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sayoneee · 3 months

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☆ I WANNA BE YOUR MAN

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” (1.7k)

contains: loser older brother luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. pt 2 of parent trap but can be read standalone ish. guest appearances! rock / metal music references.

kashaf’s note: i think i can call myself a melomaniac now

LUKE CASTELLAN HAS always occupied that in-between space, the no-man’s-land between something and nothing — his indecipherable gaze as his cold, black, and blued knuckles grazed your cheek when he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear swims around your mind endlessly. despite how each thought, each expression, each breath is as familiar to you as your own, you have never quite known where you stand with him, regardless of how quickly he seemed to inhabit a piece of your soul.

the familiar weight of the mixtape that luke made you feels unusually burdensome in your hands, mirroring the heft of the songs on it that you have painstakingly committed to memory, each sleepless night’s offerings of tossing and turning becoming a reoccurring ritual.

you had popped the tape in your walkman immediately after luke had handed it to you, incognizant of the way his eyes softened as you concentrated on the music, trying to identify the first song.

“this is that band you like — l.a. guns, right?”

“you’re a regular sherlock,” luke had said, smiling and sarcastic, twisting his silver rings.

“shut up, no i know this song,” you say, tilting your head and snapping your fingers. “its — um — i wanna be yours? nono, don’t make that face at me, asshole, hold on… i wanna be your man?”

hues of pink crept up his cheeks, and you basked in the warmth of his answering crooked grin, the feeling wrapping around you like the caress of a summer night.

you uselessly stirred the spoon in your now stone-cold cup of chai, leaning across the kitchen table with your head propped up in your other hand. the phone taunts you from its corner on the counter, sitting just by the clear jar of blue cookies, its black hue a beacon among the sea of greens (the cabinets, the tiles — you liked to tell sally that she should try her hand at interior design one of these days) — as of late, the jacksons’ kitchen has become somewhat of a refuge for you.

you set a steaming china cup down in front of him, listening to the sounds of percy, annabeth, and grover in the living room, pulling out the chair in front of him with a slight creak on the slightly worn wooden floors, and watching him as he taps his fingers along to bob marley’s soft crooning, “little darlin’, stir it up”, lost in his own world.

“luke,” you say, breaking him out of his revelry.

luke sits up straight, meeting your amused gaze, “yeah?” he asks, reaching for his chai, and mumbling a quiet thanks as he sips it.

“you look kinda stupid when you think,” you say, watching him blink before taking the bait, and hiding your smile of satisfaction behind your cup.

“y’know, this is why you have a black hole for a heart,” he says, grinning crookedly, filling you with an indescribable longing to reach out and trace his grin.

“what?” you laugh, “what does that even mean?”

“just that you’re mean,” luke says, and the afternoon sun chooses that specific moment to encompass him in its glow, like a kiss from apollo. “and that you’re emo.”

“you literally say this every time, oh my god, i’m not mean or emo.”

“because i’m literally right?”

“you like him,” annabeth says, sympathetically, standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, her braids resting across her shoulders, glancing from your untouched cup to your face, an expression of pity gracing her features. her presence caught you so off guard that you don’t even question where percy ran off to, who was usually attached to annabeth like a conjoined twin.

“i know,” you say, shivering slightly, the revelation feeling strangely empty, although you suppose the same part of your soul that recognized him had always known, a small inkling reappearing with every argument, and every nudge.

“he likes you,” annabeth adds matter-of-factly, interrupting your stream of consciousness.

“i know,” you repeat, picking at the lint on your sweater, and while this revelation is supposed to be shocking, it is also hollow, as you suppose your soul also knew this with every hushed conversation in the dead of night, and the slips of silence that only spoke volumes around him.

“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” she turned and stalked back toward the living room.

you sat still for a minute or so, before sighing and putting luke’s mixtape (even in your misery, he is somehow always there) in your walkman, putting your headphones on as axl rose trilled, ‘i said, baby you been lookin' real good’ in his voice that took a while to get used to — something luke gave you a heads up on.

you sighed, conceding to annabeth’s attempts to rewrite whatever fate had pushed the two of you apart, from the hours-long phone calls that dwindled into short, clipped conversations, you can’t necessarily blame annabeth for trying to fashion a phoenix from the ashes of your friendship.

you stood up, grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair you were sitting upon, and walked into the living room, pausing for a few minutes to watch the scooby doo episode on the screen along with percy, grover, and annabeth, who were currently sprawled across the softly carpeted floor, arguing over monopoly.

“you’re literally cheating,” percy was saying.

“i’m the banker, i’m supposed to be innocent,” annabeth argued back.

“percy, i saw you steal a couple dollars behind annabeth’s back,” grover added, rolling the dice.

“guys,” you said, interrupting their three-way argument, “put on your jackets and shoes, we’re going to the fair in five minutes.”

you ignored the way the troublesome trio exchanged glances, walking through the hallway covered in framed photos of percy and sally, going to wait by the door for them.

“so,” percy says, all-too-innocently, “why the sudden change of plans?” once the four of you are a couple of blocks away from his apartment.

“no reason, just wanted to see what was so hot about the fair,” you say, digging your hands in the pockets of your jacket. once more, you ignore the glances the trio exchange.

“so it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain curly-haired individual that we’re currently seeing less and less of?”

you keep walking, trying to feign ignorance, although the question was so pointed even you were concerned with percy’s audacity, “what’re you talking about?”

“oh, nothing,” percy smiles. “just the way —”

“— the two of you —”

“— were inseparable —”

“— for a disgustingly long time —”

“— and now you’re not —”

“— but we’re going to the fair because —”

“— his band is playing —”

“— and you’re going to try and fix —”

“— your troubles in paradise.”

you blinked slowly, as the three of them did jazz hands, matching shit-eating grins on all of their faces, “how long did it take for you guys to rehearse that?”

“a week, give or take,” grover says, and annabeth shoots him a glare.

“not the point, the point is, we support you.”

“gee, thanks, all i really needed was the support of three twelve-year-olds.”

“three twelve-year-olds that know you’re stupidly in love with luke castellan,” percy points out.

“okay, y’know what…” you trail off, frowning.

annabeth nudged percy, “not the point here, again.”

“fine, fine, fine,” you huff, as the four of you approach the brightly illuminated fair, looking for the ticket-selling booth, “i’ll buy you guys tickets so you can go hang out on the rides and i’ll go to the concert.”

the three of them nodded happily, making a beeline for the cotton candy stand a few feet away. you shook your head before pushing through the bustling crowd to look for the concert stage. when you finally do find it, after three excuse me’s and four sorry’s, the concert is already in full swing, with what looks like a mini moshpit already forming somewhere near the center.

once you’ve pushed your way to the absolute front, the darkening night sky serving as a backdrop, the harsh lights illuminate all five individuals on the stage, with a gorgeous girl with shaggily-cut hair and a raspy voice singing as lead (thalia? you think you remember luke telling you on the phone late at night once). however, your gaze almost immediately fixed on luke, who was playing a riff on his electric guitar, looking as hot as ever, his crooked grin on full display.

the band is covering l.a. guns’ ‘i wanna be your man’ at the moment, and you’re suddenly very grateful to annabeth for her unsubtle nudges, because you would’ve missed out on this sight of luke castellan, the view of his muscled arms bulging out of his band tee is permanently seared into your memory.

you’re almost sad when the show is over though, finally realizing why luke liked concerts so much, from the crowd surfing to the drumstick tricks during solos (beckendorf, you think the drummer’s name was — luke had mentioned him before) to the lead’s insane vocals, to the girl with long curly hair that stood next to you for most of the concert (probably the band’s most enthusiastic fan), you savored every minute of it. however, you’re glad for the chance to corner luke afterwards, climbing onto the stage as the crowd begins to disperse in waves, and realizing the curly-haired girl was already among the band members packing up their instruments, helping the curly-haired bassist pack his things.

luke barely looks up at your sudden arrival. “what’re you doing here?” he asks, packing away his guitar.

“i’m here to see you,” you say, trying to drive the hint home.

“i told you that you didn’t have to come see the band if you were busy,” luke says, uncomprehendingly, making eye-contact with you.

“i like you,” you say insistently.

“c’mon, let’s not kid ourselves right now, you said we’re friends so you don’t have to try to make me feel better,” luke says, shrugging and looking away from your face, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i listen to your dumb mixtape every night, luke castellan. does a person who’s not into you do that?”

there is something so raw about the way he looks right now, with his expression stilling as his cheeks are colored in swathes of red.

smiling at his dumbstruck expression, you surged forward to kiss him, ignoring all the wolf whistles and “get some, castellan” enveloping the two of you, tangling your fingers into his hair, his hands coming to rest upon your hips.

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strangerstilinski · 17 days

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𝙞𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.5k warnings: none really, fluffy ending, steve is kind of a dick, mention of alcohol, gender neutral reader (pls let me know if i missed anything) based on that scene in tasm where peter spins gwen around to kiss her — with just a dash of enemies to lovers

It should go without saying that Steve Harrington is the bane of your goddamned existence. If the two of you aren't at each other's throats, it typically just means that you're both doing your best to pretend the other doesn't even exist.

And, sure, maybe it drives you a little bit insane that he seems to get along just fine with every person in your friend group except for you. It was like you pushed buttons that Steve wasn't even aware he had.

Nancy finds the whole thing amusing, says that Steve's clearly so in love with you that he doesn't know how to handle it. Eddie swears that Steve looks at you with hearts in his eyes, though any time you've caught his stare those ‘hearts’ tended to look a whole lot more like daggers. Argyle and Robin both insist that love and hate tread a very thin line, and eventually, a little push will have the two of you stumbling head over heels into each other's waiting arms. Johnathan tends to stay out of it, but then, he doesn't really need to say anything, because you've seen that look he gives you when he catches you looking a little too long at the moles dotted along the length of Steve's throat, or that stubborn lock of hair that tumbles over his brow bone, or the way his tongue pokes out and his eyes narrow cutely when he's concentrating-

You hate it. You hate Steve. Even now, you swear you hate him, regardless of the way you shamelessly ogle the curve of his bicep when he reaches across the back of the sofa to drape his arm loosely behind Robin's shoulders. You've accepted it. At this point, allowing yourself to admire his stupidly handsome physique was merely reparations for being forced to put up with him on a near-daily basis. Compensation for the never-ending bad attitude that he seemed to direct solely at you.

“Does anyone hear that?” Steve's voice speaks louder than your own suddenly, effectively cutting you off even though you'd been in the middle of a sentence. His eyes meet yours for just a brief second before his gaze is moving elsewhere, “It’s like, this annoying buzzing sound?” He's sitting up a little straighter following his interruption, brows drawing together like he's listening intently for something.

His sudden line of questioning has thoroughly derailed your train of thought. The longwinded story you'd been regaling to the group about a customer at work is cut short, the words dissolving on your tongue as your try to work out what on earth Steve is referring to. Until his interruption, you hadn't heard anything.

“What are you even talking abou-”

“There!” He cuts you off once more, “There it is again! Did you hear that, Robs?” The fingers he nudges into his best friend's ribs makes her squirm away with a deep laugh.

“Are you seriously implying that I'm the-”

“God, you are hearing that, right?” Steve interrupts with an irritatingly pleased grin on his face, “Like nails on a chalkboard-”

Though Robin's laughter isn't actually directed at you, your face burns hotly anyway. A pity-filled smile graces her lips when she meets your gaze after escaping the wrath of Steve's tickling, and the boy's chuckles of amusement only serve to make you grind your teeth together in irritation.

“Real mature, dickhead.” You snap, snatching up the beer you'd set down on the coffee table when Eddie had actually asked you about your day a few minutes before. “I was in the middle of a story.”

“Yeah, no offense, honey, but I don't think any of us were that invested hearing you talk about the ‘big tip’ that some douchebag with a hand tattoo left you.” Steve grumbled with a roll of his eyes, “If your stories weren't so boring, maybe we wouldn't all be sitting here hoping for a hole in the earth to open up under us just so we don't have to keep listening to-”

“Steve, c'mon man-” Eddie tries, though his voice is drowned out by your own.

“Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” You snap in Steve's direction.

“I'm just saying,” Steve shrugged, “Probably the only reason he left such a big tip was because pulled the wrong bill out of his wallet. It sure as hell wasn't 'cause of your shining personality.”

“What, and just 'cause you're a jackass that means no man could ever possibly find me appealing?” You bite back.

“Yeah, well, your pretty face doesn't quite make up for your constant need for attention.”

“My need for attention?” You scoff incredilously, beer slamming back down onto the tabletop in front of you as the rest of your friends seem to fade even further into the background. “You're the one who can't stand when the focus is on me for ten fucking seconds.”

“Well I don't care if some prick hit on you at work-” Steve argues, “So, I guess, if that makes me an asshole-”

“It does, as a matter of fact,” You interrupt easily, “Because I'm constantly listening to you whine about your conquest of the week, and I'm able to do so without acting like a fucking-”

“Careful,” Steve hums, cocky little smirk reemerging on his lips, “You're sounding a little jealous, there, honey.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“'S my house,” He returns just as quickly, “How 'bout you fuck off.”

The blood in your veins is full of fire. Your face is burning with rage and your eyes prickle traitorously with frustrated tears, because that customer from your story? That was the highlight of your day, because the rest of it had been a fucking disaster.

You'd slipped on freshly mopped floors and dropped an entire table's drink orders. You'd been forced to finish your shift with sticky, soda pop-soaked socks squelching wetly in your shoes with every step. Your boss had given you shit, even though it was one of your coworkers who had failed to put out the wet floor sign in the first place. You'd burned yourself on a hotplate, twice. And then, after all that, you'd had no choice but to take an ice-cold shower before heading over to Steve's house, because the hot water heater in your decrepit apartment building was apparently broken. Again.

“Y'know what? Fine.”

You're already rising to your feet, wiping the palms of your hands down your jeans to dry the lingering condensation from your beer. You blink furiously to push back the tears that had been pooling at your waterline, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the turn in your evening.

“Wha-” Steve is watching you with something like concern in his eyes now, “Wh-Where're you goin'?”

