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mcrdvcks · 1 month ago

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Dumb & Poetic

Summary: You like Logan, but he likes Jean. Right?

Word Count: 6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: honestly, this isn't one of my favorites, but i just needed to write it to get it out of my head.

also, this is after the sabrina carpenter song, but this story has no relation to the lyrics whatsoever, i just thought the title was fitting

reader's powers are manipulating atoms (it'll make sense when you read)

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet name (princess, sweetheart), miscommunication, light violence, blood, implied age gap

Even after going on ten missions and counting, you always found yourself nervous. Especially when you were getting onto the Blackbird, clad in your matching suits. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the air, but your mind was on Logan. He sat across from you, legs spread out, arms crossed over his chest, that usual scowl on his face. It was the way he always looked before a mission, but you couldn’t help but glance over a little too often.

Ororo slid into the seat next to you, her sharp eyes catching your lingering stare. “You know,” she said softly, leaning over slightly, “if you keep looking at him like that, you might as well say something.”

You blinked, face heating up. “What? I wasn’t—”

“Oh, please, Y/N,” Ororo chuckled under her breath. “I’m not blind.”

You sighed and slouched back into your seat, fiddling with the straps. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s Logan,” Ororo shrugged. “Everything about him is complicated. But that doesn’t mean you should hold back.”

You cast another glance across the cabin at him. Logan was still quiet, staring out the window now, completely unaware of the butterflies flipping around in your stomach. You didn’t want to admit it, but Ororo was right. There was something about Logan that made you pause. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be in his own world, like he was still holding onto things from his past. Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at Jean sometimes, like there was still something unresolved there.

“I don’t think he’s over her,” you murmured, feeling the familiar weight of doubt settle in.

“Jean?” Ororo raised an eyebrow. “Please, Jean and Scott are practically married. Logan isn’t hung up on her anymore. If anything, he’s just... Logan.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered. It was hard to let yourself hope for something that seemed impossible. Besides, Logan saw you as the kid, didn’t he? He always called you ‘princess’ or ‘sweetheart’- terms of endearment, sure, but you figured he used them with everyone.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Hank’s voice came over the intercom, snapping everyone to attention. “We’re approaching the target. This should be a routine recon and hopefully data extraction but keep your guard up.”

Logan stood, moving to the front of the cabin. “You heard him. We get in, get the intel, and get out. No heroics.”

You stood with Ororo, adjusting your gloves and trying to ignore the fact that your heart rate had picked up. It wasn’t the mission that had you on edge, but Logan’s presence, the way he effortlessly took command of the room. You hated how easily he affected you.

The Blackbird landed with a soft jolt, and the team moved into action. Logan gave you a nod as you passed, and you swore you saw something in his eyes—concern? Or maybe you were just seeing what you wanted to see.

As the team fanned out, you stayed close to Jean and Scott, your senses heightened. You were supposed to keep it simple, in and out. But things rarely went that smoothly.

A flicker of movement caught your eye just as Jean’s telepathy brushed against your mind. Y/N, we’re not alone. Be ready.

And then all hell broke loose.

Explosions rocked the compound as enemies swarmed in from every direction. You threw up your hands, quickly manipulating the air around you, converting oxygen molecules to corrosive acids to fend off the attackers. Beside you, Scott fired his optic blasts, and Jean’s telekinesis sent debris flying.

You ducked behind a large pole of concrete, peeking out at the attackers behind you. “Alchemy, think you can get to the data room and get what we came for?” Hank asked over comms, as he and Logan fought a group of attackers.

You took a deep breath and peeked out at the attackers. "I’ll do my best, Hank," you responded, scanning for a clear path to the data room. The explosions and gunfire made it difficult to focus, but you knew you had to move.

“Cover her!” Logan’s voice barked out, and you felt a small surge of determination. He was counting on you. The team was counting on you. It was almost too much pressure to bear.

