes while she showers and as they climb into bed together for the first time since she’s been there, their backs stay faced to the other as sleep consumes them.
//
omg please do let me know what you think so far of the series? the next part is out next week and it's another long one, too. feedback is massively appreciated!!
#harry styles#harry styles imagine#imagine harry styles#harry styles x you#harry styles smut#harry styles x reader#harry styles oneshot#harry styles fic#harry styles angst#harry styles imagines
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Discovering Paradise
Natasha Romanoff x F!R
Request | Sapphic best friends wrapped up in a familiar warm embrace, who knows, they might even kiss… | WC: 1,336
18+ | Minors DNI
Warnings: Idiots in Love
Smut: Dry Humping (Non-Con) | Wet Dream (R) | Mommy (N) | Hinted at Fingering / Oral
A soft blue light cast out into the otherwise dark living room of your shared apartment; Natasha watched your face in anticipation as an action packed scene broke off on the screen. You didn't even flinch, but had you been awake you would have buried yourself in her to hide from the bloody mess and to her that was amusing.
Natasha snorted softly at the recollection, then she settled down with her arms crossed on your chest, chin propped up to observe you over the film. This was the woman's favorite thing to do, movie nights where you never failed to pass out by the second film. Leaving her the time to appreciate your beauty and it not be weird.
——
Whenever you catch her staring, which is rarely, you always gave her a dopey smile and cluelessly teased her about the crush she very well did have. For Christ sake here she was lying on top of you, but you’d failed to get it and it was never clear to the trained spy if the look of adoration in your eyes was platonic or romantic.
Poor woman was head over heels for you and all she could do was to pine in the quiet moments like this.
Then you broke her trance as you whimpered softly, “Natasha,” and her eyes were wide and moving up. Natasha shifted ever so slightly, trying to see if your eyes were open now, but something about the way her hips moved made you moan loudly in your sleep.
“Oh,” she realized what was going on, her cheeks flushed red and her irises blew. You were best friends, but deep down it was clearly more than that, because what 'best friends' sleep with their fronts pressed together, in the tiniest sleep shorts and whimper their names and moan like that at the softest of touches.
Only the ones with a sapphic prophecy to fulfill...
"Fuck," Natasha groaned her frustrations, her core now alit with a throbbing need, one you seemingly share. The redhead rubbed her face against the exposed side of your neck and swiveled her hips more noticeably.
Once again she was rewarded with a moan, alongside a subtle twitch of your own hips. Natasha paused, pulling away to see your scrunched up expression.
"What are you dreaming of detka?" Natasha posed the question that couldn't yet be answered. "Is it me?" She continued to firmly press her covered pussy to yours, "Fuck, I really hope it is detka, I-I need this so badly."
With the sudden urge to cross the line and make you hers, well, the humping intensified; to a point where you were both far too wet to consider this encounter dry anymore. The intense course of pleasure that rolled through your body woke you with a frightened moan.
"Natty?"
The redhead practically squealed, your sleepy voice was too attractive and it made her entire body quake. "Good morning sweetheart," she husked against the shell of your ear, her wet tongue flicked over the warm skin and you whimpered so deliciously that she nearly came. “You were begging mommy in your sleep…”
Natasha chuckled as you whined, your hips now moving in sync with hers as your orgasms built. It was clear she had more to say, so before she could continue teasing you, you turned your head and sloppily kissed her lips, catching her off guard; rendering her silent as she met your eagerness with her own intensity.
In a matter of seconds she took total control of the kiss that had sent her heart and mind racing. It was exhilarating finally being able to taste and feel you. Knowing that you were not upset but eager to continue this made Natasha stutter in her movements, it was hard for her not to use her fingers on you instead but she knew you were both so close and it would be even hotter if you finished with her bare minimum touch.
To keep herself from giving into her urge Natasha's strong hands fell to your hips, and with the strength of a superhero she flipped your positions, using the moment of shock to slip her tongue into your agape mouth. All the while her firm hands began to help you roll your hips in sync with the way she jutted upwards.
"That's it detka," she murmured against the skin of your throat, you were now panting, breasts heaving against the redhead’s chiseled jaw with every breath you took in. The shuddered release against her cheek with every press of your throbbing core to hers.
“I-I’m clo—.” Natasha cut you off with a breathtaking kiss, she was in the same position as you but for some reason she just craved the simple intimacy to bring her to the edge. “Let go detka, come with mommy.” It was like a landslide the way that you fell over the edge with your roommates command, the abrupt release as you felt the entirety of your body tingle with pleasure.
The way you moaned against her cheek and wet her abdomen through your shorts made the redhead feel a returned stamina but she could tell you needed to rest so she guided your lips to hers for a kiss, just in case this moment was a once off test of chemistry for you.
For now Natasha would hold you close, and pretend that there’s nothing to figure out now. It was once she felt your lips lose their fight that she guided your face into her neck. “Mommy will take care of you, but first you need to rest..." You were lost in your head, unsure of the care she promised, but you unconsciously smiled against her skin at her soft attempt at reassurance.
Thoughts aimlessly swirled around your head while you steadily came down from your orgasm: ‘does she love really me too? — of course she does idiot’; ‘do I tell her? — who knew that dreams really did come true.’
As the haze faded one major thought remained, and it was that you wanted an entire life with Natasha. Not just one wet dream inspired encounter, it would break your heart but you also respected your friendship...
No matter what though, you knew you'd be okay, which is why you broke the metaphorical silence.
"We should probably talk," you chuckled against her neck and you felt the rumbling of her own laughter. "Or we can just finish the movie, take a nap, then I'll take you out to dinner then return to have dessert..."
You, begrudgingly, pulled back from the warmth to catch the look in her eyes. The resentment faded when you saw a deep, genuine swirl of affection in her eyes that was paired perfectly with a natural smirk. It was clear she was patiently waiting for your reply but it was delayed by your need to simply admire her beauty.
The freckles on her face had just begun to pop with the increased sunshine and they looked so pretty alongside her blush. The blush that the steamy sex with your best friend caused. It was unreal that you witnessed the reason for never harboring feelings. Because, yes, Natasha was always going to hold that title, it was never a question, but she's not limited to it either, and she's always been a self-proclaimed a jack of all trades.
So, if she was to be the love of your life you’d hoped she wouldn’t mind and would accept the offer with joy.
When her lips turned into a frown you leaned in to peck them briefly before nuzzling back into her neck where you left a smattering of lazy kisses. "I could use a nap."
Natasha pinched your hips playfully but it was all in good fun because she knew your teasing well enough. Her lips softly pressed to your temple before she shut the TV off and let the sound of your calmed breathing ease her into the best sleep she has ever gotten.
#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff oneshot#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x fem!reader#natasha romanoff x female reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff x y/n#gxg#natasha x reader#natasha x y/n#natasha x fem!reader#natasha x you#black widow#black widow smut
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A mesmerized veteran. A stunning Rookie.
📸: Fuzzy Rookie
#hypnosis#fuzzy rookie#fuck look at her trance face#cute trance face#hypnotized#beautiful subject#hypnotized girl#hypnotic#modeling#model appreciation#theo's favorites
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pussydrunk chan 😵💫 plaguing my brain
MINORS DNI.
chan's pov. oral (f. rec).
He can't help giggling along with you as he lays you out on the bed, your freshly showered body sticking to the bedsheets.
"Chris," you whine through laughter. "I'm getting everything wet."
"It's alright," he says, settling himself over you. "No stress, yeah?" His hand trails up your quickly drying leg, pausing just above your knee. How could he ever spare a thought for wet bedsheets when he has you below him like this, bare and smiling and smelling like strawberries and all fucking his.
"But they're freshly washed and—"
"I've got it," he says, fingers tracing up to your hip. "We'll make the most of it, yeah? Then I'll clean up."
You blink quickly a few times, a tiny line appearing between your brows as you decipher his meaning. He can't wipe the smile off his face at the sight of it. "Sound good?" he questions after a moment or two of indulgence — his eyes lazily taking in the dips and curves of you beneath him.
Then you nod. "Mm, okay."
He presses his fingers into your thigh, soft and warm. "Okay?"
You offer him a tiny smile, almost shy. "Okay."
His favourite place to be is between your legs. It's so familiar to you both — so regular — that you're bending your knees and offering yourself to him before he's even made a move.
It takes his breath away, the way your pretty little lips spread for him — ready to welcome him in.
"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes. "You're so good for me. So fucking good."
Shy at any other time but happily laying beneath him and offering your sweet little cunt just for him. It never takes him long to fall into a state of awe, to fixate on the tiny hole and the wet slick that begins to leak out of it the longer he plays with it.
He always starts with his fingers, an almost hesitant delicacy that to a fly on the wall would make it look like he'd never been between your legs before. It's a heart thumping thrill each time, tracing his calloused fingers through your folds and around your little clit until the squirming starts.
He loves the squirming.
The whimpering and tiny little squeaks. The sounds that almost sound like an attempt at his name before they slip away into a desperate whine that shoots straight to his cock.
He keeps his hands away from it, patient. He knows a little relief is coming, even as it weighs heavy.