“I'm leaving,” You announce, gaze steadfastly avoiding where Steve has removed his arm from around Robin's shoulders so he can sit at the edge of the couch, like he's planning to rise to his own feet at any moment. “I, um. I'll talk to you guys later.”

There are protests from everyone, but you don't bear them any mind. You're already turning on your heel and moving toward the entryway with hurried steps. The front door slams shut behind you before you've even gotten your jacket all the way on. You've still got one arm still struggling to find the hole of your sleeve when you hear the door swing back open behind you.

“Hey! Wait up.”

Steve's voice does make you slow where you've begun to move down the driveway, though you don't turn around. Your steps finally come to a stop when he calls out to you again.

“C'mon, honey wait, wait, wait-”

You blow out a frustrated breath as he finally catches up with you, your arms crossing over your chest like that might somehow put up a physical barrier between the two of you.

“I really don't want to do this with you, Harrington. Alright?” An air of defeat laces your words, one hand coming up to rub at the headache that’s begun to pulse between your brows, “Just.. Not tonight.”

You move to step around him and the heel of your boots click against the pavement once, twice. But then something hooks into the belt loop on your jeans and you're tugged back around. You lose your footing at the unexpected shift in momentum, knees wobbling unsteadily for just a moment before you're twirled back around to face him and then your palms are meeting a firm chest.

The adrenaline has your brain whiting out for just a moment, any and all thoughts screeching to a halt. There’s warmth seeping into your palms from beneath Steve’s tshirt. The racing of your own heart in your ears drowns out the distant sound of laughter and the opening trailers of a movie rental coming from inside. Your eyes are level with his chin, wide gaze locked on his lips as they quirk up at one corner with his gentle smirk. You’re still standing pigeon-toed between his own larger feet, a little off balance but held firmly in place by the wide hand splayed across your waist.

“I'm sorry.” Steve says quietly.

It’s only been a second or two since he dragged you back into his space, and to your surprise, his head dips, just a fraction. Steve brushes his nose against your own, a gentle stroke that sends butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. The cool mint clinging to his breath fans out over your face smelling of the gum he’s always chewing and smacking obnoxiously, but the scent this close is intoxicating. The hand he brings up to cradle your jaw is intoxicating. The loose flap of leather on his watch that tickles at the side of your throat. The way he’s leaning in-

The passion he kisses you with, from the moment your lips touch, is intoxicating. It's all-encompassing. You can’t think, and you’re not sure you’re even breathing, but his lips are moving in unhurried synchronization with your own. Your knees are weak. You’re gripping the material of his shirt in your fists just for something to hold onto, but Steve’s arm is curled tight around the curve in your spine now to hold you steady.

His tongue brushes against your lips, licking softly at the seam of your mouth like he's asking for permission. The desperate sound that crawls up your throat at just that quick brush of his tongue nestles in the depths of Steve's brain where he files it away for later. He hitches his arm even tighter at your waist, pulling your stomachs flush until your chest heaves against his own.

Your head is a little fuzzy when your lips separate long enough for you to take a breath, and you’re gasping comically in an effort to fill your lungs. Steve’s quiet chuckle meets your ears, his hand sliding back from your jaw to cup the back of your neck.

“You kissed me.” The words fall from your lips in a whisper of disbelief. Your eyes are still closed, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. You’re terrified if you open them even a crack, the entire scene will suddenly fade away around you like some kind of dream. The airy cadence of your voice is partially due to your surprise, but also thanks to the far-too-easy grace with which you've been spun and manhandled and swept entirely off your feet.

“I did,” Steve agrees just as quietly, “I did do that.”

His forehead meets your own as your eyes flutter open and he simply holds you there for a moment, nose dragging across your cheek before he presses another quick kiss to your lips. His head tilts, thumb stroking soft over the side of your throat before his mouth finds yours again, and again. These kisses are different — casual, tender, sweet and unhurried. Like he’s kissing you just because he can.

“You-” Is all you manage to get out before your words are silenced by his lips slotting between your own, but you carry on with barely a pause as you click apart once again, “Y'r still doing it.”

“Mhm.” He hums easily, the sound rumbling beneath your hands on his chest.

“Why-”

Kiss.

“Are you-”

Kiss.

“Kissing me?”

Steve’s breath mingles hotly with your own in the narrow breadth of space between your parted lips, “D’you want me to stop?”

“No. Hell no.”

And there's that perfect smile of his. Straight teeth make an appearance as his lips quirk up at the corner, a breathy spearmint scented laugh that sounds a little too relieved for the casual coolness that he's clearly trying to give off. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but no words seem to come. Lips parted, throat bobbing as he swallows around the heavy silence weighing down his tongue.

He looks so pretty like this, you think. The light shining above your heads catches in his brown eyes, caramel sparking with flecks of gold and green that you've never noticed before, but you're sure you'll never be able to forget the sight of it now. You're still sharing breaths, faces so close that you can't avoid watching the way his full lashes blink at you dumbly. As if he isn't the one who spun you around and pulled you close and effortlessly gave you the best kiss of your entire life. As if, maybe, he didn't quite expect to make it this far, and now he's at a loss for how to proceed.

You release his shirt from your fist, the fabric crinkled and stretched with how tight you'd been gripping it, only to slide your hand up the back of his neck. The tip of his nose catches the bottom of your own, lips brushing faintly while your hand finds a new home in his hair. The soft strands tangle between your fingers when you give it a gentle tug and push up on your toes to draw yourself impossibly closer.

“If I'd known kissing you was all it took to shut you up, Harrington, I would've done it ages ago.” Your quip lacks its usual bite, but it breaks the silence between you, and it also seems to break Steve out of whatever spell he'd fallen under.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he searches for an appropriate response, “Maybe we'll just have to keep kissing then.”

You find yourself swaying just a little on your feet at the way his eyes flick slow back and forth between your own, “Maybe we will.”

When his lips descend on your own again, it takes ages before he lets you back up for a decent breath of air, and even then he parts from you with obvious reluctance. You're both breathing heavy, lips a little swollen and shining wetly. Steve's expression has a warmth that you realize you've never actually seen directed at you before. Steve smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and suddenly all you can think about is what Eddie has said a hundred times over.

It’s like there are hearts in his eyes.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve x you #steve x reader #*

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devilmademewriteit · 8 months

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If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

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xzaddyzanakinx · 29 days

Text

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Eight: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, spitting, cumplay, nude vids, masturbation, oral, creampie, dick piercing, forced male orgasm GEN. SMUT[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is a straight sex god and he’s so cocky about it until he lets himself think about how lucky his is and then he turns to a puddle bc he loves you so much [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

“Did you have fun princess?” He asked, tenderly kissing your temple and tucking a hair behind your ear.

He had one hand above your head, resting on the door to your apartment, the other now lightly gracing your hip with a soft squeeze.

“Mhm.” You nodded, melting at the rich timbre in his voice.

“So pretty.” He whispered, looking down at you like he hoped he’d suddenly gain the ability to swallow you whole and never let you go.

His eyes were so intense, steeled icey blue that held the warmth of the summer seas. Contradictory but somehow very fitting for him, you couldn’t imagine him with anything else.

You’d never grow tired of the way he poured his soul out through the pools of black that encroached on that pretty blue. He didn’t ever have to say what he thought of you. It was clear to anyone who witnessed the way he looked at you, that he was wholeheartedly devoted.

“Kiss?” He asked softly, his breath a whisper across your lips as his nose brushed against yours.

“Plea-“ you couldn’t even get the full word out before he wrapped an arm around your waist and cradled the back of your head, his lips soldering to yours.

The moment his mouth moved against yours, the strangest feeling washed over you. One you’d felt before, the thought you’d had in the past.

He’s loved you in a past life. How else could his lips feel like home?

It was tender and smooth, all lips and no tongue. But passionate all the same. How he managed to breathe life into your very soul with just that kiss… you’ll never know.

That ache. That horrible terrible ache had been back for some time now, your affliction of sexual suffering had returned in full force and your mind was overwhelmed with those feel good chemicals.

That ache turned into a full fledged pain in a matter of seconds.

All from one kiss.

Is it desperate of you to ask for more? Would he even consider it? This is the end of your first real date. He’s so… old fashioned that he wouldn’t possibly…

“What are you thinking hmm?” His gravely voice derailed your train of thought as he mumbled against your lips, never fully breaking away from you, keeping that heated connection as if he needed it to breathe.

“I’m thinkin’ of you.” You whispered.

“Well I’d sure hope that you were.” He chuckled.

“Shit I didn’t mean-“

“No, I know what you mean.” He silenced you quickly, “I just like to tease you. Make you buffer.”

And goddamn did you.

His tongue invaded your mouth so smoothly that you felt like it had always meant to be there. He tasted so familiar, he smelled so welcoming. He held you so firmly against his chest, one hand inching down your back, giving you plenty of time to back out before he cupped your ass and squeezed.

It was truly outrageous the way your entire body was screaming for him. It was taking everything in you to stay sane, your mind felt like it was buzzing. Overrunning your nervous system with micro-sensations that you could’ve never felt with anyone other than Anakin.

Intensifying a thousand times over when he pushed his groin against the softness of your lower stomach.

You would’ve died of embarrassment at the pitiful whimper you let escape if Anakin hadn’t been there to swallow it up and fill your lungs with the fiery breath of his undeniable need for you. He growled, truly he did. Like a feral beast that had been caged and starved for days on end.

And you were his meal.

“Inside.” He said, his voice low and commanding.

You faltered for a moment, not because you didn’t want to, but simply because of the way he was speaking. He’d always had the ability to leave you speechless with his stern tone. But this was different.

This was authoritative. Not like his voice of the previous times, no. He was demanding it.

For some reason, you liked it. It made you all the more weak for him.

“C’mon baby. Gimme the keys.” He whispered kissing your jaw as he fished in your back pocket to grab them, he knew he’d sent you into a stupor and he didn’t have the patience for you to snap out of it.

The door opened and shut in record time, Anakin locking it behind him without missing a step.

“Bed?” He whispered, kissing you softly, a smile quirking up the side of his mouth.

“Uh huh.” You nodded.

“Uh huh.” He mocked you, grinning as he scooped you up with both arms and carried you to the bedroom.

“I can walk you know?” You giggled, cheeks flushed.

“Not fast enough.” He countered, slipping off your shoes and socks and doing the same for himself after sitting you gently on the bed.

You had started to take of your shirt when he gave you a disapproving glare.

“I’ll undress you.” He said, “wanna take my time.”

The bed dipped under his weight when he kneeled before you, looking down at you like he was seeing the Seven Wonders all at once.

“Come sit in my lap princess.” He requested, leaning against the headboard and unashamedly palming his erection to make himself more comfortable.

You stared, practically drooling. You couldn’t believe he was finally here. In your bed. You’d get to see what you’d dreamt of so many times. To prove those dreams right. To have him cure you of that ache.

“Sit.” He said gruffly, snapping his fingers to get your attention.

“R-right.” You nodded, obeying immediately and straddling his thighs.

“Getting distracted are we?” He teased, kissing down the column of your throat, leaving wet marks behind. “You’ll see it all soon enough. Just let me have my fun first yeah?” He finished with a sharp nip to your collarbone that made you yelp.

“Kiss me again.” You whimpered, this time Anakin obeying you for a change.

He was eager to fulfill that request, immediately diving back into the depths of your mouth. Laving his tongue across yours tortuously slow and savory.

He hummed a question of consent as his hands traveled up your thighs. You nodded in response and earned a chuckled and smile from him that broke your kiss momentarily.

He kneaded the flesh of your ass with the hands you’d held in your own so many times. The hands you’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long, it was just as satisfying as you imagined it would be.

He gently groped and caressed you while devouring your mouth, eating up those beautiful moans leaving your lips. Soon enough his calloused fingertips graced the soft skin of your bare belly, hardly making contact at all, just enough to send a shiver through you and leave goose-pimples in their wake.

“More?” He asked, his lips leaving yours in favor of worshiping the gentle curve of your jaw.

“More.” You whined, nodding your head quickly as your hands tangled into his hair.

He raised his eyebrows to quiet your grumbling of protest when he pulled his lips from your neck. Anakin gently lifted up your shirt and once it was gone he immediately unclasped your bra and tossed it to join your shirt, as if it would burn you if he left it on you for a second longer.

“Oh goddamn.” He moaned, supporting them in his palms to feel their weight.

“Perfect. How is everything about you so fucking perfect?” He looked up at you with an expression that almost mirrored pain.

Anakin’s facial expressions were always something of a mystery to you, he conveyed so much through them. But, there were times like this when you wished you had a book to reference. It was pained, almost mournful, akin to the expression you’d expect to see on someone’s face the first time they witnessed a painting that made them feel something.

“Ani…” you whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I- I just adore you so much.” He said, his hands slowly releasing your breasts in favor of smoothing over the expanse of your abdomen and back, anywhere he could reach uncovered skin, he was trying his damndest to touch all at once.

He nuzzled his face against your breast, a whimper leaving his lips. Looking up at you with pleading eyes. A stark change from the authoritarian figure he’d been before. Right now his body language was oozing submission.

“Everything about you is everything I’ve ever wanted.” He mumbled as those plump lips enclosed around your nipple and allowed his warm tongue to swirl around it.

Your hands raked through his hair and from the little bit of stimulation your cunt fluttered around nothing, you felt so desperately empty. Needing something, anything, you started to rock your hips just enough to drag your clit across the bulge of his jeans.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He groaned, his strong hands gripping your hips tightly.

He let his head tilt back against the headboard as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and pinched his eyebrows together. Bucking up against you with each little thrust punctuated by a pitiful ‘uh’.

You were amazed at this change of roles. You would’ve never in your wildest dreams imagine Anakin-uber masculine-Skywalker to act this way in bed.

And oh god did it excite you.

“Baby please?” He whined, his once confident hands shaking as they caressed your arms and finally took your hands to lace your fingers together.

“What is it Ani?” You cooed.

“Need you bad.” He whimpered, uncharacteristically timid. “Need you so fuckin’ bad.” He whined.

Jesus Christ, you didn’t think your ego could grow any bigger. You’d need a canoe to travel across the lake of arousal seeping through your jeans.