Ororo and Jean moved to provide cover as you darted toward the entrance of the data room. You manipulated the chemicals in the air around you, creating a thick fog to obscure the attackers' vision, but it wouldn’t last long.

You slipped into the room and immediately went to work on the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. The download started, but it was slow, and you could hear the chaos outside intensifying.

“Hurry it up, Alchemy!” Scott’s voice came over the comms, tension clear in his tone.

“Almost there,” you muttered, eyes glued to the screen. The progress bar crept forward, painfully slow. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting an attacker to burst through the door at any moment.

A loud crash echoed through the room as part of the hallway imploded, sending dust and debris flying. You ducked, covering your head with your arms as the force of the blast knocked you off balance. The data was still downloading—just a few more seconds. But the chaos outside was getting worse.

"Y/N!" Logan's voice crackled through the comms, barely audible over the noise. "Get out of there, now!"

"Almost done!" you yelled back, heart pounding. The progress bar was at 95%. You just needed a little more time.

Another explosion rocked the compound, and you heard Logan shout something to the others. You could hear gunfire and the clash of metal against metal as the team fought off the attackers. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Got it!" you exclaimed as the download completed. You yanked the USB drive from the computer and turned to make your escape. You entered the open area where the rest of the team was fighting, just as part of the ceiling fell. Instinctively, you raised your hands and quickly converted the falling cement into water, which drenched you from head to toe.

You grimaced, pushing your wet hair from your face, but there was no time to focus on the discomfort. The fight was still raging, and Logan’s voice crackled over the comms again, "Princess, get out of there. Now."

“On my way!” you shouted, breaking into a sprint to rejoin the team. You dodged debris, your heartbeat in your ears, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As you rounded the corner, Scott called out through comms, “everyone get dow- ”

Before you could react or shield yourself, a blast came from all around you, an explosion of some kind. You watched as Logan tackled Jean to the ground, shielding her. It was instinctual, he was only protecting a teammate, and Jean was the closest one to him. At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You hit the ground hard, your body skidding across the concrete before colliding with a pile of debris. Pain exploded in your side as you groaned, gasping for breath. Dazed, you tried to push yourself up, but your vision swam.

Your hand came down to your side, fingers grazing the sticky warmth on your glove. It wasn’t the water from earlier—you knew that now. The sharp pain spreading through your body confirmed it. You blinked, vision blurring for a second, but your focus quickly snapped back as your instincts kicked in.

"Princess, come in! Y/N!" Logan’s voice crackled over the comms, but it sounded distant, like he was yelling from the other side of a tunnel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, struggling to push yourself to your feet. Your side screamed in protest, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You couldn’t afford to be down for long. Not when everything around you was falling apart.

You looked up to see Logan pulling Jean to her feet, his eyes scanning the battlefield before locking onto you. For a split second, his eyes widened, and then his expression darkened.

“Stay where you are,” Logan barked, already moving toward you, cutting through the debris and chaos like a force of nature. His claws were out, gleaming even in the dim light, but it wasn’t the enemies he was focused on. It was you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the words felt weaker this time. The pain was growing worse, and you stumbled as you tried to take a step forward.

Logan was in front of you in an instant, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall. “You’re not fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He looked down at your side, and his lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” you lied, even as the pain in your side flared again, making it harder to breathe. You tried to step back, to shake off his hands, but Logan wouldn’t let you move.

“You are not fine,” Logan repeated, his eyes dark as they focused on the piece of metal lodged in your side. His hand hovered over it, the blood seeping from the wound making his jaw clench.

“Logan, seriously,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

You tried to brush him off, to act like the sharp, burning pain radiating from your side wasn’t there, but Logan’s hands didn’t move from your shoulders. His grip was firm, almost like he was grounding you.

“Stop lying to me, Princess,” he growled softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the metal in your side. “It’s not nothing. I can smell the blood.”

The way he said it made your face flush, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was worried. It was written all over his face, in the tension of his body, in the way his claws were still out, ready to strike at anything that came near.