It comes when it drags across the bedsheets as he lowers himself down to taste you. He lets that be enough for now, the slight grind he manages into the cotton sheets as he presses a kiss to your now dripping slit.
"Pretty girl," he mutters as his tongue flicks out across your clit. He's ready for when you attempt to rise off the mattress, hands pressed firmly into your hip and lower stomach. "My pretty girl and her pretty little pussy, hm?"
Kisses. That's how he starts. A combination of barely there brushes and firm sucks — the type that he'd use to leave your thighs covered in hickeys. He finishes at your entrance, the tiny hole twitching as he takes a moment to trace it with his finger once more.
Then he presses his tongue inside. Not far. Just at the entrance, shallow and firm and teasing. His fingers press into your stomach each time you attempt to grind down into him.
By the time he's done the sheets are soaked beneath your hips. You're literally fucking dripping. Tight little sloppy hole ready to suck him inside. It sends him into a trance. He has to watch as he wets the tip of his leaking dick with the mess of it. Pressing just enough to spread your lips around him, but not enough to slip inside. Just fucking playing. Anticipating how it will feel when you take him inside, walls sucking at him until he's buried deep.
"Sweatheart," he murmurs mindlessly, hardly aware of his own words at all. "You want me inside? Mm? I can fill you up if you like.... stuff this twitchy little pussy all full, yeah? Would you like that?"
He manages to drag his eyes from the puffy little mess warming his cockhead to catch your watery eyes as you answer. "Inside," you whimper, hands grasping at the sheets beside you.
He doesn't hesitate to obey.
#bang chan smut#bang chan x reader#bang chan fanfic#kpop smut#stray kids smut#kpop imagines#skz smut#stray kids imagines#stray kids imagine#kpop scenarios#stray kids scenarios#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#skz imagines#stray kids fanfic#skz scenarios#x reader#chan drabbles
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Odd Atelier
BLACKPINK Jennie
Words: 4,000
Tags: 🍑
A/N: Happy Birthday Jennie
Probably the greatest birthday cake in existence. It's not the traditional kind in the very least. It's one that can't be shared among family and friends; can't be used for gifts or congratulations.
Outside of the walls of Jennie's bedroom is evidence of a party. Traces of her most loved ones that celebrated her 27 years on this Earth: balloons are floating around, streamers cover every room, empty pizza boxes and discarded plastic cups are everywhere. But now they're all gone—the only thing left is this magnificent birthday cake presented just for you.
Jennie Fucking Kim on all fours, her ass in the air, her winking starfish slathered in saliva. It's what she deserves—a fitting gift that honors the birthday girl perfectly. And you are the lucky gift giver. Slobbering over the woman that appears on billboards, magazine covers, red carpets and anywhere else hot women go. It's been thirty minutes of pure unadulterated feasting and Jennie's getting lightheaded because of it—her ass and pussy have been utterly adored by your lips and tongue.
So good. There's a fine art to eating ass—especially one that belongs to Jennie. Your face, chin, and entire jaw are a mess, so are the sheets under her knees. You can only imagine how thoroughly debased your upper lip must look right now.
It makes you throb. Having Jennie in this position. Her entire back is sweaty and arched like a cat. She keeps shaking because her legs feel like jello. You grip her right cheek with a tight palm, tug it a little before lapping at it once more. You reach her quivering ringed hole and lick the velvety skin with an aggressive flat tongue that makes Jennie mewl as your chin gets pushed against her cunt.
You can't help but plant another soft kiss over the rim, humming contentedly at how incredibly warm it feels. How inviting it is. And while it has been truly mind-blowing—to feast and devour the pussy and ass of a globally acclaimed woman… you've noticed a certain desire in the last five minutes.
Jennie Fucking Kim. World famous idol. Begging for everything while her face is smothered into a pillow. A pathetic, needy woman. Just for you.
Now she wants more than just your tongue. It's her birthday. She has presents waiting to be opened.
"Oh please..." Jennie whimpers. Her eyes are half-closed as if she was lost in a trance, only roused when your thumb slowly pokes the pucker. Your tongue on her cheeks, spreading saliva everywhere, getting her as wet as possible for what comes next.
You start to prod Jennie's puckered backdoor, teasingly sliding between her jiggling cheeks—earning you another moan. This would make one hell of a documentary if she was ever caught like this. Probably cause an outrage, too. Imagine the look on those thirsty fans of hers seeing their godly idol just... ruined. Debased. Mired in sex. It doesn't matter, of course, whether her fans would find her reprehensible for it. They don't matter now that she's on her hands and knees. Vulnerable in a way nobody should ever be vulnerable—not her. Especially not Jennie. But she is.
"Mmm..." There goes another sigh. A sigh of relief when a thumb presses against her crinkled rose. Slowly, lovingly, sinking into the deep confines of her forbidden place.
Her hips jump and you force her back down. You love her sounds; the soft sighs, and gasps. How can you not? Right now she's giving a little show, she loves the attention. Looking over her shoulder with an infectious grin on her face—an encouraging smirk, showing you that she's waiting on something a little more exciting. A lot more exciting. You raise your eyebrows in response. She purses her lips in answer.
Oh.
Of course.
"You ready birthday girl? Any ideas on what your present should be?" You lean back, pulling out a bottle of lube from her bedside table. Lathering the entirety of her asshole with it. She looks so damn gorgeous with her toned back in an upward arc and a sexy face contorted in an expression of pure want and lust.
"Surprise me..." Her response is a seductive purr.
The invitation is too hard to resist—especially since Jennie's arching back pushes her hips out and back, effectively shaking her ass side-to-side with a delighted chuckle.
"...OH!" The tip teases her entrance, making her entire body spasm before you're actually able to penetrate. Her backside is soaked, but there are some resistances as your shaft pushes, pushes, pushes… finally stopping only once the ridge of your head pops through.
Fuck, it's tight. Damn it all to hell and heaven, how is her ass always this tight?
There goes another delirious sigh. Hitched. Croaky. Slightly high-pitched. Another wonderful sound coming from a woman that sounds like an angel, looks like one, and sings like one. There are few things Jennie can't do; she's too talented. Too beautiful. An exquisite blend of form and function, pleasure and pain—both which she endures on a daily basis. All because she was made to be looked at by everyone, but never touched. To inspire all, but not to interact. Except tonight.
Tonight it's all about Jennie. The birthday girl always gets her wish.
Jennie clenches hard the further your cock invades. It feels absolutely electric—every last bit of it. The way her body stretches is nothing short of spectacular.
"Ah fuck! P-please. Slow..." She grits her teeth, digging her nails into her pillows, no doubt. She's trembling all over. It's hard for her to take, but she also knows that the pain will eventually make way for a sensational bliss. It always does. Her slim defined back is lightly coated in sweat.
"Slow enough?" You rub your fingers into her backside. A warm up of sorts before grabbing the cheeks with enough vigor to leave marks. Pulling and squeezing the soft flesh of her backside apart, lewdly examining where the two of you are conjoined, and with a sinister chuckle, give an experimental pump.
"FUCK!" She starts to shake uncontrollably and tries her best to remain steadfast, "Keep going..." It comes out as a pant. She's enjoying it, after all. Enjoys the little hurt it brings—gets off on the little sting you're able to provide.
Little by little, you push into Jennie's perfect heart-shaped butt. Into her ass that's incredibly hot and constricting—almost impossible to breathe whenever her body coils tightly around your hard-on.
"Yes!" She tosses her hair, biting into the sheets when your hips meet her ass with an audible slap.
You hold still for a moment. Rocking back and forth a little bit as the tight heat wraps you in pure silk. Almost overwhelming, considering just how tight she is. All you have to do is sit and savor the feeling while Jennie's chest drops onto the bed.
She's panting, heaving even, but she wiggles her hips in an attempt to get accustomed to your presence. Another meek sound of frustration is heard, causing you to release an amused breath as you stroke her back. When she looks over her shoulders—there's a wild gleam in her dark eyes. It's almost magical. "Fuck my ass like you hate me..."
And without further prompt, you pull out halfway before snapping your waist into her with all the force you can muster. That single action elicits a choked cry from her throat and then another and another.
You let it loose. Go all out. Use every ounce of strength and force until the two of you are shuddering and yelling, the obscene sounds of sweat and bodies mingle with moans and groans. It's so dirty; so filthy, yet Jennie absolutely loves it. In spite of everything she does for a living, her actual sexual appetite is simply unbridled.
Pulling her arms towards you, you gather both wrists within your right hand and pin them firmly against her lower back. Using it as leverage to ram yourself into her at an almost unnatural pace, watching in utter fascination at the way her back muscles shift and move, all to keep herself from tumbling face-first against the bed.
All the while, she's groaning. Slurring words incomprehensibly, asking for a little bit of pain—which you gladly deliver. Each slap is perfectly timed, enough to turn her flesh pink and vibrate from the impact, but not hard enough to do real harm. Just like that, Jennie is thrashing on top of her pillow, pushing back in an attempt to relieve the sting before grinding and rubbing against you. The little shit always craves more.