“Want me to take care of you, Hmm?” You whispered in question, looking down at the red faced man beneath you.

“Uh, mhm.” He nodded, his bottom lip quivering.

“Oh baby,” you soothed, your hands leaving his to cradle his face. “don’t worry. I’m right here.”

“Lord have mercy.” His eyes practically rolled back in his head at your quick acceptance of this little submission kink of his.

You couldn’t help but giggle, it was cute. Way too cute.

“What’s my boy need?” You asked softly, grinding down on his unbelievably hard dick.

“Need you, need you everywhere.” His voice sounding broken.

“What do you say Ani?” You teased, eager to play this role for him.

“Please, please, please.” He begged not only with his words but his eyes and his actions too.

“Get this shirt off for me.” You commanded softly, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He moved quickly and whipped it up and over his head, his mouth parted as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You on the other hand, had a lot to say.

“You’re beautiful.” You whispered, exploring his tattooed skin, soaking up the images and committing them to memory.

“What?” Anakin asked, wearing that same pained expression from before.

“I said you’re beautiful.”

“You?” He huffed out a laugh before giving you a shy smile. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Very.” You nodded, smiling right back at him.

“C’mere my sweet girl.” He said, his voice low and warm.

He pulled you even closer, skin to skin. Letting your body heat meld the two of you together the same as the warmth of your kiss cemented your lips in an embrace.

He was regaining that confidence from before, you realized now that maybe he just got overwhelmed. Maybe he just really did want you as badly as you wanted him.

This wasn’t a bossy confidence though, this was the confidence of a man who knew how to please. He touched you like he’d played you like a violin a million times before. So gently laying you back on the bed, so softly licking his way down your stomach to unbutton your pants and free you.

“Shit sweetheart.” He moaned, tugging at your panties until he had them in his hands.

The white cotton was so soaked that it was almost see through. Something about it made Anakin feral.

“All this f’me baby?” He cooed, keeping one hand on your body and the other firmly holding that wet spot to his nose and breathing deeply.

“Smells so fucking good.” The words tumbling out of his throat in a low rumble, the hand on your skin traveling down between your legs.

“This little pussy need some attention?” Teasingly he circled your entrance with his thumb, making eye contact as he committed a sin so delicious that it should be stricken from even the devils playbook.

He shoved the wet spot of your panties into his mouth and sucked on it like his life depended on it. His eyes fluttered shut and his now unoccupied hand clenched tightly, the veins in his arm cropping up across his inked skin.

“Oh god.” Never had you seen something like this. Never did you think you’d ever see something like this.

This is the stuff you wanted to see but was never brave enough to ask or lucky enough to have happen to you unprompted. Your hole clenched around nothing and Anakin obviously felt it because he immediately moved two fingers to prod at your entrance, waiting until you nodded your head before pushing inside slowly.

A choked sob left your lips and his free hand palmed at his cock while his head tilted back in the ecstasy of pleasuring you and getting pleasured because of it.

His deft hand unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them quicker than you’d seen most men do with both their hands. And he was only using one. Talented fingers indeed.

You thought he would pull out the cock you’d been dying to see, but of course he didn’t. He was a gentlemen despite the depravity of his kinky actions. He wouldn’t dare jump straight to penetration without having you cum first.

He was just shoving his hand down his boxers to readjust himself so that he could lay down between your legs without stabbing a hole in your mattress with the cock of steel clearly visible beneath that checkered fabric.

Anakin tossed your panties aside and opted for the real thing instead, not waiting before removing his fingers and bringing them to your lips.

“Taste baby.” He gently commanded, watching you intently as you licked your juices from his fingers. “God damn you.” He whispered, in awe of the throaty moan you made.

He dove between your legs. No slow introduction of his tongue, no gentle kisses. No.

He was hungry.

He went straight to lapping away at you like he’d been stranded in the desert for weeks and your pussy was the first thing he’d come across.

It sent you into a spiral, stole the breath from your lungs and seized up your muscles.

“Anakin… Ani…” you whined as his tongue parted your folds and licked into your cunt.

“Hmm?” He hummed, sucking your sopping folds between his lips.

His gaze met yours and it was a beautiful sight. Those pretty eyes of his staring up at you in pure unadulterated adoration. You’d expected to see straight lust. But that was just a background emotion within his eyes.

He wasn’t lusting after you.

He was worshiping you.

That realization alone was enough to break down that first wall on your way to orgasm. Your hands flying to his hair and tugging him right where you wanted him.

He eagerly sucked at the little nub of pleasure, finding it instantly like he’d mapped out the expanse of your cunt before. He knew *exactly* what you needed.

And he was overjoyed to give it to you on a silver platter. He sucked and rolled your clit with his tongue, sneaking his fingers back up into you to massage your leaky walls. Massaging that sweet spot that made you whimper.

He’s loved you in another life. How else would he know that he’d have you trembling in a matter of seconds like this?

Your legs spread wide, you hooked your ankles together over his back, trapping him there and earning a laugh from him. As if he were amused by the fact that he was unraveling you at the seams.

You gripped the sheets and moaned like you never had before, devastatingly low and rumbling. The vibration of it felt like your heart was being ripped from your chest as your world imploded. Anakin never wavered, never stopped as he finger fucked and clit sucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life.

He wouldn’t have stopped then either. Not if you hadn’t of begged him.

“Anakin please.” You whined high-pitched and close to tears. “Please I don’t wanna cum again so quick…”

“Why?” He muttered against you as your thighs squeezed his head.

“Want your cock.” You hoped that this would sway him but it didn’t.

“You’ll have it.” He growled. “Just gimme one more.”

“I-I can’t… it’s too s-soon.” You sobbed out, trying to catch your breath.

“No it’s not.” He said matter of factly, pumping those long fingers into you like it was his life’s work to make you cum.

“Fuck… fuck oh shit.” You clawed at his shoulders and he didn’t even flinch.

If anything it spurred him on and had you seeing nothing but blinding white light as he pulled your soul from the depths of your core and stole it away for himself.

You were vaguely aware of his quietly spoken praises and compliments as he crawled up your body and caressed your marred skin. He’d painted you with little love bites that he now proudly traced and pet.

“There she is.” He chuckled when you finally resurfaced from the sea of pleasure he’d dropped you into.

“Ani I can hardly breathe.” You panted wildly.

“Need some help baby?” He teased. “I know CPR.”

“Shut up.” You let out a breathy laugh.

“Yes ma’am.” He said with a grin, nuzzling your breasts and lazily circling your nipples.

“Anakin!” Your hands coming to swat his away. “M’sensitive.”

“On your nipples? I’ve hardly loved on them.” He pouted.

“Hardly?” You admonished. “Really? They’re so raw I’m gonna have to put some lotion on later.”

“I’ll do it for you.” He cooed.

“Yeah? That’s just an excuse for you to play with my tits again.”

“Of course it is.” He admitted with a shrug.

“At least you’re honest.” You sighed.

“Mm.” He snorted. *’yeah sure’*

“Think you’ll be recovered enough for me to make love to you?” He asked, voice low and honeyed. “Or should I wait three to five business days?”

“Make love?” You grinned.

“What? You making fun of me?”

“No I think it’s cute.” You giggled with a light blush.

“Well I don’t think I can call sex with you ‘fucking’.” He chuckled, kissing the valley of your breasts.

“Why not?” You looked down at him, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Cause you’re too precious for that.” You could tell he was being completely honest just from his tone. “You deserve respect while I defile you.”

He snickered and nipped at the soft part of your breast, making you squeal and giggle, shying away from him.

“No, no, no, you get back here.” He growled, dragging you back over to him with two firm hands on your hips.

“Anakin!” You yelped and broke out in a fit of laughter that dissolved quickly into a breathy moan as he latched himself onto your neck, licking along your throat slowly.

“M’not done.” He mumbled, lifting himself up and pressing his covered bulge against the slick surface of your pussy.

“Maker…” you groaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and drawing him closer.

If he was talented with his mouth and hands… it’s hard to imagine how well he can wield that monster between his legs.

“Please…” you whispered. “Anakin please? Fuck me?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“What?” You squeaked.

“M’not fucking you.” He chuckled. Grinding his hips down onto you. “Didn’t you hear me princess?”

“Fine.” You giggled. “Anakin? Make love to me?”

“Oh absolutely.” He growled, attacking your neck with his lips and tongue.

He pushed up and kneeled between your legs, suddenly you realized he’d completely shed his jeans along the way somehow. Left just in his boxers you could see his collection of tattoos continued on his legs. And a wet patch of his own spotted the fabric where his weeping cockhead rested. He looked just as impressive as he felt beneath those boxers.

“Condom?” He asked, panting as he gazed down at you with glassy eyes.

“Are you asking me if I have one?” You asked with a confused look.

“No sweetheart.” He laughed. “I’m asking if you *want* one.”

“Oh.” You blushed, feeling a little silly for not understanding immediately. “I- I don’t… I mean…”

“It’s up to you babydoll.” He soothed, his warm palms feeling across the plush part of your thighs. “I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone in a while.” He gave you a bashful, crooked smile.

“I mean, I’m on birth control… yeah- I haven’t…I’m clean too.” You nodded.

“I know baby, but I need you to tell me okay?” He said softly. “I want you to be comfortable, this is a decision for you.”

“But I want you to know, I plan on being exclusively with you.” He said, caressing your cheeks gently.

“Me too.” You whispered, thankful that he’d said that so you didn’t have to.

‘Not for long’ he thought, hiding his snickered laugh with a click of his tongue. ‘

“Good girl.” He beamed. “My good girl.”

You nodded and felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Yeah.” You giggled.

“So what’s my girl want huh?” He asked, taking one of your hands the the wrist and dragging your palm down his stomach to his waistband.

“Want it raw?” He smirked.

“Anakin!” You hid your face in your free hand.

“Oh, you do don’t you?” He teased, bringing your hand lower and helping you wrap your fingers around his thick shaft. “Tell me princess, do you want me to *’fuck’* you raw?”

“Yes.” You squeaked in the tiniest voice you had.

“Dirty little thing.” A devilish grin spread across his kiss bitten lips and he licked his top row of teeth like he was preparing for the last feast on earth.

As you started to timidly pull his boxers down, he let you get all the way to the base of his cock before his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

“Look at me.” He said in a voice so gentle compared to his steel grip.

“Huh?”

“I should warn you.” He ran his knuckles across your cheek and then let his thumb traced the slope of your neck. “I have my dick pierced. I took the ring out.”

“You what?” Your mouth dropped open and your eyes flickered from the cock just out of sight below your palm and the serious blue eyes looking down at you.

“I have a cock ring.” He said plainly. “But I don’t have it in right now.”

“Why?”

“Pretty presumptuous of me I know, but I didn’t want you to freak out if we ended up here.” He said softly.

“I appreciate that.” You couldn’t help but smile, how sweet.

“Course baby.” His voice rumbled. “Just be warned. Got an extra hole down there.” He smirked, laughing.

“Oh I didn’t even think of that.” You gasped. “Damn I’m glad you said that before I saw it.” You giggled, turning serious before biting your lip and tugging the elastic down to expose his length.

“Holy shit.”

“S’a mouthful isn’t it?” He grinned, clearly enjoying the look of lust painted fear on your face.

“Yeah.” You scoffed, wrapping you hand around it and feeling it twitch beneath your touch.

Eight inches and thicker than you thought you could comfortably take. The bruise colored tip weeping precum that looked good enough to taste, so you did.

Anakin could’ve died a happy man at the sound your wet mouth made as it willingly wrapped around his cock head for the first time.

“Goddamnit.” He grunted, his knuckles white as chalk with his hands folded tightly into fists.

“Thats it. Good… good girl baby.” Gritted teeth and groaned words tumbled from his lips as he released his gripped fists and opted instead to cradle your head and help guide you to take his monstrous cock.

“Look at you,” his voice shook when you gazed up at him with half lidded eyes. “taking me so well darlin’, there you go.”

His thumbs brushing against your cheek bones in soothing circles while his fingertips dig into the back of your skull to keep you steady.

“You tap my leg if you need me to stop got it?” He said seriously, that delicious commanding voice that made your pussy flutter. You hummed in response and Anakin seemed to love it.

“Christ baby…” that masculine timbre falling back into that pitiful whine you’d heard before.

“Gonna look so fuckin’ good.” He whimpered, letting his head fall back so he could look up to the ceiling.

He laughed, like an actual laugh when his head dropped against his shoulders, you sucked hard on his tip and that shut him up right away.

“Oh fuck.” He whispered, his head snapped back down to see you looking up at him when amusement clearly in your pretty eyes.

He shook his head and smiled, “I’d lean down and kiss you, but I’d rather keep you like this.” He grinned, shooting you a wink and puckering his lips to send you a kiss.

“Luckiest man alive.” He groaned pushing his wide cockhead farther back into your throat, his body shivering when you involuntarily swallowed around him and gagged.

“Gonna just… just need-“ he whined, his chin resting against his chest as he sucked in a breath, the muscles across his stomach tightening.

“God damn you.” Breathing out with his cheeks puffed out slightly he angled your head back and made the most angelic sobbing sound you’d ever heard.

“Just be still… be so fucking still m’kay?” His eyebrows raised into a swoop, his eyes closed, nose scrunched up and teeth clamped together with his top lip slightly raised.

“Perfect. Perfect.” He praised you, petting your hair to soothe you as he very, very lightly wrapped his other hand around your throat so he could feel himself there.

“Take a breath.” He told you quietly, you complied, breathing deeply through your nose as your eyes watered heavily. “God… good girl, again.”

“Hold it,” he choked out as he slid oh so slowly farther into your throat, the burning sensation was foreign to you, but it wasn’t wholly bad, it sent a little *zap* of electricity straight to your core.

“Just a little more. Doin’ s-so,” his face scrunched up tightly as he fought to keep control and not just ram his entire length into you like he wanted to. “So good sweetheart. So good.”

“Gotta train this tight throat to take me hmm?” He nodded as if you answer for you. “Yeah? Good.”

“Fuck, f-fuck okay…” he panted, “going deep as I can alright?”