“Logan- ” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding. “I’m getting this out.”

He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently holding your waist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine despite the situation. You bit your lip, trying to focus on something- anything- other than the way his hands felt on you.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, glancing up at you. His eyes softened just a bit, as if he was trying to reassure you.

“I’ll be fine,” you muttered, though the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. It wasn’t the pain you were worried about.

Logan gave you a quick nod, then, with a sharp tug, he pulled the metal shard from your side. You bit down on a groan, your vision blurring for a moment as the pain shot through you. The wound was deeper than you’d realized, and the blood quickly soaked through your suit.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, pressing his hand against your side to try and stop the bleeding. “We need to get you back to the jet. You’re losing too much blood.”

“I can handle it,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to stand up straighter. “We still have enemies out there. I’m not leaving the fight.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you aren’t.”

You tried to argue, but the pain flared again, and your vision swam. You stumbled, and Logan caught you easily, pulling you against him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice close to your ear now. “You’re as bad as me.”

“I learned from the best,” you said, trying to force a smile through the pain. But it was hard to keep the act up when your body was screaming at you to lie down, to rest.

Logan’s grip tightened on you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him. His body was solid and warm, and despite the chaos around you, there was something comforting about his presence.

“We’re getting you back to the jet, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not staying out here like this.”

“But- ” you started to protest, but Logan cut you off again.

“No ‘buts,’ princess. You’re hurt. Let the rest of us handle it.”

Before you could argue again, he gently but firmly hoisted you up into his arms. The movement made your side burn, but you were too stunned by the fact that Logan was carrying you to care.

“Logan, put me down,” you said, your face heating up in embarrassment. “I can walk.”

“Not happening,” he grunted, his arms strong and steady around you. “You can yell at me later if you want. Right now, we’re getting you patched up.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. His face was set in that familiar scowl, but there was something else in his eyes. Concern? Maybe even fear?

“Logan, I’m fine,” you tried again, but your voice was weaker this time. The truth was, you were exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he carried you through the debris and chaos. You caught sight of Ororo and Scott still fighting off the last of the enemies, and Jean was using her telekinesis to hold back another explosion.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jean’s voice cut through the noise, her eyes widening as she saw you in Logan’s arms.

“She’s hurt,” Logan said, not stopping as he headed for the jet. “I’m getting her out of here.”

Jean looked like she wanted to protest, but she gave a quick nod, her focus shifting back to the battle. “Go. We’ll finish up here.”

As Logan carried you back to the Blackbird, you couldn’t help but glance up at him again. His face was still set in that determined, protective expression, and your heart did another flip.

This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something else between you two, something you had been too scared to admit to yourself. But now, with Logan holding you close, the weight of his concern for you pressing down on your heart, it was impossible to ignore.

So, for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of him around you, lingering in it for as long as you could. Because you knew this is the closest you were ever going to get to him holding you like he cared.

---

You blinked, hearing muffled arguing coming from outside the medbay, Jean coming over to your side. “Hey, there. You’ve been out for a day.”

“A day?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“You sustained significant blood loss, but luckily the metal didn’t hit any organs, or it would be a much different story,” Jean said gently, her eyes watching you with concern.

You blinked a few times, your head still foggy from the whole ordeal. “A day? I’ve been out for a day?”

Jean nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “You’re tougher than you think, Y/N. You just need to rest.”

You sighed, glancing around the medbay. The arguing from outside caught your attention again. Jean seemed to notice it too, her expression turning slightly more serious.

“Logan’s been a little... on edge since you were brought back,” she said carefully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Logan. You tried not to let it show, but you’d always been bad at hiding your feelings. Jean gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. He just- well, you know Logan.”

You chuckled softly, though it hurt to do so. “Yeah, I know Logan.”

Jean gave you a sympathetic look, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “He’s been worried. More than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “More than usual?”