It's hard to imagine who's getting the better present here. For her, it could be the rough anal fuck she's been wanting for some time now. It's all she asked for all week—and for you, it was getting the chance to savagely pillage and conquer the ass of the hottest girl on Earth.
"F-fuck! I'm gonna-ah..."
Those words ring around your ears as they get muffled with her bedsheets.
"You're gonna what?" You pause to lean forward and growl into the shell of her ears. Tugging her arms and forcing her to arch her spine further until her back is kissing the skin of your stomach, causing her to hiss in satisfaction, "You're gonna cum like a filthy slut with her ass being reamed?"
"Yes!"
The thirty or so minutes of foreplay have certainly paid off. She started already wound up tight, and now her body is practically trembling, eager to let loose. It's impossible to prolong the pleasure for long; with a little more adjustment to the angle and speed, Jennie finally sings and wails—shaking and writhing her body on the verge of a world shattering climax.
Jennie Fucking Kim owns one beautiful little fuckhole and it squeezes every last bit of vitality from you, almost as if her ass was trying to strangle every last bit of life you had. Your entire frame trembles as her snug, grasping hotness envelops you in a hot prison and attempts to rip you off. For the duration of her climax, her hands scramble to grab anything and everything they can: her own hair, the sheets—the world, perhaps. There's a little bit of everything happening at that exact instant and you're almost too afraid to move from fear of losing such a heavenly sensation.
But of course, you move.
It's her birthday after all, she needs a few good spanks to feel fully appreciated. To let her ride out this intensity, her entire body jittering in pure elation. And you grant it to her. Delivering more spanks to her beautiful ass, reddening them further, adding to that warmth and almost euphoria-like state the superstar is experiencing.
Her pussy quakes and flutters. The feeling of cumming by butt alone is so much greater than it normally would've been. The tension was much more powerful, stronger in a way and almost addicting, despite the slight twinge in her cheeks and the noticeable bite of pain.
For a moment, everything is lost.
"So sensitive... C-can barely think straight..." Her head sways limply. You'd almost feel bad, if not for her pleased giggles and blissful sigh.
Jennie lies limply, spent beyond measure, all to satisfy her desires. You have to roll the idol on to her back as it seemed her strength has suddenly left her. All to ensure she doesn't completely collapse and possibly ruin this fun party for the both of you.
She's glistening in a thick sheen of sweat and her smile has never looked so brilliant and inviting.
"You're beautiful Jennie..."
"Funny that your greatest compliments come when you're fucking my ass." A sly giggle is shared. She raises a leg and holds it against her chest while the other one is casually parted open.
"What can I say? I'm a man of refined taste." You take the sight of her body in—of the woman splayed on her back like this; naked and satisfied, slick and supple skin glistening in a heavy sweat. The sticky fluids around her folds are starting to coat her ass as well and you can't help but smile to yourself in triumph. "Shame it's over already." You know exactly what to say. How to challenge her. And of course she's not gonna refuse. It's Jennie. Of course she has a few more tricks up her sleeves.
"Nope, this is just the beginning..." She smirks. The life returns to the doe-eyed beauty and the glint in her dark irises becomes nothing short of wicked. It's time for Jennie to stop being the submissive little bitch and take charge. To show that her famous curves are hers to own. Her beautiful body and devious mind is hers and only hers to use as she sees fit. You watch as she leans forward and puts both her palms on your chest—forcefully pushing you down to her bed and straddling you, grinding that beautiful ass over your stomach and making your unreleased cock twitch with need.
It's only 11pm and Jennie still has an hour left to celebrate her 27th birthday... and she intends on spending all that time savoring that delicious ache in her ass.
Happy birthday to her. Happy birthday to you.
"There's no time for a rest, right now I'm gonna ride you."
No complaints.
Absolutely none.
There isn't any way to decline Jennie. Not when it involves your cock and her ass.
After all, it's Jennie's night—the night she turns you into a quivering mess, the night when she puts you under her spell—and makes you fall harder than before. She turns up the heat—another degree hotter when she's at her sexiest, at her most mischievous and dominant.
Jennie winks. Her favorite, trademark move as her face glimmers under the twinkling lights. Her lips are slightly parted in that signature Jennie Kim pout and she's now putting her assets into a display of sorts; rolling her body slowly in an almost rhythmic motion. This dance, a teaser, and one that her fans would pay a premium to see, makes its way on stage: you.
Her toned lithe waist, the little things on her chest, and that godforsaken smile. So tight and perfect. Hot and inviting, and you just need to feel that intense grip around your shaft once more. There's no safe words here—not like Jennie will ever let you use them anyway. Her small frame begins to writhe to its own imaginary beat, shimming and shaking with purpose. The gentle rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic. A sway. Back and forth.
You want her. Badly. She holds your cock in her dainty palm and teases it over and over.
"This is for me and my birthday... Any objections?" Her smile becomes impossibly bigger. Playful and inebriating and there is only one answer that fits the occasion.
"No." Internally you're dying. She keeps pressing it against her starfish, but never quite giving in, only smearing the precum over the orifice.
She smiles in amusement, "Good." She leans forward, capturing your mouth with an affectionate peck on the lips. "Just a little longer. Wanna see how long you can wait."
And so the torture begins. The heat, the haze, and the melody of a sex-drunk woman.
A world-renowned dancer who shakes her hips as she rolls forward, running a finger against your pecs. She brings your hands up to do the same, telling you to caress every nook and curve of her. Make her feel that irresistible electricity that shoots straight down her spine when she's with you. To feel how soft her skin is and how malleable her beautiful little breasts are. She gasps with glee, giggling away in genuine amusement.
She rises from your grasp—her tantalizing curves a testament to her dedication, her passion. You swallow dryly as a drop of saliva drips off the corner of your lips. Such a lewd display has you seeing stars. Your jaw slacks and your eyes focus entirely on her figure—all its stunning contours, lines and edges.
"You really love my ass." A cute puff escapes her. A tinkling laughter before she fulfills out every one of your shared desires.
The snug fit is inevitable—after an incredible amount of teasing from your lovely playmate, she has finally chosen to go for it. Her back is arched upwards and she bites her lower lips when your rod enters her still raw hole—though there's a tiny bit of pain that never bothered her before.
"Shit..." Jennie holds your arm tightly for a moment. That is, before an unholy mixture of delight, satisfaction, and searing arousal overtakes her mind. This moment of weakness doesn't last for long and she immediately repurposes it. She bounces and grinds—each move has her inner walls massage your cock. You're in bliss. Everything that the star does is magical and you're so utterly infatuated. So hypnotized by the look of absolute indulgence. She's an elegant song, and a masterpiece to behold. The sweat pooling between her breasts only enhances her grace, a little bead trickles down her navel. She throws her head, luscious raven hair falls everywhere, and her eyes are squeezed shut, a guttural moan when she sits completely flush.
She rests for a second, catching her breath, still smiling all the while. Even at rest, she's mesmerizing. You notice how she holds your hands firm, fingers intertwined, she won't let you escape. You never wanted to.
The adorable whimpers of happiness are back as she looks up at the ceiling, rocking her hips lightly—teasing you, coaxing you for even more. With one smooth move she's rising and falling, faster, and faster still, going for a solid tempo that sees her hips pounding incessantly against yours.
"Fuck." a choked cry is pulled out of you, "this feels amazing."
"Oh yeah, you really like me fucking my own ass?" Her smug little comment is punctuated by a grunt and another hearty slap to her juicy cheeks. Jennie laughs in her unique sing-song way—breathy sighs and delicious whines. She bounces. And she bounces and bounces—both her beautiful tits, her raven-haired head, and that irresistible heart-shaped ass, too.
Jennie raises and falls on your length and her heavy breathing fills the air alongside her impassioned, sexy cries. She works so hard on top of you and pulls out all the stops: shaking her ass side-to-side, clamping down as she draws to the head of your dick, relaxing on the way down again. Jennie is a performer after all, and she can really put on a show.
She arches her spine back and traces a finger along her untouched flower. Teasing herself. That part of Jennie will be left alone, at least for right now, this is an anal adventure, and so her pleasure from that particular place will have to wait until later. The teasing is deliberate, playful, and a way of providing more stimulation to her greedy bum. It is enough to make her squeak in desperation. The urge to touch herself is overbearing, and only increased when you reach up and pinch the tiny nubs on her chest.
Her expression melts at the assault—completely uninhibited, free, and not afraid of getting messy. There's no one here to judge her. No one except the lucky, blessed spectator below and her own greedy one track mind focused on pleasure. On indulgence. Complete self-gratification.
The strain is showing. Her pace slows as her tired legs from exertion. And now you're the one showing her pity, running a palm over the damp hair sticking to her back, down to the subtle dimples above her ass. She sighs sweetly in response and then draws close, clutching onto your arms.
"Do something for me?" She asks cutely.
You smile in response, nodding your approval. Jennie relinquishes control, simply lays on your chest, awaiting for the moment your hips thrust in and out of her.
"Happy birthday," Your first kiss is to her cheek then your lips hover against her ear, "and to many more to come, Miss Jennie Kim."