He pushed in until your eyes were so blurry with tears that you could hardly see his cherubic face turn strawberry pink. You swallowed, gagging loudly and triggering Anakin to let out a pained whine.

“God-fuckin’ damn…” he trailed off into a whimper, “shit I could cum… I could fuckin’ oh shit.”

You moaned at the thought of having done practically nothing but listen to instructions and doing it so well that he could cum just from stuffing himself in your mouth. You were *so* glad that you did.

“Baby… baby no, no-” he cried out and hiccuped loudly, thrusting ever so slightly, oh so shallow, “no… no!” He tried to remove his cock slowly but you weren’t having it.

You’d felt him twitch, you felt his muscles tighten and his grip on you had changed, so you braved the last bit and pushed your nose into his groin and nuzzled into his coarse and curly hairs, breathing in his musk before completely cutting off your air supply.

“Fuck!” He grunted, thrusting in tight controlled movements as he shot his hot and salty cum down your throat. “Fuck baby, no… I didn’t-“

“Ah, ah-“ he was a stuttering mess as he slowly extricated himself from your throat. “Don’t you dare… fucking swallow that yet.” He panted.

“Wanna see it.” He moaned, slipping his thumb into your mouth to hold you jaw in place as he watched it ooze down the back of your reddened throat.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” He whispered before catching you completely off guard and letting himself drool over your open mouth, the string of saliva dripped down to join his cum and he quickly shut your mouth. Holding your jaw in a tight grip with one hand.

“Now you can swallow.” His free hand brushing away the tears from all your hard work. “Good job. You did so good.”

“Except for the part where you didn’t listen to me.” He said, raising his eyebrows but breaking out into a smile when he saw the prideful grin on your face.

“Tasted good.” You rasped, your throat feeling sore already as you stuck out your tongue to prove you’d swallowed every drop.

“Hmph.” He snickered. “Knew you’d like it.”

He tapped the head of his cock on your tongue just for good measure before he lowered you onto your back. His hand creeping down your tummy and back home between your slicked folds.

“You hear that sweetheart?” He chuckled, pushing his fingers back inside your warm, gummy walls. “So wet you’re squelching baby.”

“Ani…” you shied away, hiding your face.

“Ah-ah, no ma’am.” He softly chided, peeling your fingers back while his other hand stayed between your thighs. “Be proud of it.”

“All this is f’me isn’t it?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Uh huh.” You nodded embarrassedly.

“That’s right.” He nodded along with you. “Be proud of it,” he scissored his fingers as he pumped them in and out of you, “my favorite sound.” He smirked.

“But I think I’ll have a new favorite soon, yeah?” He smiled, removing his fingers and licking them clean before giving his cock a few quick strokes while he pushed your legs up and to the sides of your torso.

“What’re you doing?” You panted, still trying to catch your breath.

“Never done it like this?” He asked, his mouth quirking into a smile when you shook your head no.

“Oh well you’re gonna love it.” He snickered. “M’hold your knees to the bed like this.” He demonstrated, locking you into place beneath him while your cunt was on full display.

“Then I’ll just,” he sighed as he thrust slowly to drag the tip of his cock back and forth through your folds until it caught in the dip of your soaked hole. “Push into this pretty little pussy.”

He sucked in a deep breath and looked at you for permission which you eagerly gave. His cockhead gently entering your cunt despite the dull heated pain that followed his gentle descent. You whined at the stretch, the position you were in only making it worse.

“Shh, I know doll. I know I’m sorry.” He whispered, “you can do it baby. You can take me.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, a sharp intake of breath following his short shallow thrusts to ease you into it. His cock was only half way, but the way he had you folded made you feel so, so full.

“Rub your clit f’me huh?” He instructed, “there, that’s it. Good girl.”

“Little circles hmm? That feels good?”

“F-feels good Ani.” You nodded, a breathy moan leaving you.

“Mmm.” He mumbled, slowly sheathing himself to the hilt.

“Fuck… oh you feel so deep.” You gasped.

“M’deep alright.” He chuckled, “like it?”

He circled his hips paired with short strokes that left you breathless. You couldn’t speak, you could only grip the head board and watch him slide in and out as you made wet, lewd, slapping noises each time he hit home.

“Yeah, you like it huh?” He teased, shifting you slightly, instead of his hands in the crook of your knees he slid them beneath you and gripped your shoulders.

“Relax okay?” He said softly, lowering himself down to rest lightly on your chest. “Good, just like that. Wrap those sexy little legs around me.”

“Better?” He hummed, the new angle was less intense but equally pleasurable, he’d only done that to show off. *shithead*

“Better.” You nodded, your hands exploring his toned back, lightly scratching along his shoulder blades.

“How do you want it princess?” He asked, “however you want it, I’ll give it to you.”

“Deep n’ slow.” You mewled, feeling every ridge and vein in your slick heat.

“Mmm of course you do.” He chuckled, “wanna be filled don’t you baby?” He nibbled on your earlobe, thrusting hard and dragging himself back out slowly, a delicious combination that had your head spinning.

You could only imagine what it would feel like if he’d left his jewelry in. It might be too much, he was already bullying your sweet spot with each plunge of his rolling hips. He’d render you useless if he added much more…

Of course, he did.

He slurped and lapped and your already raw and red nipples, having your cunt contracting around him rhythmically.

“Ani- Anakin please.” You begged, not really knowing what for.

“Words baby.” He grunted, pulling the sensitive bud with his teeth, releasing it slowly so that it rolled against teeth and lips on its way back to its natural position.

“T-too much.” You hiccuped.

“Need me to stop?” He asked, slowing down.

“N-no!” You shook your head frantically, “no don’t.”

“Then what do you need sweetheart?” He cooed.

“Cum… need to-“ you keened, your forehead resting in the crook of his neck.

“Oh I see.” He chuckled, “reach back down there for me m’kay? Pinch your poor puffy clit.”

“This?“ you slurred out.

“Does it feel good?” He grinned.

“Uh huh.” You whimpered.

“Then do it just like that.” He smirked. “Poor thing.”

“Got you all stupid don’t I?” He snickered.

“Nngh.” You tried to protest but unfortunately he silenced you with his tongue, or fortunately depending on how you looked at it.

He shushed you playfully and started to drill into you at steady pace, his cockhead kissing the deepest part of your core each and every time.

As strange as it is to say: his cock felt at home when it was buried inside you. Like all you’d been missing your whole life was this.

“C’mon doll, you can do it.” He mumbled, his forehead pressed to yours. “Cum for me pretty girl. Let me hear it.”

All you could do was try your best to breathe as your nails dug into his skin. He hissed in pain but it only made his wicked smile wider.

“That’s right princess, tear me to pieces if you need to.” He grinned. “I’ll wear ‘em proud, yeah? Show off those pretty marks.”

You nodded, biting your lip, “Ani.” You whispered, “m’so close.”

“I know baby” He said, kissing your nose gently. “Can feel you gripping me.”

“Where do you want it?” He panted, “want me to paint you with it?”

“Gods… m-my pussy.” You nodded, “cum on me.”

“Filthy minx.” He laughed. “You got it.” He clicked his tongue and slightly changed his angle to really drive the nail into the coffin that would trap you.

He’d killed your need for anyone else. No body. Absolutely no one, could wreck you like Anakin had. You were right.

You were so right.

Your body had been screaming for him all this time because it knew. It knew that he was meant to be yours. Now that he was, you’d never let him go.

So you held on tightly as you sunk your teeth into the meaty corded muscle of the curve of his neck and fought to keep yourself from drowning as he fucked you into oblivion. The fire had burnt so brightly that it blinded you in an instant, hot flames licking at your insides as your body stiffened to escape the sizzling sensation that enveloped your entire being, body and soul.

The come down was slow, like the natural transition from inferno to lukewarm coals.

You were semi-aware of Anakin pulling out and stroking himself wildly over your spent and quivering pussy until his hot seed splattered across the soon to be sore apex of your thighs.

He crooned, pulling you to his chest and holding you tightly as though we were afraid you’d drift away.

You stayed like that until morning when you awoke to find him cooking breakfast, in just his boxers and socks.

Diary Entry

Baby. I knew you needed me. I knew you loved me. I knew you’d be perfect for me.

Never been so fucking proud of you. Taking me so well, letting me stretch out that pretty pink pussy. Gods it was just…

Listen. I already knew you were divine, I knew you held the elixir of life. The nectar of the gods. I knew that. I’d felt it, tasted it.

But what I wasn’t prepared for was the way you were so warm and welcoming, you just fit me so well. You were made for me, nothing could ever describe how truly perfect last night was. Nothing.

Then… then when you were trying your hardest, working that tight virgin throat to take me… I’d almost forgotten that I’d uncovered the lens on your camera.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I caught our first time on camera and lord have mercy I have watched it an unhealthy amount of times since I got back home.

You just look so fucking sexy.

I’d dreamed it. Imagined it. Even made it happen. But seeing it in person, up close, consensually? I’d never in my wildest dreams thought it could be that good. I’m amazed I lasted long enough to get past your tongue.

Diary Entry: August 3rd

Now I just need my little doe to love Ghost too.

I’ve been thinking about it. I even considered abandoning the idea all together because I was so thrilled I’d finally got you. But I realized, you’d be disappointed.

You’ve come to enjoy Ghost I think. Whether you admit it or not.

I’ve seen your face when you come home and find a flower or some candy. I always put it in the kitchen so I can see you clearly. It’s adorable.

You pop your head around the door when you come home like you’re expecting me to be standing there with a hatchet. I can see the fear in your eyes. Then you’ll see a little note from me and you smile. Then scan the room for those cameras you’ve become semi-aware of after wiping that happy expression from your face.

Or maybe I’m just really selfish. Because I don’t want to give up this game just yet. I need you to love both sides of me. Maybe it’s just too much fun. I’ve really been getting a kick out of it.

I see you when you scan the area while walking around with me, I feel you inch alittle closer, hold my hand alittle tighter, everytime we walk past someone dressed in all black. Nobody in their right mind would walk out in broad daylight in a Ghostface mask baby. Don’t be ridiculous.

But maybe he’d walk around like that at night? Maybe snatch you up on a Friday night after a fun outing with your friends? Drag you into an alley and fuck you senseless? I bet you’d like it. I know you’d like it.

But I’ll ease you into it. I don’t want you to be afraid. I want you to accept that you want Ghost to do those nasty things to you.

BOT IS READY!! Let me know if he’s good, I tried. Apparently stalkers are difficult for AI

PART NINE

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @rorysbrainrot t @hopesworlld @lonaah @t8Izw @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 11 months

Note

Sagau touched starved reader but you know got trauma so not comfortable with being touched. Like staring like a cat for affection but terrified of being hugged back or things like that

You got it, Anon! Though, I will warn you a little: I'm not going to go too deep into detail with the trauma stuff. It'll be very brief.

Touch Starved! Reader Wanting Hugs From Zhongli, Diluc, and Al-Haitham...With A Twist.

Zhongli

The moment he realizes that you are touched-starved, this old man isn't exactly sure what to do. After all, you got some extreme PTSD going on after the whole "imposter-creator" fiasco.

He does try to approach it as a topic, but since you're weary of (quite literally) everyone and find suspicion in every action, you kind of catch on to his intentions. And Zhongli notices this, but he's still going to take it slow.

"I assure you, Your Grace, I will not push your boundaries lest you are uncomfortable." He's sincere and means every word. To him, this is like signing a contract. He's the God of Contracts, so this is especially important to him. What he says is solid as stone—his dedication to prove that is clear as day.

This man is also very keen—he sees how you look like a touch-starved cat when you want affection, but are too scared to approach and ask. It kind of breaks him, but he doesn't show it because he wants to prove that he's not helping out of pity, but understanding.

In the end, Zhongli will probably be able to be near you, and get in a few (with consent) head peats that you are very well aware of. It's going to take time for you to warm up to him before this guy gets to hug you.

Diluc

This guy probably understands your intense cat-staring the most. He sometimes feels like that after his father passed. He's very unsure and awkward of what to do, if I'm being honest.

After a little while, of course, Diluc feels like he should place the offer out. He feels too awkward and guilty for just noticing you like this and not doing anything about it.

"Your Grace...I hope I'm not crossing any boundaries, but please know that I am willing to offer you any assistance you need." It's only later does he realize you wanted hugs and were too scared to ask for it.

Yeah...he's not exactly that open with his emotions either, so it will definitely be awkward, but he is willing to give it a few tries. Diluc will also be the first to pull back and apologize if he realizes you are in any discomfort.

To say it took a while is only putting it in the simplest form.

Alhaitham

Oho...if you though Diluc was awkward, consider this man. He's more "thinking machine that feels" than like his roommate ("feeling machine that thinks"), so he definitely does not understand the "social cue" that is your cat-stare.

He has done research (aka read books way back in the days and remembered the contents) and understands the mental turmoil you've gone through, so he has gone through the steps of trying to get out of your way, and also try and link you to a therapist. This, of course, kind of fails.

"Your Grace...please get some therapy. It's beneficial for your mental health." Quite literally might drag Tighnari or someone else into this if he can't convince you. This is quite literally out of his expertise.

The entire "I want a hug" cue flies completely over his head, and had it not been for Kaveh (and/or Nahida), he probably wouldn't have realized his mistake.

...Yes, it took what felt like 3 eternities just for him to try and give you affection. Must I say anything else?

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: AND HERE WE ARE! Anon, I am so sorry for taking 30 years to do this, but I have finished it! Boy, I was so tired and stressed these days, but I'm kinda glad I finished this!

For anyone waiting for The Lost Shining God of Celestia Pt. 2, please have some patience—I currently do not have much motivation to work on that series. Instead, feel free to dump requests in my mailbox!

Also—feel free to dump any HSR requests into my mailbox! I want to give them a try :)

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #sagau x reader #genshin self aware #sagau #sagau genshin #yandere sagau #genshin cult au #sagau brainrot #sagau cult au #sagau angst #sagau isekai #imposter sagau #sagau zhongli #sagau alhaitham #sagau diluc #sagau impostor au

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ajaxsprettyboy · 10 months

Text

NEW PLAYER

Streamer / camboy male reader x biggest fan leona (mostly ooc but I mean come on it’s leona he’s hot regardless)

Leona has the funds to support his infatuation with you. He doesn’t feel bad about it, well, maybe a little, considering you’re barely 18. But aside from that who is he to discourage a pretty boy from showing off his gaming skills, good commentary, and gorgeous body. The sound of your voice could be heard from his phone whenever he felt the need to get off.

Maybe it was your face, maybe it was the pretty sounds you made when you got jump scared, or maybe, just maybe, it was how he’d assure you reached your tip goals just so he could see you in cute little outfits. Most of them being natural prey to lions.

Much to Leona’s surprise, you held an interactive event. You had goals set and for each one met, you would hold a stream only for the contributors. The last goal you had had a bigger prize. To meet you. This would only have one winner, selected via raffle. Most would be too nervous to put their names up for the contest, but leona had a good feeling about his chances.

He was right! He won! The next two names are the second and third winners, winners of compensation prizes. Leona didn’t care about those though, when he got the email about meeting his favorite streamer he was so pleased with himself. Leona read over the email, telling him what can and can’t be done unless explicitly stated by you. When the day came, you didn’t expect to see a guy around your age, let alone an attractive one.

He smirked and introduced himself, watching your sheepish expression melt away. He looked down at you and waited for you to speak. “Well, you already know who I am,” you laughed. “What would you like to do! We don’t have a time limit so if you’d like to play a game, go live, or maybe just talk, we have time for it all!” You smiled at him, it was the same smile you had when you were laughing, a genuine smile. He liked that.

“I’ve got a better idea” “oh! What’s that? I’m all ears!”

Well you didn’t mean your sentence to be taken literally, but now with the floppy bunny ears on top of your head, a tight skirt, a pair of fishnets on, while you struggle to fit all of Leona’s cock in your mouth, you couldn’t help but blush. The camera was rolling, live on your nsfw streaming service, recording how tears prickled your lash line.

Leona’s tail flicked behind him in a pleased manner, his hand on the back of your head, careful not to disturb those bunny ears as he watched you choke on him. Leona’s not dumb, he knows you wouldn’t do this if you weren’t attracted to him, yourself. He knew if he was going to get more than sex out of you, he’d need to get your number. But right now all he can clearly think about is how pretty you look on your knees for him.

Leona made sure the camera caught how you swallowed his load. He made absolutely sure the camera could see your pretty face as he sunk you down onto his cock. He wanted to watch this all over again later but feeling it was much better. The camera caught the way your pretty cock slapped against his stomach, the way you moaned, whimpered, and begged him for more.

“Sir, please, can I cum?” Only to be met with a low growl and a deep chuckle from behind the camera. “You know better, bunny.” His reply was laced with sadistic lust and adoration. “Good boys earn their orgasm. Make me cum again and maybe you’ll get a reward.” He planned on letting you cum, but he didn’t want you to know that. He planned on watching your pretty face contort as you shot hot sticky load after hot sticky load onto him but god he loves the look of determination that always graces your features when you have a goal in mind.

Eventually when leona came, he let you cum, wrapping his much larger hand around your cock. When you came he couldn’t help but look at your pitiful expression and shaking legs with pride. He then shut the camera off after you waved goodbye. Usually, whenever leona sleeps with someone, he just lets them clean themselves up, but he helped you. He ran you a bath, got you food cooked by his personal chefs, and even fixed up your bed.

Safe to say leona got your number and did in fact rewatch that video after he left.

He’s proud to say he’s got a date with you in a week.

#snow.writes #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst reader insert #leona kingscholar #leona x you #leona x male reader #twst x male reader #twst leona #twst leona x reader #disney twst #leona smut #leona kingscholar smut

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fineprintedsunsets · 8 months

Text

JAWBREAKER

This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 1 | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List

Synopsis: Bucky's been hired to watch you as a favor to his best friend; your father. But when a game of spin the bottle has Bucky choking on his words, he just can't help himself anymore.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: age gap (both are consenting adults). dbf!bucky x f reader. mentions of violence against others (nothing undeserved) jealous bucky. unprotected sex. (wrap it before you tap it.) dirty talk. possessive bucky. p in v sex. is a hired bodyguard a stalker? maybe? idk. lots of praise + pet names.

taboo au + "this is fucked up" "you like it"

How Bucky ended up at a Halloween party for drunk teenagers was a mystery. A ghost-themed one at that. Kids who he wasn't even sure should be drinking clutched red solo cups filled with various alcohol, laughing obnoxiously and passing hushed whispers.

He rolled his eyes.

Teenagers.

He was sent here by your father, and although he loved the man (practically his best friend) this was the one event he regretted agreeing to accompany you to. You were 19, and why you wanted to go to a ghost-themed party with sixteen and seventeen-year-olds was beyond him.

Nevertheless, he agreed to supervise you for your father's sake. The second he steps foot through the frilly-decorated entrance, he smells the overpowering scent of marijuana and Axe cologne.

Thank god he didn’t grow up in an era where boys would wear that shit and think they were the coolest fuckers around. His nose turns up, turning to its source. It was indeed three teenage boys with what must have been a gallon of gel in their hair and crooked smiles splayed on their features.

They accompany a girl at the table, he can't see her features due to the blocking backs of the boys, but he can see one of them lift their fingers to brush ever so slightly against her arm.

The girl moves away, and when she does, Bucky's eyes catch on her.

It’s you, his best friend's daughter. He tries hard not to let his eyes linger on you, knowing he has only one job here tonight, and it’s to keep you out of harm's way. There was only one problem with that. Your father kept most of his work life hidden away from his wife and since he worked with a lot of cruel people, he decided not to involve you either.

Which means you had never met his best friend. You didn’t even know he had one. Bucky was sent here to watch you from afar, your dad didn’t want you to know he sent someone to supervise you every single time you went out.

You pass the boy a look, awkwardly shaking your head. You attempt to laugh it off and walk away, but the boy grabs your wrist. Bucky bristles where he stands against a wall, having just entered.

He can’t approach you, he couldn’t risk you finding out who he was. But oh how he wanted to break all twenty-eight of Jelly Hair’s pitiful knuckles.

“Let go, Jake.” You growl out, but Jelly Hair won’t let up, wrapping his digits around your tiny wrist and forcing you to sit back down. It angers him, how the other boys he’s sitting with laugh at his antics.

A loud crunching sound echoes from someone over at your table and Bucky leans away from the wall, getting ready to intercept, thinking he may have hit you. He should be ashamed of the anger that blossoms through his chest.

Jake’s fingers slip from your wrist as the other boys jump up. Jelly Hair turns toward the door where Bucky is standing, allowing him to spectate the blood now running from his nose.

He can’t help the smile that graces his features.

You hit him.

“My girl” Bucky finds himself whispering. He tucks his hand in his pockets, moving away from the entrance and more profound into whoever's house this is. White lights flash from the rooms as music blares from speakers in the living room.

Everyone is dressed like a ghost, some people; like you are wearing a t-shirt that displays a cute drawing of a supernatural creature. Others wear sheets with glasses placed overtop of them, or uneven eye-holes cut out of the white fabric.

Bucky grabs a solo cup and fills it up with Cola, the only non-alcoholic drink on the ping-pong table. His metal fingers grip the cup and bring it to his lips, only to spit it back into the cup.

“What the fuck.” He mutters, scrunching his face in distaste. He does a double take on the bottle, bringing the contents up to his nose, Rum.

It’s fucking Rum Coke.

He takes the cup anyway, having no intention to sip from it anymore. He blends in this way, holding a solo cup just like the other hundred people here. His blue eyes search for you in the crowd, spotting you right away, your body settled on the lap of a man, early 20’s he’d say.

A feeling he’s all too familiar with when it comes to you surges through his veins, seeing the white skirt you're wearing hike up, allowing him and everyone else to see his hand knead at your ass.

Bucky’s jaw clenches as he watches you lean into the man, your lips wrapping around his, your eyes closing. Bucky has no idea who he is, but whoever he is, his dick is growing hard under you, having very clear intentions of what he’s about to do. And Bucky will be damned if he allows you to get fucked by this piece of shit.

Not that it should matter to him. You should have a man that would treat you right, protect you, pleasure you. Not this dick-wad who wants a quick fuck. Your father wanted him to keep you out of trouble, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.

At least, it’s what he tells himself.

Bucky watches for a few more seconds as you rub yourself over his cock, painfully humping it. He knows you aren’t getting any pleasure out of it, it’s evident on your face. The dick-wad beneath you is, and that’s what makes Bucky’s fingers ball into tight fists, making him grind his teeth down again, on the verge of breaking his goddamn jaw.

That’s what you were.

A fucking jawbreaker, surely you were smarter than this. You had to have known you were worth so much more. You had to know dick-wad couldn’t make up for a quarter of that amount.

“Spin the bottles starting downstairs!” A girl announces from the banister. She’s drunk, very drunk, Bucky notices. She also must be the owner of the way her fingers wrap around the railing.

He could just tell.

Bucky feels the relief flood his chest when you turn away from the man, clearly seeing a good excuse for escape. He growls but lets you go as he soon follows suit. Bucky has no interest in watching you play spin the bottle, but of course, he has not all a choice.

He couldn’t decide whether it was his job, (why he was here in the first place, he’s had to repeat that to himself a few times throughout the night.) Or because he didn’t want to watch a bunch of horny teenagers shove their fucking tongues down your throat, heat bloomed in his chest, mixing with anger.

Either way, he would have to break more than fourteen knuckles tonight.

✪

Bucky’s already taken his place on the wall, going unnoticed as the kids gather around in a circle, sitting with their legs crossed, fixated on the bottle that is situated in the middle.

You sit on the right side, next to some other girls he recognizes.

Women.

You were 19 years old for god sake.

The woman from earlier, the owner of the house, Bucky had now learned the name of, Jess plops next to the man from earlier, her eyes analyzing all the players. Other people stand, just here to spectate the game, giving Bucky plenty of cover.

“We need one more player!” Her voice slurs, looking up from her sitting position, searching for the correct person to fill the gap right across from you. Your eyes search around with Jess’s until both pairs land on him.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

“What’s your name?”

Bucky grinds his teeth together again, he’ll be very surprised if he has teeth after tonight.

“James.” He grits out, trying his very best to seem like he doesn't want to be here. Which isn’t very hard.

He doesn't.

“You look a bit old to be here, James.” Jess' eyes roam the others, looking for the attention she so desperately wants. The others let out faux chuckles. Bucky can still feel your eyes burning through his, even though over fifty pairs are now aimed at him, you stick out.

You always have.

“Who invited their dad, guys?” Jess pokes again, her ghastly features twisting in a terrible laugh. Other people laugh now, but Bucky doesn’t mind. You don’t laugh, your features scrunch at Jess’s words. The man didn’t look old at all, older than a teenager sure, he was quite handsome.

“Come on, James. Join us!” You call, and the man's eyes immediately meet yours. You can’t help yourself, you gasp at the intensity of them, the beautiful blue irises that stare back at you.

Bucky still didn’t move from the wall, it was very evident he had no choice in this matter. “A little party never killed anybody, James.” Jess’s cat-like mouth squeaks.

“Bucky-” He corrects, heaving a sigh. “Just Bucky.” Bucky walks over to the circle, watching the gathering crowd part. Allowing him to sit like the rest of them, occupying the spot across from you.

“Let’s get started, Anon, Why don’t you spin first?”

Anon, a very stereotypical frat boy reaches for the bottle, his companions cheering behind him. The glass spins as everyone's eyes follow it, even Bucky’s.

The end lands on Jess, which is ironic. Bucky is checking off his mental checklist, he’s no matchmaker but..

Obnoxious Voices. Check. Annoying Presence. Check. Feline Like Faces. Check. Rich Pieces Of Shit. Check.

Those two were made for each other.

The two kiss awkwardly, the whole crowd kicking and screaming taunts, acting like children who just touched a deceased insect. Bucky settles into the hard-concrete floor, getting ready for a very excruciating game.

✪

It’s about an hour before you finally get the bottle in your hands. Everyone waits on bated breath as you capture your bottom lip between your teeth. You grab the bottle and spin, watching the glass glide across the concrete floor.

It clicks and clanks before it stops, and the endpoints to the stranger.

The older man that’s been stuck to the wall the whole party. You’ve never seen him before but were quite intrigued when you caught him looking at you during the game, pretending as if he wasn't.

The stranger's eyes flick open, looking at the end pointed towards him and then where you sit across from him. You smile to yourself as Bucky stays in his position.

The chanting starts when Jess’s voice echoes through the room, “You have to kiss the old man!” She’s 20, but acts like a five-year-old.

“Kiss!”

People around you repeat, and so you do the only logical thing to do. You place your hands in front of you and crawl to Bucky, knowing full well your skirt is riding up as you do so.

You can see his jaw clenching. You arrive in front of him, propping yourself up on your knees, Bucky's eyes look up at where you slightly tower over him.

You reach your fingers to graze his jaw, and when your fingers meet his subtle, the fifty pairs of eyes disappear. Right now, it’s just you and him. “Come here.” You mutter, bringing his face to yours.

Bucky hesitates, but lets it happen anyway. He’s captivated by you, you can tell. He wants to pull away but can’t.

Time seems to slow as your eyes close and your noses touch, stopping before letting your lips meet each other. Heat builds in your stomach, anticipation and want bubbling deep inside your core.

“This is fucked up.” He whispers, his breath grazing your wet lips.

“You like it.” You answer, before pulling his face to yours, your lips colliding in perfect harmony. Heat fills your stomach, settling itself between your thighs. Bucky’s hand comes up to cup your scalp, molding his palm to your head, crushing his lips against yours.

Your tongue slides into his mouth, entangling with his own. Your breath heaves as your stomach urges for more, your thighs pressing together in your kneeling position. You pull away before you can go any farther, breath heaving, a string of saliva still connecting your puffy lips.

The words that exit his mouth are barely audible, but you catch them. “That’s why it’s fucked up.”

“Get a room, lovebirds,” Jess calls, laughing with the others. But you ignore them, your eyes are still pulled into that trance, still feeling Bucky’s lips on yours.

The next thing you know, Bucky is getting up, his hand reaching for your own. You gulp at his gaze now, seeing the intensity switch to something different.