Your next movement has her clamp a hand over her mouth in order to smother a lustful gasp. A roll of your hips followed by an upward pump. There is absolutely nothing that beats that first initial snap of the waist. Another after. You use one hand to steady her in her current prone position. The other one is at work, roughly pawing at her ass and smacking at the red cheeks, accenting each new powerful snap of your waist.
"Harder..." Jennie slurs with delirious elation.
You're not sure which one she's referring to, so you offer her both: pumping harder and faster as requested while striking her ass with enough force that the echoes reverberate across her bedroom.
"Fuu-ah... FUCK!"
For a moment, you're startled by her reaction. By how intensely her asshole grips, how hard she pants, how quickly she is cumming without warning. So much buildup and yet that's all it takes. Your chest tightens and you grit your teeth, fighting off the climax that threatens to shoot straight into her backdoor. But she's begging you, practically urging you, to fill that lewd forbidden place with everything that you got.
"You should feel lucky you know," Jennie moans between bounces. "If I let you cum inside, and believe me you'll be allowed to cum inside. You'll be the luckiest man in the world."
Fuck... No kidding. You already feel like the luckiest man alive at this very second.
But your legs are growing weaker, the knot forming at the base of your stomach tightens with each passing moment. The immense pleasure burning through you with each new throb. It's hard to stave off the inevitable release that is boiling just at the threshold.
You take a deep breath. Close your eyes and pray. It's the only way to stay sane—you have to remain in control for just a minute more.
"Go ahead. Be the luckiest man in the world."
Jennie offers permission. There is no denying her this time. And you'll do everything to ensure this birthday will be unforgettable—and you're ready to take that first step.
The idea of an impending explosion is intimidating, the reality even more so. Your body seems to go haywire—like a machine whose sole function is to thrust deep inside Jennie, causing her to spasm, her muscles to quake. Jennie moans. Louder and louder. Less controlled, less sensual. More animalistic and filled with need. Desperate sounds that don't stop spilling out of her the more you shove your hips into hers.
Over an hour of buildup all comes down to one single moment. An unceremonial release, both from Jennie and you. This climax, stronger than any, stronger than all the others. Your last ounce of strength goes to pin Jennie back against your lap, just as you unleash torrential floods of seed—soaking her, coating every part of her ass that is available and then some. At the same time, Jennie lets loose with an unrestrained series of whimpers and lets the warmth from deep inside her wash over. Let it run out between your tightly squeezed bodies.
A myriad of sensations hit the two of you like a tsunami: your entire frame erupts with sensation, shivers and shudders from the pleasure and euphoria. All around, your senses go out of focus, the room begins to spin, but not in that nauseous way—a heavenly sort of thing, and when Jennie purrs out your name in pure satisfaction, your pulse spikes. The hazy heady rush and feeling of ecstasy hits a crescendo, the pinnacle of satisfaction.
The breaths are still coming hard and fast. Hearts beating frantically. What started out slow is ending with a flourish.
She still has some time left to her special day but everyone involved in the intimate celebration is completely spent. Utterly exhausted, but content.
Jennie rolls off your body, uses whatever strength she has left to nuzzle against the crook of your neck, "Best birthday ever..." She presses an appreciative kiss against your sweaty, heated temple.
And that, to you, is a win—one that surpasses all the awards she has already achieved.
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Boots [joel miller]
Joel doesn't like the idea of someone else gettin' all your best.
pairing: joel miller x female!reader
rating: 18+ (mdni)
tags and warnings: jealous joel giving you a lesson in who really likes you best, birthday sex, (over)protective joel, softie joel, dominant joel, oral sex (m and f receiving), face-sitting, riding, no plot just porn and some fluff because it's me, possessive sex, praise kink, squirting, established relationship
word count: ~ 4.5k
hello, all! i'm beginning to unload my fics onto tumblr for those who prefer reading in this format - and as a result, some of you lovely folks who follow me will likely see works you've already read before. i sincerely apologise for that, but many new projects are in the works as well because i love y'all and i live to please. that aside, if you're new here, welcome, and i hope you enjoy this one-shot!! <3
BOOTS
If there's anything you know about Joel, it's that he can get real angry.
It ain't like he's always mad. He lives a lot of his life in utter silence, but you like to watch him. Sometimes, in the dark, he sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers and bringing them to his chin. He’ll sit like that for hours without moving, barely shifting to take in air, and you know never to shake him from that trance. It’s how you’ve learned to read between the lines.
After fifteen years by his side, you can gauge his moods better than the weather. He’s got a restless spirit, but his voice is midnight water. It’s calm and dark and clear, and it rumbles: the ripples left behind by skipping stones. He never lashes out at you, never raises his voice.
Except for that one time in New Jersey.
“Are you goddamn fuckin’ stupid?”
This was a little while before you could patent your Joel-handling techniques, so you did what any woman would do when a man calls her stupid: you folded your arms over your chest and got just as mad. “Stupid?” you said incredulously. “I saved your ass in there. Multiple asses, actually.”
Above you, the canopy of brilliant red leaves felt like a bloody shawl, and they crackled underfoot. You sported a limp thanks to a sprained ankle and your lip was bloody, but you were fine. Truly. And yet, Joel’s anger was pulsating. You could see it: heat waves, distorting the air around him, his brows flattening over his eyes and his nostrils flaring. A bull ready to charge. He was brimming with the need to release this energy.
Behind you, a building burned. The fire was a monstrous, lively thing, and it scorched the hairs on the back of your neck. Inside lay the bodies of the men you’d stolen the medical kits from, along with two of your own crew. It was only you and Joel left. It was autumn, and the breeze was welcome in such relentless heat.
He’d been ambushed just as much as the rest of you, but rotten fuckin’ luck had pinned a man on top of him—armed with a knife, inches from Joel’s eye. Not trusting yourself to make a shot without hitting him, too, you had tackled the man without thinking much. It had worked well enough to send his knife clattering across the burning hut. He’d landed a punch to you before Joel had blown his head clean off. Brain matter still clung to your jeans, but you tried not to look. When you’d rolled the body off you, Joel shot him again. He was covered in blood from his greying hair to his boots.
“Your job is to look out for yourself out there,” he snapped, “not me. The fuck were you thinkin’?”
Your frown only deepened. What had you been thinking? Maybe leaving him to die would teach him a lesson or two about what it was like to fear for someone’s life. Even if it was his own. “We need to go. You can yell at me later.”
Joel didn’t say anything when he kneeled at your feet and lifted your ankle up onto his raised knee. You yelped when you almost toppled over, but he kept you steady and inspected the swollen flesh. He was achingly gentle when he prodded at you, his expression softening into something more like concern. “This hurt?” he asked.
“Of course it hurts, Miller.” You lifted a brow at him, but he wasn’t looking up. “Want me to try on a glass slipper, or can we go?”
“Still think that was stupid,” he grumbled.
You snorted. “Yeah, well, you’re the only one who can navigate for shit, and I don’t fancy getting lost without my own personal compass.”
When he stood, Joel surprised you some more by gently patting your leg. “Real nice,” he said under his breath, shrugging the strap of your pack farther up your shoulder. “Stay behind me.”
You grinned up at him. “Happily.”
He never gets angry for long. Not at you.
There’s a knock at his door in the rhythm only the two of you know. He still checks the peephole, but it’s you. You slip inside, practically bounding on the balls of your feet, that cute fuckin’ grin on your face as you hide something behind your back. “Guess what day it is,” you say.
Joel will never let it leave this room that he indulges in your stupid game. “Sunday,” he tries.
Your pout is extravagant, but he’ll be damned if it doesn’t make him want to bite it off your pretty mouth. “Rhymes with smirthday. Y’know… the only day I ever ask you for anything.”
He clicks his tongue. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
You roll your eyes and bring your hands around from behind your back. You’re holding a cupcake.
“Holy shit. Where the fuck did you get that?”
“The FEDRA guy who monitors my building likes me,” you tell him, honest as ever. Too honest for this world and too damned sweet to be anything but a liability. And yet, here he is, digging, indulging, sinking his claws in. “Enough to sneak this to me from the kitchen, apparently.”
That makes him feel real fuckin’ grumpy. Nobody with eyes would be enough of a fool to deny that you’re gorgeous, but it doesn’t make him sleep any better knowing other men are chasing that brilliant twinkle in your eyes. He wants to tuck it between his ribs and let it illuminate his insides. He doesn’t want anyone else to see it, not ever.
“He’s tryin’ to make a move on you,” says Joel. “That’s what that is.”
If there’s a second thing you know about Joel, it’s that he lives with his foot in his mouth. Unfailingly.
You have long since learned the tactics of Joel-handling. You'd be offended if it were anyone else, but you just pat his cheek affectionately. “Sit down.”
To his credit, he does, but not after some grumbling. You scrape the second chair along the floor until it's right next to him. You split the cupcake in two as best you can and pass him one of the halves. Joel eyes it suspiciously. “You sure this is edible?”
You just take a bite and groan. It's been a long time since you've tasted chocolate, let alone the decadence of over-sweet frosting. Joel watches you carefully. Your lashes flutter in your trancelike enjoyment, a small speck of white frosting on the top of your nose. He's overcome with the knowledge that people in this world would try and take you from him. That people have put guns to your head, that they have harmed you, that they'll do it again and again. This world does not leave a woman like you untouched.