Something primal.

✪ Somehow you ended up in a closet, with Bucky’s breath fanning over your neck, his cock painfully straining against his jeans. It took all but four seconds for your clothes to be off, Bucky’s joined yours short after, pooling on the floor of the large closet.

“Sweetheart-” Bucky sounds breathless as he reaches out, his metal hand (which you okay with, apparently) running down the curve of your breast, dipping in your bra to twirl a cool digit around your semi-hard peak. (Especially when they made you feel like that.)

“How old are you?” You press, moaning as Bucky’s other hand cups your waist, making sparks fly up and down your skin. This closet, which is bigger than the master bedroom, has suddenly gotten small.

Bucky fights the urge to smack your ass in response, you didn’t care about age when you were grinding on that man’s cock.

“106.” He answers thoughtfully, but you only laugh, catching he wasn’t going to tell you his age. Bucky’s face scrunches in wonder, but it quickly fades when you press your body into his own, running your smooth fingers over his muscled abdomen.

“You sure you want to do this, baby?”

“Positive.”

Bucky brings your lips to his, all while taking hold of your hips, backing you into one of the closet's white walls. You engrossed in his touch, the feel of his fingers on your bare stomach, pushing you against the wall.

“I’d make you hump my cock, ‘show you what real pleasure is. But there’s no couch in here, sweet girl.” You feel your pussy clench at his words, you hadn’t known he was watching you then.

“Just gonna have to take me bare,” Bucky mutters, his hands grabbing your back, flipping you around so your palms are planted above you, your ass jutting out. His fingers knead at the meat of your ass, making sure to erase any hand-prints dick-wad may have left. You moan, bucking into his touch, wanting more.

“Greedy girl, you think you deserve my cock? Bare, too? You think you can handle that type of pleasure?” His fingers ghost over your panties, barely hitting your clit.

“Bucky! Please.”

Bucky smiles, knowing what he’s doing to you. If he wasn’t about to fuck you in a closet at a party he would tease you a lot more, and make you pay for letting that man touch you. You both knew you couldn’t wait that long, and neither could he.

Bucky pulls down your panties, noticing how your slick coats the fabric. “These are drenched, all for me, hmm?” He was so hesitant at first, to kiss and touch you, but now he didn’t give a shit.

You were his now.

Your panties soon joined the rest of your clothes. Bucky’s breath caught when he looked down at you, making your thighs clench together. He runs a metal finger through your folds, collecting your slick.

You cry out from the spark of pleasure, attempting to keep yourself up against the wall.

“You're so wet for me, sweet girl.” You feel lightheaded as Bucky releases himself from his boxers, you can’t see anything, only the white paint of the wall.

You can feel his tip nudge at your entrance, as he leans down, placing soft kisses along your back. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Okay? You want to be filled with my cock?”

“Yes!” You buck your hips, your eyes tightly closed as you feel his cock slide itself to the hilt, using your gathered arousal to aid in his thrust. You cry out, the stretch is both painful and pleasurable. Bucky groans, feeling the way you clench around his cock, feeling the tightness of your cunt.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Taking me so well.” For a few moments, you just stand there, Bucky letting you adjust to his cock, to the feeling of being filled up completely. You had sex before, plenty of it, but you never took a guy bare.

But Bucky, the way his cock sat inside of you, not even moving and it still shooting sparks into your stomach, was something you’d never thought you’d experience.

“Can I move, baby? You alright?” You nod your head while Bucky places another kiss on your back, pulling his cock out to the tip, and pushing back in.

“Ahh-”

“Feel good, sweetgirl?” Words simply do not exist anymore, Bucky whispers against you with each thrust of his cock, his movements slow at first, allowing you to take the most pleasure out of it, trying so hard not to cause you any pain.

The wet noises of your body's meeting over and over again fill the air, and somehow it drowns out the music of the party. Bucky’s groans and your moans tangle together as you buck your hips to meet his thrust, accommodating his cock.

“So good, baby.” You clench at his words, milking his cock. Bucky smiles, looking down at you.

Bucky’s metal arm comes around your bare stomach, making your thighs fall open wider, “Like when I praise you? Your pretty little pussy loves when I tell her she’s doing a good job, baby.”

A single digit finds your clit, Bucky rubs at it, slow tantalizing circles as you buck into him.

“I want you to come on my cock, I need to see this pussy clench around me harder.” Your body involuntarily does as he asks, your cunt clenching down on his cock as his thrusts speed their tempo and his finger matches the torture at your clit.

“Fuck!” You cry out, feeling your orgasm stirring deep in your belly, the heat from the room going straight to your head, encasing you in its bubble.

“That’s it.” Bucky praises, dragging out both words, “Good girl, come for me.”

You do, moaning loudly as your orgasm rushes through your veins, as Bucky chases his release, making sure you get over the edge first. His breaths come out in pants as his cock pushes into your cunt at a punishing speed. “I wonder how your daddy would feel if he knew you just came on his best friend's cock.”

“What?”

#marvel #masterlist #fanfic #oneshot #fluff #smut #buckbarnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky x reader #buckybarnessmut #hauntedhoedownmasterlist #haunted hoedown #inklore #dbf!bucky #older man younger woman #consent

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jesssssssssica · 2 months

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'but i love you-' 'so? please let me go' ln4

'but i love you-' 'so? please let me go.'

in which saying 'i love you' to keep a relationship together has been overused.

in which you've had enough

One too many times had you found yourself back in the arms of Lando Norris. The strong comforting arms of Lando Norris that holds you at times of need, became an addicting pull factor of keeping this crumbling relationship together, well that along with his constant throwaway of the words “I love you.”

Words that once held so much adoration and joy in your mind were now the words that were slowly destroying you from the inside out, and yet your weeping heart constantly craved for more, wanting to be with someone that claimed to want you. Of course you’d noticed that these words caused your heart to freeze up, rather than beat faster and yet you still somehow still had this idea that Lando did truly mean these words. Was it delusion to help soothe your already breaking heart or was it just pure insanity? Either way, you received pity from the onlookers that watched in on your relationship, week after week, watching the distance between you two in the pit lane become further and further apart, watching as the man that supposedly loved you, laughed at the unfunny jokes that the models would tell him, watching them place their arms on his arm and stay there as he refused to shove them away.

And yet, you still loved him, because after all he still loved you. Right? Of course he loved you, that’s why he’d say those magic words. He wouldn’t throw those sacred words around, right?

Of course he would.

Lando Norris would only find himself using the words ‘I love you’ at times where he needed to avoid his mistakes being thrown back into his face and to keep you by his side. Of course, at one point those words did truly hold value and meaning to his relationship, but that was a long time ago and the meaning was now washed away, and a new definition for the phrase was made, to keep you. If you were to ask him what the meaning was however, he would proclaim that it means and symbolises his adoration and infatuation with you, and you being none the wiser would further and further into his arms, never wanting to let go and leave this comfort blanket that had been made just for you.

I mean who would want to leave this VERY financially stable man that was able to fill your house with flowers and gifts, constantly flying you around the world with him as he always holds you and reassures you with his ‘love’.

You certainly didn’t want to. For god’s sake you had been with the man since you were 17, having known eachother since you were both 14, and you didn’t know anything about the real world without having Lando by your side. Of course your mother would always offer a place to stay whenever you had one of your rocky moments but that was only for a day or so, now where would you go if you truly were to finally take that leap of faith and leave the one person that was actually holding you back?

But I mean what were you even talking about? Leaving Lando sounded more like a nightmare than a saving grace, I mean leaving the one man that has always been there for you? You’re crazy to think I would eve-

“Y/N! I am baaack” his voice sounded slurred as he shouted into the apartment.

You turn your head from where you sit on the sofa, swirling the glass of wine that you hold in your hand, watching Lando struggle to slip off his trainers, a task he ultimately gives up on, huffing loudly before straggling over to your spot.

“I missed you” he breathes, his breath confirming your thoughts.

‘Great’ you think, ‘Another night of babying him’

You don’t dare try and translate his coherent babbles, watching as he mindlessly talks to the ceiling, waiting for him to slowly sober up, which leads you to getting up and filling him a nice glass full of wa-

“I cheated on you.”

“What?”

“You heard”

You freeze, both out of shock and also out of anger. How could he? A man that she had dedicated 7 years of her life to and yet this is the cause of the end. An easily avoidable action that he seems to have no guilt or sorrow for happening? How could someone that preached to his lover how much he loved them, then proceed to do the complete opposite?

Your brain speaks for your heart in this moment, sacrificing your feelings for the next couple of months for your sanity, putting down the glass and heading down to your shared bedroom without saying a word, pulling out a suitcase and packing what you needed most, you could leave behind items, that would be his problem as you would not be coming back. You grab what little trinkets you have that don’t remind you of him and start to leave for the front dorm when you are stopped by him.

It’s only now do you take in the intoxicated state that he was in, though you’re pretty sure that by now he’s sobered up, messy hair that seems to poke out at every angle, definitely having felt the fingers of many a woman comb through it. You also notice the slight rouge colour that’s been attempted to have been smeared off, a clear sign at the man’s infidelity. It’s pathetic really, that you had once been enamoured with the man that stands in front of you but now here you are, leaving behind the one thing that has held you back this whole time. You don’t know where you’ll go but anywhere is better than this place that you once thought was the place you’d grow old with each other in, but that was before you truly woke up. Sometimes it’s best to leave things in the past and Lando Norris is a great example of this, though you’ll never forget when it was real, when you were both happy.

Maybe it was meant to be at a time but it wasn’t meant forever.

“Where are you going?” His voice snaps you out of your monologue that you preach in your head.

“I’m leaving and I am not coming back.”

At first he thinks you're joking but the strong demeanour you hold on your face shows that you are doing anything but.

“B-but I love you y/n.”

You scoff.

“So? Please let me go Lando.” You say, voice laced with desperation.

So he does, he lets you go and you don’t dare look back.

#f1 imagine #f1 imagines #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris angst

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livelaughlovesubs · 1 month

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I felt like yandere raphael and gabriel would be the same as michael except you had higher chance manipulating these two into stopping their insanity by using god

Like maybe we could convinced raphael to stop killing others or else were going to abandon him too like god did and with gabriel since his entire fetish is literally god himself lets just say idk- say that he disappoints God since his killing/destroying God's other creation that god worked so hard to exist lol

I did want to add ‘the other angels are just like that’s at the end of the post, but when I thought about it, they weren’t the same.

I agree that they wouldn’t be that violent, thought I think you have to be smart to pull it off

The easiest one would definitely be rara, cuz he already likes ra-on and has been pushed away from god the most. Show him affection, tell him you love him, adore him and how you’ll love him forever if he did this and that. Mean, especially if it’s all a lie, but your survival is more important. Sometimes it’s important to be selfish. If you want more details, then that’s literally the fics ‘pitiful thing’ and ‘how pitiful’ I wrote of Raphael, of his fall from heaven.

Now Gabriel, Gabriel Gabriel… this is more tricky. Even if you tell him ‘god wouldn’t like that’, he won’t necessarily believe you. He got away with it for eons, why would god suddenly not like him devoting his love to him? Though if you showed him with examples he might think about it. Luckily he isn’t too narrow minded, that he won’t ever change his opinion. If he was your yandere, he’d absolutely despise you and love you. How dare you seduce him, and challenge his devotion to god? Your very existence is a shame, but he fell for you, and now his unyielding loyalty, that he will always only belong to god, was in danger. He might kill you because of it, just so he won’t keep getting distracted by you and his feelings.

If you want to manipulate him, it has to be subtle. That would take a long time. What I mean is judging him with hints. Imagine this, he is about to go down and kill the devils and so you just go, “oh, you are killing the creation god made? Shouldn’t you love everything god creates? Never mind, do what you want.” He will feel a bit annoyed, but he’ll see your point if you word it well. But again, that will take a while.

The other way, the more extreme one is to make him dependent on you. Like throw him off his grace, make him believe he isn’t worthy of god anymore. Without his wings and halo, he is no longer an angel that is worthy of god, that’s what he’d think. Then he’ll probably calm down and be a good boy. And, he’d feel like he doesn’t have a reason to live anymore, now that god won’t ever look at him. In those moments, treat him well, like Raphael, and he’ll probably fall for you even more. Maybe he’d even think of your kindness as god’s, because it’s similar how you ‘love’ him unconditionally, and do everything in his power to keep it this way. You are going to be his substitute, not that he wants it, he just couldn’t help his delusions. Then, you can finally manipulate him ^^ (and fuck him good)

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb gabriel #what in hell is bad gabriel #rara whb #whb raphael #what in hell is bad raphael

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utilitycaster · 10 months

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Assuming Laudna will open up to Imogen about killing Bor’dor/Delilah possibly still lingering, I wonder if it will cause friction between them. I don’t know why it would but maybe I just want drama between them to make them interesting to me lol. Anyway, It is gonna be interesting to see how the bells interacts after this cause they all have had some growth and regression. You know what I mean?

So I agree that the reunion is going to be really interesting. While I actually think the parties are on roughly the same page (though Imogen and Laudna might not be; Imogen is still kind of a lone holdout on "but what if I don't care about the gods") they did have wildly different experiences, and I do love drama.

Here's my opinion: I don't actually think Team Issylra regressed. I think there's a very common false equivalence of violence=regression that pops up in the fandom, and I think it's 100% wrong given the setting and genre conventions.

I'm reminded actually of a lot of discussion about the Ted Lasso finale a few weeks ago - there's a good post here, the gist of which is that sometimes a part of recovery is looking less happy. Laudna's entire deal is that she compartmentalizes and suppresses and tells herself it's all uphill from here. Orym has heard multiple people - people who like him, even, who'd consider him a friend or ally - openly say the group that murdered his husband and father-in-law who was basically a father to him and who used his leader (whom he's sworn to protect and who said husband and father-in-law died protecting) as nothing more than bait might have some good points, and he's mostly kept quiet. Even Ashton, who has been in somewhat better shape this arc, believed himself to be undeserving of anything good.

So yeah, Laudna might possibly have reawakened Delilah, but she's actually letting herself experience some emotions and talk about them. It's a pretty major step forward that she's spent so much time admitting to anger and fear, and her feelings about betrayal, and crying on Ashton's shoulder instead of constantly pretending everything is totally fine so that she can be the shoulder to Imogen. Orym's moment with the locket is not, to me, an act of cruelty. It's him saying "why do I keep trying to understand and sparing the feelings of people who never once gave me that grace, and who will use me or murder me without a second thought?" And while Ashton isn't immediately running to Hishari right now because, understandably, they are prioritizing the reunion and stopping the Vanguard, their moment about realizing this is anger and the past was self-pity feels like a breakthrough. He's confronting that past (speaking of false equivalences, there's a similarly common one of "choosing to go along with the main party-wide plot instead of one's own specific hooks=avoidance") and is letting himself whole-heartedly support the party after spending years refusing to have friends because friends leave.

Team Issylra is in the messy part of growth, but they've grown immensely, and that's actually the biggest thing I want to see Team Wildemount respond to.

#answered #Anonymous #critical role #critical role spoilers #bells hells

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galebrainrot2024 · 3 months

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Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part 19

Read on Ao3

Full transparency, I did pull some loose lines from a NSFW of mine. No reason for me to totally reinvent the wheel! Enjoy :) Gale's POV

After the rest of their companions retired, Karlach tentatively walked over to Gale and stuck her head in his room, “Pst,” she waved a hand. “Up for a little late night walk about?”

Despite his exhaustion and because the orb didn’t loom over him, he obliged and stood, groaning as he rose to his feet. “Gladly.”

They walked the outskirts of the inn, trailing along the black water’s edge in silence before Karlach broke the silence. “So…” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, “How are you feeling? I mean, now that you’re not the only one facing the possibility of death.”

Gale released a quick, short puff of air. “Oh, you know, ever the optimist.” He paused, sitting on the flat rocks overlooking the murky abyss. “I wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone, least of all you. It would be selfish to talk about myself when you’ve only learned of your fate.”

Karlach laughed and shoved his shoulder, “Come off it, mate. I’ve been living on borrowed time and we both knew it, the difference is now it’s been confirmed. It’s not speculation anymore. This engine is going to blow and I’ll be damned if I step foot back in the hells. Besides,” she said, tossing a stick into the lake, “what have I got to offer this world? You were a chosen, an archmage… you have so much to live for and your death is not inevitable.” She looked at him seriously, “You have to reconsider.”

“I’m just a man,” Gale frowned, running a hand over his weary face, “An imperfect one, with needs, wants, and flaws by the bushel. A fragile vessel in which to place potentially world-ending power.”

Karlach groaned and stood to pace. “I hate it when you talk about yourself like that. Mystra must have done quite the number on you, for you to think so little of yourself.”

Gale fiddled with his collar and sleeves, uncomfortable and unaccustomed to such blatant vulnerability. “Well, it’s hard to think highly of yourself once you’ve been reduced to a pitiful excuse to the person you once were. And even more so now that my ex-lover, and goddness of magic, has more or less signed my fate. My end.”

“You have so much to live for,” Karlach expressed, waving her arms. “What about your friends? Tara? Your mother? Tav?” Gale ignored her when she emphasized Tav’s name and he swallowed hard. “Fine, ignore whatever is going on between Tav and you. What about the rest? If I were in your shoes, there’s no way I’d be willing to kill myself for a God like her.”

Gale felt his temperature rise and clenched his fists, “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” She walked back and forth, emphasizing her point with broad strokes, “First, she casts you out with no explanation - I mean, yeah, you meddled in a Goddesses affairs, and she could have at least told you what you’d done. Has she ever told you, the source of the orb’s power I mean?” Gale shook his head and bit the insides of his cheek. “Exactly. So, we don’t even know what this thing is and she, an omnipotent being, couldn’t be bothered to offer you the grace of an explanation? You’re not the first human to make such an error, I’d reckon.”

Gale laughed and shrugged, “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I ought to be angrier… ah… ultimately, it was my fault, my choice - my folly. I thought I knew better than a Goddess… I sought to return one, infinitesimal diamond to her crown. The equivalent of pouring a canteen of water into the Chionthar.” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Sacrificing myself for the rest of the realm feels like adequate punishment.”

Karlach groaned again, “I won’t sit here and listen to you kick yourself while you’re down, mate. It’s too damn depressing. You made a mistake - a foolish one - and a mistake all the same. If Mystra can’t think of another way to extend her forgiveness other than for you to take your own life, she’s not Goddess worth worshipping. We will find another way.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Gale volleyed back to her. She smirked and threw a fistful of grass at him.

“Hey!” He brushed the leaves from his person, the tension leaving him. She certainly knew how to change his mood. “I don’t appreciate being decorated in this shadowed muck, thank you. Shouldn’t I be the one asking you how you’re feeling anyway? How did this become about me?”

She bellowed, raising her hands to the sky like a penitent. “This is the best day. The best day.”

Gale balked, his eyes widening. “Karlach. You were just given a death sentence. The best day?” He rose a brow at her, skeptical.

“You should know better than most how lonely it’s been to not be able to relish in anyone’s company. For years I’ve been starved of the simple pleasures of being alive. I’m so happy for me - in fact, I might be the happiest woman on the sword cost since I may have someone to cuddle up to tomorrow night…” Gale grinned to match her curled smirk. “I didn’t expect to see him here. He was giving me the old eye, right? I’m not making that up?”

Gale stood and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, “He was most definitely giving you the old eye. I’m happy for you, Karlach. Really I am. I.. I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you how worried I am, though. Dammon’s right - the world is better with you in it.”

“Listen,” she clasped his shoulders, looking at him seriously, “I’m never going back. If you said I could die right now or live a thousand years in the Hells, I’d choose to go out now with my freedom intact. I don’t expect anyone to understand that - but I’ve been dealt a hand most people don’t have to contemplate playing. You have, too - you should know better than anyone.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” he insisted, “it could give some time to find a proper solution. I have a hard time believing it can’t be managed.”

“You heard Dammon. There is no solution. It’s hell, or bust. I choose bust.” She shook her head and sighed, stepping away from him to look out at the endless blanketed sky. Her voice quavered, “I don’t want to talk about this now. I’ve been given a huge gift. I can touch people I love for the first time in a decade. And for the first time in a decade there are people I care about all around me. Let me enjoy that, please. I just want to celebrate this. At least for a little.” Gale understood the sentiment deeply and allowed the quiet night to consume them.

***

“Answer me true,” Jaheira said, placing her hands on the table. “Do not lie. The parasite is changing you, isn’t it?”

Gale stood behind Tav, observing carefully as she navigated the conversation. He was intrigued by her couth and furtiveness, how she leveraged her tone, her word choice, all while holding her cards tightly to her chest. As the days passed, Gale began to recognize how much he admired this in Tav. How they’d been faced with countless dangers, incredible odds, and she rarely faltered in her conviction. It was inspiring and arousing. He was enamored with how diplomatic she was, how tactful, just how cunning… and her talent with magic… it was enough to make him feel unhinged.

“Well,” Tav said, tracing her finger over the rim of the glass she refused. “I’ve experienced so much since the crash. Who’s to say it’s the tadpole that changed me?”

Jaheira sneered and Shadowheart giggled, earning her an elbow jab from Karlach who was listening intently. “You speak frivolously. Do you not grasp the cost of what we’re dealing with? Look around you… good people, stranded here two feet in the grave. If we’re to survive I have no choice but to trust you. Can I?”

“Trust doesn’t matter -“ Tav said cooly and Gale felt his stomach knot, her confidence was electric. “I’ll get the job done. What happened to being the godsend you’d been praying for?” He felt his lips curl into a crooked grin, and ran his fingers through his hair as he watched her, two snakes in an elaborate dance.

“That was a public display of hope, despite private reservations. I have every reason to be cautious. I’ve traced people like you - people with parasites in their brains. The cult is spreading through the city. Quietly. Quickly. With unsettling deliberation. We tracked them to this ancient village, only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago. General Kethric Thorm. Remember that name.”

After speaking with Jaheira, the group made a b-line towards the stair to seek out Isobel’s protection - if they were to venture to Moonrise, they’d need much more than crude torches. Gale was seized with the gravity of it all - how much larger than them this was. Larger than just the tadpoles. It was bleak, and he felt a sinking dread that detonating the orb would be the way.

He felt a lithe hand on his shoulder and turned his head as they lingered outside of Isobel’s room. “There will be another way,” Tav murmured and gave his upper arm a reassuring squeeze. He felt sick, overwhelmed by her touch, overwhelmed by the possibilities before him. Gale sought to ignore the creeping thoughts, the unholy things he wanted to do to her each time she touched him.

There was no ale, no potion, no feeling on earth that quite compared to when he looked into her eyes or when she touched him.

Her gaze lingered and Gale felt exposed, naked almost as she peered into his soul, as if she was probing the deepest recesses of his mind. As if she could hear his thoughts.

“How can you be so sure…” he whispered, averting her eyes. He was shocked when he felt her fingers brush his jaw, her gentle grip turning his face to meet hers.

“Because I know you, and I know myself. Neither of us do particularly well when we are told what we cannot do.” They held one another’s gaze for what felt like a millennia before Shadowheart cleared her throat.

“As much as I hate to interrupt this precious moment, we have a cult to ambush, remember?”

They blushed and separated like oil and water. “Right,” Tav said in a strained whisper and they swung open the doors.

“I didn’t realize I had an audience -“ Isobel said, her white hair iridescent in the shadow's light. “The true soul who’s going to save us all. Pleased to meet you.”

“Word travels fast.” Tav said, crossing her arms.

“Hm… it’s a small inn. It’s almost too good to believe. Free from the Absolute’s influence, yet able to walk among cultists... yet, a blessing all the same. Let me guess, Jaheira sent you to beg a protection spell of her favorite cleric.”

As Isobel manipulated the blue light that projected from her palm, Gale cocked a brow at Shadowheart’s scoff. Bold, to openly denounce someone who was offering their guidance and help. Selunite cleric or not, he’d thought her more clever than that. Old wounds die hard, he supposed.

“This should help get you closer to the towers… but there are places it won’t help, where the curse is too strong, darker. The cultists are able to traverse the deepest shadows - the harpers are trying to figure it out.”

“Selunite magic.” Shadowheart scoffed and shook her head, as if to rid herself of the spell. “Dark Lady forgive me.”

“Good nose - like a nasty little terrier.” Isobel quipped, a clip that would have earned a nasty retort from Shadowheart had there not been a strange, threatening noise that engulfed them.

Gale felt a rumbling, as if the ground itself threatened to split open. He reached out, grabbing hold of Tav’s arm. “Something is wrong.”

As Karlach wiped Marcus’s blood from her axe, Gale wiped his face with a cloth. Shadowheart brushed off her armor and rolled her shoulder’s back. “Well. There’s always something, isn’t there.”

“The plot thickens,” Karlach said, taking a gulp of water. “What I’d give for some precedented, run of the mill ass-whopping. This all feels… I don’t know. Too heavy.” Gale’s brow furrowed - it wasn’t often she admitted to feeling overwhelmed.

“This is the same Karlach that fought in the Blood War?” Gale taunted, to which she stuck out her tongue in mock defiance and tossed the bloodied, balled-up cloth at him.

Gale dodged the throw, holding out his arms as if to say 'See that? This Wizard still has some tricks up his sleeve.' Then, he looked steadily at Tav and his face contorted for a moment - was that a flash of jealousy? He licked his lips, trying to add moisture to his desperately parched mouth. Tav’s knuckles were white as they gripped her canteen.

Gale extended a hand to her, “Care to share?”

He admired how her skin flushed, the beads of sweat pooling on her forehead and snaked in miniature rivulets down her cheeks. When she handed him the canteen, her fingers brushed against his knowingly and he felt electrified. Before he could reconcile with himself, the words spilled out of him like a bad batch of Hundur sauce.

“You know… it’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially being at your side,” he paused for a moment, embarrassed yet unable to stop, “I once… read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for… other forms of stimulation.” He swallowed some water, though it did little to alleviate the desert inside, “Have you ever read anything on that subject?”

He was acutely conscious of the gleeful shock on Shadowheart and Karlach’s faces. He bit down on the inside of his lip and swayed a bit on his feet before relief consumed him as Tav spoke: “Read it?” she said softly, but with a knowing glint in her eyes that made Gale’s heart flutter, “I could have written the damn thing...” he saw her swallow hard, the hallow of her neck calling out to him like a siren song. What he would give to flick his tongue along the vulnerable skin.

Gale cleared his throat, shifting to conceal his growing arousal. Thank the gods he was wearing a loose robe.”Oh…” he took a deep breath, a lopsided grin betraying his wanton need, “Then might I suggest we pool our knowledge. No sense in letting valuable, first hand experience go to waste.” He tried to steady himself as his mind whirled with salacious details, the lustful heat seeping through his body and soul. He wanted more than her physical body. He wanted all of her - her mind, her soul. To bond with her in a tantric, unworldly experience. “Perhaps it’s just the thrill of our near-undead experience talking, but standing at your side through such darkness and disrepair...my Gods..” Gale’s face softened, his voice cool. He couldn’t quite manage the rest once he realized he saw the same hunger, the ache in her soul.

The words lodged in his throat, unable to be uttered and so they lingered invisibly in the air: it only makes me want you more.

He wasn't able to spare himself further embarrassment. “Gale - did you just,” Shadowheart broke the silence, “I’m sorry, did you just tell Tav you wanted to have sex with her by citing a book?” Shadowheart giggled, though not out of malice. "After we just murdered a teeming host of winged horrors and a mangled, freaky-cultist? I didn't think you had it in you, to be honest."

The way Karlach began to crack up made his ears burn. The air seemed to crackle, alive and whipping with the impending storm of two bodies desperate to intertwine. Gale and Tav were side by side, he staring down into her enrapturing eyes and allowed himself to indulge in every inch of her face, her body…

Karlach started: “So, Tav, are you going to let the wizard ba-“

But before she could finish her sentiment, Jaheira bounded up the stairs, accosting them and Isobel. The conversation would have to wait.