It's a good thing you've got him to make sure the world goes nowhere near you.
“Got frosting on your nose,” he says gruffly, trying to suppress his smile as he swipes it away with his thumb. “Some killer you are.”
You kick your legs up onto his lap. His thumb idly circles your ankle bone. “I don’t pretend to be a killer. I get by just fine, Miller.”
“Yeah?” He lifts a brow. “And if I wasn’t here?”
You shrug. “Dead, probably.”
Joel takes a bite of the fucking cupcake and he's a little mad when it's not bad.
You sit at the window on his bed later, your knees drawn up to your chest and your cheek resting atop them. You like to watch the lights of the FEDRA vehicles and the occasional star that winks at you from high above the QZ. You're a pretty sight to look at all the time, but it feels somehow more delectable when you don't know he's looking.
It's nearing midnight, and you're getting up to leave. Curfew means you have to scurry back to your apartment across the street or you'll be stuck here all night. It also means you have to walk right past the same officer who snuck you that cupcake.
“You asked me once if I ever wanted to end it.”
Across the fire, he looked like a spectre: a thing you could not touch, sizzling tendrils of silvery air curling around crackling flame. You’d stopped for the night, and neither of you wanted to sleep. Even though you’d both seen enough fire for a lifetime, you still extended your palms toward it and let it warm you as you watched his dark brown eyes grapple for a way through the thistly wood of his past.
“I tried,” he told you. “After I lost her.”
Somehow, you felt undeserving. Like wrapping your fingers around a piece of Joel Miller’s steel-hard aorta and yanking out all the precious bits that came with it. Like licking the blood from the heart and shoving it back inside. Would he ever be the same knowing another soul in the world had this information? Would he come to regret telling you?
He watched you stand and shuffle up next to him on the piss-poor, blood-stained excuse for a sleeping bag. When your fingers lifted to the scar on his throat, he did not flinch away. Your hands were warmed by the fire. It filled the very soul of you, that flame. He did not meet your eye, but you looked into his nonetheless.
“I’m happy you missed.” A hand, warm and kissed by a tenderness he would never deserve, settled at the nape of his neck. Fingers gently combed through the grey strands, and he leaned into your touch, not quite understanding the pull but giving in nonetheless. For the first time in years, he thought he might be able to sleep if you just kept touching him like this.
Your next words were soft, but they were not afraid. “But I’m sad I never got to meet her.”
His head turned, and at last, his eyes met yours.
“Me, too.”
You smiled sadly. “Joel.”
“Don’t ever,” he said slowly, his hand squeezing your knee, “play fast and loose with your life again. Your life happens to fuckin’ matter to me.”
And that was that.
At some point, this began. Neither of you attempt to define how or when. Perhaps it has always been. It isn’t like time matters anymore.
When you pass Joel on your way to the door, he grabs your wrist.
“Does that FEDRA fucker know whose place you go to every night?”
You sigh, turning your head to meet his eyes: glimmering black beetles in the dim light. “Joel. Don’t be an asshole.”
But he’s long past trying not to be an asshole, especially when it comes to people honing in on his fucking territory. He tugs you by the waist so your back is pressed against his chest. His fingers are splayed over your belly. “You like him?” he says into your ear.
Your lashes flutter on your cheeks. “Joel.” His name sounds like the citrus of the oranges you like from the cafeteria. It’s sweet and tangy and somewhat discrete. “You know I need to meet with Robert about the battery tomorrow. You’ll keep me up all night.”
A grunt rumbles deep in his chest. “You’re not goin’ to see Robert alone.”
“That was part of his deal.” You gasp when he buries his face in your neck, sucking at the skin beneath your ear. He’ll make it show up angry and purple for the FEDRA officer and, fuck it, the entire QZ to see. He’ll litter your whole body with bruises and hickeys like he's a goddamn teenager if that's what it takes to keep you here.
“Shit fuckin’ luck.” His fingers dip to the waistband of your jeans. Your hips rock subtly and he smirks against your skin. “Robert doesn't get to decide how this goes.”
“Yeah, he does. He’s the one with the battery.”
The scratch of his beard is rough and deliberate against your neck. “If he doesn't wanna see me,” says Joel, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding the zipper down, “he can tell me himself.”
“He’s terrified of you.”
Joel turns you around and presses you right up against his chest. You feel his hardness at your belly, the sear of his gaze through yours. “Good,” he says. “Get on the bed.”
It’s already midnight, which means you’ll get chewed out if you try to leave now. Joel’s plan, you guess. “You jealous of a little FEDRA officer, Miller?” Backing toward the bed, you smile up at him, coy and teasing.
“You never answered my question.” He chases your body, stalking toward you as his hand juts out to squeeze your hip. Your legs hit the edge of the bed. “Do you like him?”
His lips are so close you could just surge toward him and end this suffering. But he's keeping you at arm’s length, keeping you pliant under his touch because he knows—the bastard—that he’s winning.
Still, getting a rise out of Joel Miller is your birthright. “Would you rather I fuck a Firefly?”
A faint sneer twists his mouth, and this is his anger. This is the simmering, thrilling thing that infests your very blood. He’s jealous, and you're surprised at how deliciously it thrums in your lower spine, knowing he’s furious at the thought that someone else could even come close to the way he knows you.
The kiss begins slowly. For the heat you can feel through the press of his chest against yours, his nose only gently nudges yours as he works his way up to claiming your mouth. When he does, it’s a bizarre and dizzying shift compared to the rage you know he feels. The desire to march out onto the street and beat that officer to near-death. He compensates with a unique tenderness, taking his time with you, his hand pressing down against the exact spot on your lower back that forces his hips to mould to yours. His other cups your face, his fingers winding into your hair and curling at the back of your neck. It forces you to look up at him.
His beauty loops like a knot through your nerves. If you prodded any spot on your skin, the blood beneath would sing with the topography of him. You know the lines of his face better than your own. There is a patch in his beard that resembles a heart. There is a twinkle in his eye that lingers when he frowns and smiles. It’s a rare thing in such a sullen person. But you like finding those eyes in the dark. Somehow, for you, he’s hope.
When his lips finally meet yours, they're soft, and he lets you reach up to tangle your fingers in his soft, messy hair even though he’s doing everything he can to keep you under his control. Not that you mind. He knows you're his.
He deepens the kiss with a soft groan, curving his body over yours, tongue seeking the seam of your lips. You part them willingly, gasping when he lurches forward and slides his tongue along yours, biting and sucking at your lips. Joel growls softly at the faint noises you make, your fingers tightening in his hair, the pleasing sting in his scalp sending jolts down to his hard cock.
“MmmmmJoel.” You’re panting, desperate for air he won't give you. He likes this—making you gasp, making you weak, making you forget entirely that you’re supposed to be teasing him.
“Careful,” you gasp, barely able to form words around his mouth on yours. “Gonna hurt your back.”
That only seems to egg him on. He may not be young and agile anymore, but that’s never stopped him from giving you what you need. He turns you around and lies on his back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you down on top of him. Your jeans go quickly, sliding down your hips with your panties and dropping somewhere on the floor. Your shirt follows, his fingers enjoying their path along your shoulders as he slips your bra straps down: a rare moment of indulgence and appreciation in a world that does not allow either.
For a moment, he just looks at you, brushing the pad of his thumb across your chin. Your eyes glimmer from the light through the window. “You only like me,” he says. Matter-of-fact. He knows.
But you smile, because he decided to say it anyway. “I only like you, Joel Miller.”
A hand kneads your ass, giving it a smack. You jump in his grasp, but he just gives you that crooked smirk and whispers: “Come take a seat.”
You rear back, frowning at him. Is he—
“You waiting for a sweeter invitation, baby?” His voice is low and gruff, unused to compromise. You feel his fingers dig into your ass and pull you up onto his chest. Your cunt is slick with anticipation and the ichor of desire.
He wants you on his face.
“What if I—”
“Sit.” Every letter feels like a deliberate strike, bone-deep. “C’mon, now.”
Let me show you how much I like you.
Your bottom lip between your teeth, you shuffle gingerly up his chest until you can brace your hands on the wall, your cunt hovering over his mouth. Joel doesn't like that. He wraps his hands around your upper thighs and forces you down onto his face. You gasp his name, one hand flying to his hair and locking your fingers in his locks. “Fuck.”
He grunts, squeezing your thighs up to your hips as he pulls your clit into his mouth, lathering it with his spit and your wetness. It’s white-hot: the pressure on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, the insistent bump of his nose against your clit as he teases his tongue around your tight hole. “Joel, Joel, fuck,” is all you can manage, sweet little gasps that he drinks in, his hips bucking involuntarily with the delicious pain of your fingers pulling at his scalp. You're losing grip on the real world and slipping elsewhere, and he wants to get you there.
One of Joel’s hands slides between your legs, easing them open even more, and rests on your belly, shifting to your ribcage and helping you steady yourself atop him. His fingertips graze your breasts, reverent and gentle despite their roughness. Those hands have been split and bloodied, but they hold you like they’ve never known anything but kindness. His eyes closed, savouring the taste of you, his fingers trace a scar on your sternum from an incident at knifepoint six years ago. He cannot see it, but he knows it nonetheless.
Joel is greedy when he has his face buried in your pussy. He doesn’t get the opportunity to take his time like this often; the both of you have only ever been acquainted with impermanence. But now, tucked comfortably between your thighs, licking between your folds like a starving fuckin’ dog, taking what he wants from you.
The sounds are slick and obscene, mingled with your drunken sighs and words of encouragement as you curl your fingers against the wall uselessly. “Joel,” you whimper, your hips rolling against his face, moonlight bursting on your eyelids. “I… can’t… so good—”
He groans, his hand smacking your thigh, feeling your cunt gush on his tongue as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly. He’ll imprint the feeling of him on your skin forever—if he hasn't already. He’ll make sure you never have another man like you have him.
It’s a selfish thing, love. He's mastered clutching it to his chest and keeping his palm closed right around it.
“I’m… oh, fuck, I’m gonna…” Your hips buck wildly, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you steadfast and firm to his face. He sucks your clit back into his mouth and fixes his tongue to you, wiggling slightly as he feels you stiffen above him. “Oh, my—gonna come!”
He knows. You're already coming. Your hand leaves his hair and braces next to your other one on the wall, ensuring you don’t fall over as your thighs shake uncontrollably and your mouth drops open in a keening whine. Joel keeps lapping at your clit long after your orgasm fades and you cry out from the overstimulation. Gently, you reach down to tug his hair, and he reluctantly pulls away. He’s so hard he can’t conjure much mental activity besides getting his dick wet.
Your chest is heaving as you try to pick your leg up and get off him, but your strength fails you. Instead, Joel grabs your hips and sits up, your cunt sliding down to sit on top of his erection. Experimentally, you grind down on him, watching a muscle in his jaw feather. “Are you going to let me take your pants off?” you ask him, teasing, your finger tracing the metal of his belt buckle.
He grits his teeth, letting you take control for a moment, sliding the belt achingly slow out of each loop. Your wicked little smile is so pretty in the darkness, illuminated briefly by passing patrol vehicles through the window. Unbuttoning his shirt, you dip your body low to his chest and press gentle kisses all the way down to his soft belly and the trail of hair disappearing under his waistband.
Joel moans brokenly when you shuck his jeans down his legs and squeeze his hard length before it can slap up against his stomach. There’s a tattoo on his inner thigh that you like to trace with your fingers, something he got with his brother when they were young. Your tongue darts out and licks up the precum pooling at his slit, making his cock twitch in your grasp. “Jesus,” he groans. “Baby, c’mon, let me—”
Your soft lips parting around the throbbing head of his cock destroy whatever end to the sentence he had planned. Squeezing his strong thighs to ground yourself, you swirl your tongue around the tip and take him deeper, your throat expanding to accommodate his thick, heavy weight in your mouth. He huffs, grumpy that he can't think straight for long enough to stop you and overcome with pleasure all the same. You squeeze his thigh again, your thumb rubbing circles over the little tattoo, and he meets your eyes. They're watery, blinking hard to expel the tears, his hand instinctively cradling the crown of your head to keep you on him, keep you choking around him.
When your nose meets the thatch of hair above his base, he’s the one who chokes, his head tipping back. “Jesus, fuck, goddamn—” His fingers curl in your hair and gently urge you off his cock; you pout, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length. His dick jumps at the sight, lying hard on his stomach.
“Come up here,” he rasps. You do, crawling up his body until your hips are flush, his hardness slotted, thick and throbbing, between your folds. The hum that leaves your mouth is wanton, your teeth tugging at your bottom lip. His hands move to your lower back, digging into the flesh just above your ass so you’re forced to roll your hips along his shaft.
Your mouth drops open at the jolt of pleasure to your cunt. “Oh…”
“That’s it, baby.”
He cannot come inside you, but he can come like this. And he will, probably faster than he likes; your pretty lips parted, your eyes lidded and boring into his even as you grind along his cock, unwavering. You look good like this. You look happy and soft and all his.
Joel’s hands clutch you a little harder, roll you a little faster, your hands supporting your weight on his firm chest. He’s so fucking close, your wet pussy soaking his length and his tip catching on your sensitive clit with each roll of your hips, but he needs you to come again. You come first.
“Joel,” you sigh, your thighs locking tight around his hips, nectar and frosting and citrus.
“I know,” he says, “I know. Keep goin’, baby. C’mon. Doin’ so good. Jesus, so good.”
The first orgasm was a meticulous build-up. This one crashes down with the ceremony and courtesy of an ambush: it seizes your whole body and leaves you helpless. You moan his name—maybe you whisper it; everything is loud in your ears—and double over, your cheek pressed into the hollow of his throat. He keeps you moving, seeking his own high, bucking up against your cunt.
“That’s it.” His praises gently puff out across the top of your head, tucking your head under his chin, admiring the curve of your back and the supple taste of your skin under his fingers. His balls draw up and his core goes tight with imminent release. “Fuck, baby. Fuck—”
There’s a hot, wet splash against your belly, then another, and another. When you peel yourself away to watch his cum spurt onto his stomach, your cunt tightens with the pulsating rhythm of his shaft under you and another brief, but devastating, rush of pleasure surges through your whole body. It almost fucking knocks you over. You lift yourself off his cock in time to see a burst of wetness soak him, dribbling out around your bodies onto the mattress. Joel groans, his brows lifting, another spurt of cum landing on his belly.
“Jesus Christ.”
You list to the side, unable to hold yourself up in any capacity. You land next to him, your arm belted across his chest, fondly nudging a pec with your nose. “Me, too,” you mumble. Your voice is hollow.
Joel turns his head to face you, and you swipe some cum off his belly with your index and middle fingers, looking him in the eyes as you lick it up and swallow. He grabs you by the back of the neck and kisses you hard. “No fuckin’ FEDRA asshole,” he grumbles into your mouth, “is gettin’ anywhere near you. And neither is Robert.”
You forgot that was what this was about. “Joel,” you whisper, lips migrating from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, his scratchy beard, “you can’t keep me safe forever.”
He reaches around to grab your ass and then hitches your thigh up onto his hip. “Yeah, I fuckin’ can. Stay here.”
“We aren’t related, or married.” You pin him with a stare. “They would never let us.”
Joel lifts his brows. You roll your eyes. “We aren’t married.”
He’ll pick a fight in the morning. But you already know you won’t be going to see Robert about the battery with your big guard dog standing just behind you. Robert can suck it the fuck up, for all Joel cares.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he says, squeezing your thigh. “It was a shitty cupcake, though.”
You laugh, kissing him on the nose. “No, it wasn’t. For all you know, you may never have one again.”
“For the fuckin’ best,” he grumbles, chasing your mouth again. You let him kiss you, and neither of you get much sleep.
He really didn't mind the cupcake.
#kiwisbell's fics#joel miller x female reader#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#the last of us#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal fic
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" MOVIE NIGHT GONE RIGHT. "
starring! : mikey, draken, baji, kazutora, chifuyu
warnings! : 18+, consent checks, gangbang, praise kink, cuckold, cheating, exhibition, filming, sub!reader, oral, handjobs, pet names, readers skin color is not mentioned
a/n! : This is a part 2 to "movie night gone wrong"<3 (an abrupt end btw)
-> masterlist.
The men in front of you stared at you in a trance, while mikey was walking past them to get his camera.
You arched your back sexily as you sat on mikey's bed with your legs spread and pussy exposed.
Their hot and feral stares made you want to close your legs for just a little bit of friction but, luckily you can just grind down on mikeys bed.
And so you did just that.
Making draken's eyebrow twitch while kazutora was about to drool all over himself.
Chifuyu was leaning over baji to get a better look at your pussy being pressed onto the bed.
You tilted your head as the tiniest gasp left your lungs. "So?..." You looked at the men individually, "You guys wanna be my starring roles this time?"
The men looked at mikey as he opened the camera up and smiled "If you're looking for my permission, go ahead." He clicked the cam on, and the red dot started blinking.
"She's waiting, and she gets whiny when she doesn't get what she wants"
Kazutora was the first to look at you again and spoke up after a big nervous gulp.
"..i-is this really okay?" He asked, reaching out to touch your smooth and beautiful legs.
He was so close to you now that he could smell your enchanting perfume that was dumbing him down even more, tora felt dizzy by your presence alone.
You looked down at your cute tora and lifted the leg that he was caressing onto the bed to expose your pussy even more to the men, kazutora almost passed out when he saw the glimmer of your already wet pussy.
A soft gasp from chifuyu was heard as he also laid eyes between your legs.
Draken was still trying to push his desire to shove his big fingers in your tiny tight pussy away but it was impossible to not think about it when your cunt is exposed infront of him, fuck he knows it's wrong but he thought many times about how pretty your pussy would be but his imagination was nothing to the real thing.
Kazutora got closer to you and looked up at you one last time as if to ask for your consent one more time, he looked so cute, quietly begging for your pussy.