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draeisgrayte · 2 months

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Under the Goddess' Veil [TEASER]

A/n: This fic was a tad bit spur of the moment to take a break from rewriting some of Lady of Amberguard. Turns out I really like the idea and haven't been able to stop writing on it for 2 days. I will say this will be a bit of plot in the first 4 or 5 thousand words but from then on...dear Lord forgive me for the absolute FILTH I have planned.

Description: I'll give a silly one for right now, basically a maiden gets sacrificed to 5 dragons and a lot of fucking happens. The end.

Pairings: Obanai Iguro, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Giyuu Tomioka, Uzui Tengen, and Kyojuro Rengoku x reader

ENJOY!

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“I was supposed to be sacrificed to you for the honor of my village…” You trail off, trying to connect the dots. You glance in the direction of Sanemi, his usually stern eyes softening when they connect with yours. “Are you going to eat me?” Your words sound pitiful, like you had accepted that fact already – and you had. You’d be raised on the single constant that you would be fed to the Gods atop the neverending tips.

Uzui appears in front of you, a lazy smirk playing with his lips as he leans down to be eye level with you. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” He purrs, rolling his smirk into his mouth.

Kyojuro pushes forward, his long hair whipping in the wind Obanai was still creating. “Your humans assume when we request a maiden to be given to us that we would feast upon her supple flesh,” He sighs, looking at Obanai as he speaks. “Every century our loneliness becomes unbearable. There was the occasional soul that attempted to harm us, wanting to take the hoard for themself, but that didn’t last long. Other draconics would visit us, but some of them would fight for our territory.” Your eyes are drawn to Sanemi again and his plethora of scars. He avoids your gaze at all costs, he finds the outer wall of the cave particularly interesting.

Kyojuro continues with a solemn smile. “Then one day a beautiful woman found her way into the lower tunnels. She came begging us to help her village, people were sick – dying. She was ready to give anything to us for the sake of the people.”

Uzui, who is leaning against the wall, pipes up again. “So she gave us her body.” Your brows knit together. Her body? What exactly did that mean? Kyojuro shoots him a glare before setting himself in front of your gaze, staring into your eyes.

“The women before you were scared, frightened of the big bad monsters within the Ponorich peaks. Most of them tried to escape with no avail…they would get lost and starve or stay within our sight and do the same thing. There were others that would find our hoard and selfishly conspire to harm us to take it.” Kyojuro’s eyes are bright swirls. “We want a mate, a bride.” Bride…you had dreamed about a day adorned with joy once. It had been a quick thought, squashed by the reality that you understood from a very young age. Though, now perhaps you could live the life that had been taken away from you.

The wind dies down and you quickly look behind to find Obanai stepping onto the edge in a graceful manner. He nods his head at you, an ethereal glow still present in his eyes. It made your stomach dip in the strangest way. "You can have one of us,” He waves his arm to the group of men, their eyes trained on you. Obanai steps forward, picking up your hands softly. You peer at him through your lashes. “Or all of us." He finishes. A distinguishing feeling glides through your very being. Something that tells you if you were going to die for the village the least you could do was live for them.

"I-I'd like to have all of you..." You stammer, your confidence dropping with every second. When did you decide to become so brazen? Here you were, a maiden surrounded by five men that surely looked upon you with heat and desire.

"Are you sure you can handle that little doe? Becoming the wife of five hungry dragons isn't going to be easy. You will ache when you are without us and you will ache when you are with us." Giyuu coos, placing a hand on your back. It sends licks of warmth that jolt to where you had never been touched.

“You will become ours in every way possible.” Uzui is now to your other side, hand upon your waist. “We will take you whenever we want,” A piece of hair falls to the side of his ear, distracting you for a moment until he brings your gaze back to him with fingers under your chin. “And you can take us whenever you want.”

Kyojuro hangs his arms around your shoulders, placing himself square behind you. The thin material of your slip does nothing to hide the warmth radiating off the man. “When our heat occurs you will have to be careful. One of us may ravish you and then two more join in.” He nudges your head with affection and your stomach stirs.

“Are you willing to make sacrifices?” Sanemi asks, still standing a few feet away from the huddle the rest of them had now created around you.

“I was raised to do so.” You reply, a confident nod moving your head.

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mizi-sua · 3 months

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the latest comic has to be my favorite one yet. i was begging for ivansua crumbs and got a feast. they knew!! they knew of each other‘s dark sides!!!

ivan is obviously projecting onto sua HARD and it's not the first time we see him criticize her way of doing things.

the other time was when he told her that they both know the effort she puts in getting good grades is "meaningless" which already implied that he saw through her intentions all along, because why bother studying if she wanted to die for mizi to begin with?

I think the reason ivan is so cruel to sua specifically besides his self hatred/him seeing himself in her is envy. the major difference between him and sua is that what ivan and till have will never be on par with what mizi and sua have, so even if ivan were to sacrifice himself now, he'd be closer to ending up as "mere trauma" to till than sua to mizi. sua is mizi's universe, her god and vice versa so her "miserable" and "pitiful" actions will bear so much more meaning than his' since till doesn't see ivan as such. (i also think what ivan said to sua was only half correct cause while sua's death has been extremely traumatic for mizi i'm convinced it is that what will drive her to keep going and it'll be shown in the future.)

anyways to make matters worse, ivan has already risked it all for till and him to escape together once which didn't work out. it might explain why he absolutely detests the idea of sua's self sacrifice. it is selfish and leaves the other person scarred, you’re essentially dumping your burdens on them and running away from responsibility. ivan knows and says this but he's considered it before as well which makes him look hypocritical. so he vents his own frustrations out on sua who's- according to him- just as twisted. but he’s probably much more twisted than she is because at the end sua didn’t even grace him with an answer. as observant as she is, she has never once thought about being similar to him.

#their dynamic is everything #ivan was so mean tho #imagine minding ur business and some guy starts psychoanalyzing u out of nowhere. girl #also finally the direct confirmation that sua DID sacrifice herself im going insane #dumping all this here cause twt character limit is killing me #alien stage #alien stage sua #alien stage ivan #alnst

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historiaxvanserra · 10 months

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hate fuck with Eris x reader pls!

HATE FUCK | ERIS VANSERRA

18+ please bitches. It's porn with minimal plot.

Warnings: enemies (ish) to lovers, established relationship, sort of dub-con (not really).

also i know the prompt was hate fuck but for some reason it came out more like two idiots in love but no one wants to admit it. don't judge me.

Sapphire skies melt into a darkening indigo as the last rays of sun sink below the backdrop of The Forest House and the sound of gentle orchestral music is a symphony in the crisp Autumn air.

The sea of dancing bodies inside the main hall glitter like a jewel toned wave as the chandeliers light kisses the Ladies' tiaras and dresses adorned in crystals.

From the outside looking in, this is a world away from the home you had grown up in. The Windhaven camp had not been kind to you, a half-breed woman of low birth.

Had Rhysand's mother not taken pity on you, this life would have been little more than a fever dream; the opulent dresses, and expensive wines, decadent parties and indulgent companions.

It may be beautiful but there is no denying the ostentation of it all. All of this grandeur and ceremony when the common folk still want.

Still suffer and starve while the aristocracy live in a world where hedonism is revered and indulgence is praised.

You imagine none of these people have ever known what it truly is to want.

Before you are able to abandon yourself to the thought your attention falls onto the figure emerging from the main doors.

They're swathed in shadow and from your place against the fountain you can just about make out that it is a Male who descends the steps with an otherworldly grace. He's tall and broad. And the strands of his unbound hair billow in the wind behind him in a silken drape.

As the figure stalks through the grounds and rounds the corner at the fountain he is bathed in the golden-hued faelight from the patio.

Eris Vanserra.

He walks with purpose towards you and as he falls into view you can't help but admire the way his skin shines like opal in the moonlight, or the way his face, half-shadowed, seems to hold some dark and ancient knowledge.

He's beautiful in a way that reminds you of old Gods, long forgotten. It's a strange and harsh type of beauty. And you hate him for it.

He has the kind of face that could bring cities to their knees and he knows it.

Eris Vanserra carries his beauty like a burden; he's all arrogance and self-loathing. A tempting oxymoron. And you hate him for it.

"Did no one tell you it's in poor taste to abscond from a party before your hosts?" The Autumn Prince sneers, furrowing his brow as he takes you in.

You hate him.

"Clearly you people know very little of good taste," You retort, digging you heel into the dirt beneath your barefeet and tilting your chin in defiance.

Eris eyes you carefully, a small smirk ghosting his face. His painfully beautiful face.

Why does he have to be so damned ethereal? And fierce. It's perverse and wholly confusing.

"And what is that supposed to mean, love?" he asks in feigned courtesy as he inclines his head towards you.

You hate him.

"Do you know that for one of those pretty dresses," You say pointing through the large window into the ballroom that glitters ruby and topaz, "you could afford to feed an entire village?.

Eris' broad shoulders visibly stiffen at the venom in your tone as you turn your gaze back onto him.

"I didn't know that," he swallows thickly. Perhaps learning to finally swallow some of his pride.

"Of course you didn't," you laugh bitterly, "you have never known what it is to go without."

"To be left wanting."

The laugh your words tear from him lights a fire in you, that signature louche quality he has to him. Total indifference. Tainted with something else. Something dark and base. It burns you in the most masochistic sort of way.

You hate him.

"Believe me, little girl," he spits, taking one long stride towards you so that his chest is inches from yours, "I know what it is to want."

He's half-breathless as he turns his darkening amber eyes upon you.

Gods, he looks like divine in this light. Like some sort of fallen angel. Ephemeral and cruel.

"And what do you want, Eris?" You eye him carefully, the rise and fall of his chest and the sheen of sweat that coats the exposed planes of skin under his shirt.

The way he looks at you then is enough to bring you to your knees. He moves like a predator, silent and resolute and his eyes glint against the black. Wild and dark.

"I want," He rasps as he cages you between strong arms, "You." his breath is hot as it fans your face.

Heat coils in your stomach and spreads through you like a wildfire.

"I hate you." You remind him.

Eris chuckles darkly, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger and forcing you to look at him.

The air is laden with the smell of him. Sandalwood and birch. Stained darker by the scent of his arousal.

"and yet," He whispers against the shell of your ear, like it is a secret shared between two lovers.

"You want me too."

His kiss is harsh and just a little painful, all teeth and tongue as he fights for dominance. His hands rest on your hips, fingers brusing the tender flesh beneath.

He wants to mark you. Wants to leave behind the remnants of his desire. To remind you of who you belong to. Belong with.

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders and as he deepens the kiss they become entangled in his long auburn hair.

The sound that leaves him is something akin to a growl. It's dark and animalistic. Claiming.

He tears his mouth from yours and you're left breathless and aching for him.

The way his teeth come to graze your neck feels like sin. And you find yourself begging. For release. For him. You're not entirely sure.

You had sworn you hated him but when his large hands come to rest on the exposed skin of your thigh you're not entirely sure where the line between love and hate began to blur.

Eris' laugh is cruel and taunting as his hands play with the hem of your pretty dress.

It shines like quartz every time the clouds clear and the crystal refracts in the moonlight.

"I wonder how many villages I could feed with this, hm?". Eris whispers to you as one hand continues his ascent up your exposed thigh and the other begins to pull at the restricting fabric.

For a moment he suffices to bunch the fabric at your waist but when the tight material reaches the apex of your thighs you find it constricting and unhelpful.

The tearing of fabric fills the night air followed by a sharp inhale of breath as Eris lifts you from the ground, your back slamming into the stone wall with an uncomfortable pressure.

"You ripped my favourite dress!" You complain, your hand flying to steady yourself against Eris' solid form as he holds you in his bruising grip.

"I'll buy you a hundred more," He promises against your lips, his teeth nipping at the sulk of your lower lip, "and for every one, I'll feed a hundred villages."

His promises are not empty ones. This you know. You and Eris have been doing this dance for longer than you care to admit.

You learned early on that there is a fine line between love and hate and with Eris that line is one crossed frequently. With reckless abandon. It is a line you crossed willingly, and you would do so again, in an instant because--

"Just let me have you." Eris' urgent hands finally hit their mark at the apex of your thighs, rubbing slow circles through the thin material of your panties.

"You have me," You remind him drawing him into a kiss, much more ardent and longing than the previous biting "so take me."

Wordlessly Eris lifts you against the wall once more, the gritty surface a cruel juxtaposition against the smooth expanse of your back.

Angling your hips as he frees his aching cock from his riding pants you moan into his mouth as he pulls gently at your lower lip.

His hot breath against your face, the heat building in your stomach from the ministrations of his deft fingers is of little consequence when you feel the thick tip of him pressing against your entrance.

"Fuck, love." Eris voice is a low growl in your ear as he sinks into you, your walls fluttering around him like a velvet vice when you feel him pressing against that sweet spot deep inside of you.

"So good for me," he coos as he thrusts harshly into you. His hips digging into yours with such force that causes your whole body to shake as he resumes those slow, torturous circles on your clit.

"I hate you," You remind him. You remind yourself.

"I hate you too," The way he says it is loaded with something else, something hidden. All the words you could not say.

Eris sets a brutal pace as he fucks into you, his breaths coming in sporadic succession as he nears his own release.

You feel your own imminent orgasm as it begins to wash over you. Eris brushes a stray hair away from your face as he holds your weight in his strong arms as he continues his assault on your aching cunt.

"That's it pretty love," He whispers, his words simple yet filled with something akin to adoration and much too far from the usual menace that marks his words, "cum on my cock."

Eris' encouragement is all the permission you need as you give into the wave of euphoria that washes over you like a tidal wave. The world blurs at its edges as Eris fucks you through your orgasm, chasing his own release.

"I hate you," You say airily, biting into the skin of his neck in a futile attempt to muffle the sounds of your pleasure as it breaks apart in your mouth.

Eris comes with a thunderous moan that pulls at your heart in a way that terrifies you. The feeling of his seed spilling out of your pulls you back to reality.

Eris laughs once more bringing you into another burning kiss. Only this time he is more deliberate and tender with you.

"I hate you too."

#eris vanserra #acotar x reader #acotar #eris x you #eris x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris acotar #eris headcanons #eris vanserra x reader

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