You nodded softly, smiling down at the man "..go ahead" you whispered to him.
To which kazutora just softly grabbed your thighs and kissed them up, making you already gasp and moan. Chifuyu couldn't believe this was happening. he was stiff as a board, not daring to move a single muscle in case this was actually just a dream and he would wake up.
Kazutora looked at your clit when he kissed just next to your pussy, he swallowed the ocean of drool that was pooling in his mouth before he opened his mouth to place his tongue between the valley of your pussy lips, diving right in and tasting you like he hasn't eaten in months. Your hips twitched as you felt toras talented tongue threatening to push into you, but when he went up to suck on your pulsing clit you threw your head back with a loud and erotic moan.
Draken buried his head in his hands, trying to drown your pornographic moans out, but it was no use. He stood up and walked to the door. "i ca-...I can't fucking do this" he groaned, but your whine stopped him in his tracks "Kenny! P-please stay.." You held your hand out as you were now laying on the bed, looking at him with your lustful eyes as kazutoras' head was between your plush thighs.
"Please..I need you, please, kenny" you begged, grinding into kazutoras face, making him moan.
Draken bit his lip, trying hard not to give into your siren calls
"It's okay, ken-chin," mikey spoke up. "I won't tell her if you won't," he reassured draken, to which his heart pounded and sweat started to bead at his hairline.
"Fuck me.." he cursed under his breath before he stomped over to you while taking off his jacket "fuck it." He said sitting next to you, immediately grabbing your face to kiss you as roughly and feral as he could, you moaned into his mouth as you felt draken's tongue against your own, feeling his teeth brushing against your lips every once in a while.
Ken's brain and rational thinking just shut off when the taste of your sweet spit invaded his mouth, his cock was unbelievably hard, straining against his jeans. His hand found your pretty hair to pull at it and keep you on his lips.
Mikey grinned before biting down on his bottom lip, watching his best friend making out with you. You looked so pretty getting ravaged by his two friends, all messy and moaning, legs twitching, your body not knowing what to do.
Baji huffed and stood up before tying his hair back and taking his own jacket off, he looked at chifuyu "c'mon, you wanna stay a virgin and watch us fuck this pretty girl or do you want in?"
Chifuyu didn't really know what to do, honestly. But thankfully, the hungry kiss you, and draken shared, got stopped so you could look at the other two men, while draken began kissing and sucking at your neck "come here, fuyu..gimme a kiss yeah?" You smiled at him with lidded eyes.
You didn't have to ask him twice, no sir. He got up and stormed over to you, kneeling in front of the bed and immediately smashing his lips onto your already wet ones.
Meanwhile, baji got on the bed to lay next to you. Suddenly, he grabbed both sides of your blouse and ripped it off of you, gaining a shocked gasp from you. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart..I'll give you my jacket later, yeah?"
You moaned at bajis rare sweetness and shoved your tongue harder against chifuyus.
Baji looked at your exposed tits and hard nipples, you looked so sexy, so fucking hot. He grabbed your waist harshly as his head went down to lick up from your stomach to your nipple.
Your eyes rolled back at all the mouths and hands on you, Mikey captured the exact moment when your brain shut completely off.
Draken got up to suddenly flip you around, making you arch your back, kazutora was gasping at the loss of your pussy on his mouth, but then immediately sighed dreamily at the new view of your pussy and your ass. Wasting no time to put his hands back on your thighs and burying his face into your inviting and hot cunt.
Draken grabbed your face again as he kneeled in front of you on the bed, his belt already unbuckled and unzipped. Right now, he was pulling them down along with his boxers. Letting his hard and long cock jump out infront of your face, kazutora felt your pussy react on his tongue, to which he just kept his eyes closed and giggled.
"C'mon, baby, open up, yeah?" You complied immediately and opened your pretty lips and sticking your tongue out.
Draken immediately lightly slapped his cock against your tongue as he chuckled, you heard another zipper next to you and baji was now next to draken, also with his huge cock out, waiting for you to give it some attention.
"Can ya take two dicks at the same time?" Your shiny eyes looked up at the men, before you dumbly nodded with your mouth still wide open and tongue out.
You felt bajis cock twitch against your cheek "such a good girl for us.."
Your manicured hand went up to bajis cock to stroke his thick and hard length up and down, making him softly tilt his head back with a rough but quiet moan, bajis strong hand found the back of your head "is this okay?" He softly asked, to which you nodded enthusiastically
He then drew your attention back to draken, by turning your head to his cock.
You immediately let drakens tip slip back into your mouth with a loud grumble "fuck, you feel so good, princess..."
Mikey suddenly walked over to all of you to get a better shot of you sucking drakens cock, the way your pretty glossed over lips wrapped around drakens fat cock looked illegally sexy, your eyes looking up at him through your thick lashes. Eyes quietly begging for someone to finally fuck you, Mikey knew that look too well.
"Flip her over again, she wants to get fucked" the men perked up at mikey's request as you whimpered.
Baji's strong hands grabbed your waist to flip you around, being manhandled into multiple positions made you go dumb and let your pussy feel so empty, you needed one of them inside you, if not two.
Kazutora looked so lovestruck with your pussy juice and his own spit covering his mouth and chin, he gave your pussy one last kiss with a big "mwah".
You felt so exposed, having all the men just sitting around you with your pussy aching to cum and the men's hungry gazes, just ready to fuck your mind into the Astral plane.
But instead, they just stared down at you, chuckling when your hips began to twitch. "See how desperate she gets?"
Mikey chuckled, looking down at the camera displaying your pretty and teary eyes looking up at draken.
Baji then suddenly grabbed your face to make you look at him. "Pretty girl needs some cock to fill her up, hm?" His husky voice asked you while softly squeezing your cheeks.
You didn't even think before you nodded. your body just acted on impulse.
Obviously, all of the men wanted to be inside of your pretty pussy, but they aren't going to fight about it so baji just looked up at mikey, urging him to decide.
Mikey looked at draken. "Go on, kenchin" to which draken looked back down at you with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and a sly grin as his lidded eyes stared into your glossy ones.
He got up to place himself into position
"Hold on," mikey stopped draken. "She has two holes to fill." He grinned, making you sigh at the thought of having two cocks inside you for the first time.
"B-baji...please," you quietly begged, looking up at the dark-haired man who was more than ready to fuck you in the ass, it was always his favorite part to look at of you, aside from your pretty face, of course.
"Fuck, if you ask me like that.." he chuckled, draken softly put his hand on your waist to sit you up before letting baji help him to hold you up for them.
You put your arms around drakens, strong neck while you felt both his and bajis hands on your soft thighs, sinking their fingers into the plush flesh.
As you were face to face with draken and being so close, he mindlessly started kissing you again. With deep and horny grunts coming from him, his cock was prodding at your pussy.
Baji started kissing down the back of your neck to your shoulder, softly biting down into your flesh. You moaned into Ken's mouth when you felt bajis sexy sharp teeth in your shoulder.
Kazutora and chifuyu just sat on either side of you, just watching you getting kissed and teased by their friends. It was weirdly hot to chifuyu, just watching you.
"So pretty for us, princess.." baji whispered against your soft and messy hair before spitting into his hand to slowly stroke his aching cock, though he was good at hiding it, he was going feral. He could just ravage you immediately until all you can do is cry as you cum and cum and cum over and over again.
Draken's tongue sensually swirled around yours, and his lips were so soft but so firm against you. It was making you feel like you were drunk.
"Want us inside now, pretty girl?" Draken asked against your wet lips, slowly letting his hands run from your thighs to your soft ass. Making you moan softly before you nod.
Draken shook his head tutted at you. "verbal answer, honey.." he reminded you as his thumb was softly caressing your ass.
You put your head on drakens broad shoulder. "I want it so bad.." You then kissed his neck softly, "please.."
He was so weak in the knees that he almost fell over if baji wasn't also holding you, he sighed and looked over at baji "ya heard her," he began before letting baji tilt your head up so you were looking at the long haired man "let's give her what she wants" he said, voice deep and sending shivers down your spine straight to your pussy.
Seconds after baji said it, he was slowly sliding inside you, you found it cute how he was restraining himself. You could hear by his deep growls and moans that he'd rather be having you face first in the bed and him pounding you until you can't even stand afterwards.
A loud and deep moan erupted from his thick throat, "fuck.." he hissed through gritted teeth as his cock slid all the way into your tight asshole. "So fuckin' tight-fuck me..." he cursed
Kazutora grinned, "she's so tasty too, our pretty girl.." he hummed as he got up and took your hand to guide it towards his mouth to suck on your thumb, feeling your long nail on his tongue got his eyes rolling back and his hand inching inside his pants to slowly stroke his rock hard dick.
Your brows furrowed together as your pussy begged your attention as your ass was filled to the brim with bajis big dick.
"K-kenny-" his soft smile made you whimper and whine "I know, baby..I won't let either of us wait any longer, kay?" He said, giving you one last kiss before turning his attention to his cock being pressed against your most holy.
"Please, please, please.." you sighed and whined, baji grumbled behind you "fuck, just get inside her..I need to fuck her"
Draken just chuckled "fine, fine.."
His tip lined up with your pussy and his thick head slowly slid inside you "oh shit- I can feel you coming in" baji mentioned.
Your eyes rolled back as your head fell on bajis shoulder, you felt every single centimeter of their cocks inside you as draken bottomed out.
"F-fuck..oh shit..I've never felt anything like it-" draken groaned as sweat started so slide down from his temple, baji didn't want to wait any longer than he needed so he just suddenly started fucking into you at a feral pace, making you moan with your mouth wide open, letting chifuyu no other choice but to grab your face and kiss you as rough as he could, moaning into your mouth as nothing but the wet sounds of your two holes in a trance and toras wet cock making obscene noises filled your mind. It's like you were getting fucked into another dimension..
Your mind was blank as you already felt the coil in your stomach tightening, kazutora suddenly stopped sucking on your finger and just grabbed your tiddy to suck on your hard nipple, moaning around it. While chifuyu had his tongue down your throat, his kissing felt even more feral than bajis ferocious thrusting.
While you were getting fucked into oblivion mikey recorded every single movement, reaction and facial expression you made.
You are the star, you are the main focus.
Mikey could never concentrate on anyone else but you, anyone who met you could agree. Even draken, who has a girlfriend.
You are just enchanting, making every man lose his composure. No matter how strong they are.
You are a sex symbol, mikey's pretty little pornstar.
Your eyes suddenly rolled back as your nails dug into drakens back, and mikey knew you were gonna cum. "M-MIKEYY!!" you wailed as a strong wave of Stimulation and ecstasy wahed over your nerves and set your body on fire.
Hearing his little princess scream his name as you're getting fucked by other men let's him know that you're completely his.
Mind coded to think of him when you cum.
Completely his <3
#jojo writes#tr smut#tokyo revengers#tokyo rev smut#tokyo rev#tokyo revengers smut#mikey smut#manjiro smut#manjiro sano smut#draken smut#ken ryuuguji smut#kazutora smut#kazutora hanemiya smut#chifuyu matsuno#chifuyu smut#chifuyu matsuno smut#baji keisuke#baji keisuke smut#baji smut
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Left handed
Sirius and Regulus were both left-handed. This was seen as low class in the Black family so they both were forced taught to write with their right hand. Sirius being Sirius never really cared and wrote with his left hand because "I shall write how it is comfortable mother, and my comfort lies in writing with my left hand so.......fuck you <3". But Regulus, oh poor Regulus tried to write so neatly with his right hand to make his mom proud that he would take double the time to write down notes.
That was until he learnt it didn't matter.
On a normal Tuesday morning in his 6th year at Hogwarts Sirius black was feeling an emotion he hadn't felt since the last time he saw Moony in a suit......dumbstruck. He had stopped in his tracks, successfully causing Peter, walking behind him, to fall down.
James frantically tried to look at the subject that had caused Sirius Black to finally and uncharacteristically shut up about how amazing eyeliner was.
"Padfoot you okay?"
"He's writing with his left hand."
"What?"
"I- James, he's writing with his left hand". Offering no more of an explanation the oldest Black brother walked to the Slytherin table as if in a trance. With the determination he was walking with it would take an act of god to stop him. He reached and very deliberately did not look at anyone but his younger brother, writing his potions homework, with his left hand.
"You aren't supposed to stir that 7 times clockwise, it's 3 times clockwise and 4 times anti-clockwise. It makes the midnight blue shade appear quicker."
Regulus looked up to judge whoever had dared try and correct him when he looked up and realised.....oh. Okay.
"Hello to you too dear brother", he said with a raised eyebrow and nothing more.
"You're writing with your left hand'
"So I am."
"It would piss her off if she knew"
"So it would."
A quick flash in Sirius' face reminded Regulus of the look he gave him when Regulus stole cookies for both of them with the help of Kreacher, pure unrestrained pride.
"Well mieux vaut tard que jamais" Sirius said and quickly walked away
And that one proverb told Regulus that he was forgiven, that Sirius understood and most importantly, that he had his brother back.
#sirius black#james potter#regulus black#jegulus#wolfstar#harry potter#marauders#moony wormtail padfoot and prongs#padfoot#moony#remus lupin#all the young dudes#atyd sirius#atyd remus#james & peter & remus & sirius#remus#art#marauders headcanon#marauders incorrect quotes#dead gay wizards#young marauders#atyd#dead gay wizards from the 70s#hp marauders#atyd fandom#mwpp#peter pettigrew#incorrect marauders quotes#sirius kinnie
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Loser!ellie headcannons .ᐟ (pt. 2)
(Warnings: Some NSFW ‘nd I think that's it, lmk if I missed anything !)
Loser! Ellie who fucking loves neck kisses (and kisses in general)
Loser! Ellie who claims she's fully capable of being away from you for long periods of time yet not even 10 minutes after you walk out the door to go to work, she starts calling/texting you.
Loser! Ellie who begged you to get matching pajamas with her until you just caved and ordered them😭
“Babeee just hear me out!” Ellie whined, shoving her phone in your face which on the screen had a picture of a couple wearing these adorable matching dinosaur onesies. “Els no. I'm not wearing fucking dinosaur pajamas..” You rolled your eyes playfully, pushing her phone away “But-” “No Ellie.” You cut her off. “Y'know what, fine then.” Ellie said, turning away from you. You look at your girlfriend sighing “Ellie do not..” you say chuckling playfully, you knew when Ellie didn't get her way it resulted in her giving you the silent treatment. “For fucks sake, give me the phone.” You say trying to sound annoyed but failing. “Fuck yes!” Ellie said in excitement handing you her phone so you could purchase the pajamas
Once you placed the order you sighed seeing your girlfriend smirking at you, “You're such a dick” you tease, obviously not meaning it “I love you too~” Ellie teases back an adorable giggle of excitement escaping her lips.
Loser! Ellie who would make these adorable paper rings for the two of you :( <3 (and you would wear yours everywhere you go)
Loser! Ellie who absolutely adores physical touch, but quality time and words of affirmations and are close 2nds
Loser! Ellie who clings to you like a little koala throughout the day
Loser! Ellie who cannot stay quiet during makeout sessions for shit. (I'm talking constant whining and small breathy moans in between kisses)
Loser! Ellie who likes watching you every move, she just finds it so fucking attractive how you manage to look so cute doing literally anything
Loser! Ellie who wrote cute songs for you before you guys started dating and would play them on her guitar without you realizing that the songs were actually about YOU
Loser! Ellie who scrolls through the texts between you and her while you're at work and gets off to any and every voice note and/or photo/video you've ever sent her (She's so fucking needy I swearrr)
Loser! Ellie who would find you 10x hotter if you could speak another language🙏❤ (like don’t get me wrong she'd love you regardless but this bitch is a sucker for other languages and accents)
Loser! Ellie who 100% prefers tits over ass
Loser! Ellie who begs to watch Jurassic Park on your movie nights (despite having watched it with you a million times.)
Loser! Ellie who can't keep her hands off of you whatsoever
You and Ellie had gone out to a restaurant of your choice for your weekly date, sure Ellie wasn't much of a restaurant typa girl but she'd do anything if it meant seeing you happy. That night you had been wearing this beautiful wine red dress that hugged your body so perfectly, Ellie couldn’t help but stare at the way the dress showed off your every curve. She swore she was in heaven, not to mention how short the dress was, she was so tempted to glide her hand across your thigh just to get a reaction out of you. You, on the other hand, didn't even need to look over at your girlfriend to know that her eyes were roaming your body.
“Hm? Something wrong Els?” you teased as she snapped out of whatever trance your body had on her “You're just s'pretty mama.. it's unbearable..” Ellie mumbled, before starting to play with the bottom of your dress, her hands almost finding a way underneath. “Baby, not here..” you mumbled tapping Ellies hand with your own as a signal for her to move it away. “Please babe~ I'll make it quick..” Ellie whispered as she nuzzled into the nape of your neck, placing soft kisses along your supple skin. You whined quietly feeling your girlfriends tongue and lips trailing along your neck up to your ear. “Fuck it.. just be quick..” you say trying your best not to lose your composure. Ellie grins and places her hand in yours standing up and directing you to the restroom.
Loser! Ellie who likes picking dandelions and putting them in your hair at any chance she gets
Loser! Ellie who has a playlist she listens to on the daily of songs that remind her of you
Loser! Ellie who can’t pose in pictures for shit, like you'll be standing there doing a cute lil pose for the selfie you wanted to take of the two of you while Ellie either holds up a peace sign or just awkwardly stands like “🧍♀️”
Loser! Ellie who tells all her friends about you and tells them all the cute things you've said or done
A/N .ᐟ : Thank you guys sm for all the love on pt.1 (like deadass I'm so grateful) so I figured I'd make a part 2!
#ellie tlou#ellie x fem!reader#ellie williams fic#tlou fic#wlw#lesbian#ellie x fem reader#loser ellie#ellie x reader#ellie williams#ellie the last of us#tlou#the last of us#ellie headcanons#tlou headcanons
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