Jean nodded. “You know how he gets. All gruff and ‘I don’t care,’ but it’s just a front. He was pacing outside the medbay the entire time we were patching you up.”

The idea of Logan pacing, stressed about you, felt both strange and oddly comforting. It was hard to imagine him being that concerned over anyone—let alone you.

The door to the medbay creaked open, and Logan’s familiar, rugged form stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was angry. And worried.

Jean gave you a quick smile and a soft pat on your arm before standing. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Jean left, the room fell into an awkward silence. Logan stood by the door for a moment, arms crossed, not moving. His eyes scanned you, probably taking in the bandages, the way you were still propped up on the medbay bed, looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” you said quietly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Logan muttered, walking over to your bed with heavy steps. He didn’t sit, just loomed at the foot of the bed, arms still crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked up at him, trying to push past the discomfort. “I’m fine, really. Jean said I’m tougher than I think.”

“Yeah, and you’re also reckless,” Logan shot back, his voice rough. “You almost got yourself killed out there, Princess.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, and you looked away, fiddling with the blanket. You liked it when he called you that, but at the same time it almost felt like he still saw you as a kid. “I didn’t mean to. I was just doing my job.”

Logan let out a sharp breath, and for a second, you thought he was going to start yelling at you. Instead, he sighed and finally sat down on the chair next to your bed. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired.

“I know you were doing your job,” Logan said, his voice quieter now. “But you gotta be more careful. I thought—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor. “I thought I lost you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, like the very idea of you being gone was unbearable to him. You swallowed, unsure of what to say. You’d never seen Logan like this—so raw, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Logan glanced up at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “You scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent a familiar warmth through your chest, but this time it wasn’t just the usual flustered feeling. There was something more behind it, something deeper that you’d never allowed yourself to believe was possible.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeated, feeling small under his gaze. “I just... I wanted to do my part.”

Logan’s expression softened even more, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I get that. You’re tough, Princess. But you’re also important. To the team... and to me.”

You blinked, your heart pounding. Did he just say that? Did Logan—Logan, of all people—just admit you were important to him? Your mind was racing, trying to process what he meant, but before you could say anything, Logan stood up abruptly, like he regretted letting those words slip.

“You need rest,” he said, his voice gruff again as he turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Logan left the medbay, leaving you alone with the beeping machines.

---

A few days later you were released from the medbay and told to take it easy by Jean. Which you took to heart, perhaps a little too much.

You stayed in your room, only leaving at abnormal times to get food and water since you didn’t want to run into Logan. After all, you were young, practically a child to him, and all you wanted was for your crush on him to fade away like so many others did before.

That’s what you kept telling yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to handle. Your crush on Logan had always been this quiet thing, something you never intended to act on. But now, after everything, it felt like it had grown louder, more noticeable. And that scared you.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed, idly fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Maybe you just needed to... talk to him. Be normal again. You’d been friends before, hadn’t you? It wasn’t like he knew how you felt, anyway.

Just as you were considering going for a walk to clear your head, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

“Y/N?” Ororo’s voice came from the other side, soft but steady. “You in there?”

You quickly got up, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Ororo stood there, arms crossed, giving you that look—like she knew exactly what was going on with you. It was unnerving, how she always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone emotionally.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at nonchalance. “You’ve been hiding.”

You blinked. “I haven’t been hiding.”

Ororo gave you a look. “Please. I haven’t seen you at meal times, and Logan’s been extra grumpy. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

You felt your face heat up. “Logan’s grumpy all the time.”

“He’s more grumpy than usual,” Ororo said, stepping into your room and closing the door behind her. “He’s been asking around. Wants to know why you’re avoiding him.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “He said that?”

Ororo nodded, leaning against your desk. “He won’t admit it’s bothering him, but it is. What’s going on?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat back down on the bed. “I just... I don’t know, okay? Things got weird after the mission, and I needed space.”

“Logan didn’t do anything wrong,” Ororo pointed out gently.

“I know,” you mumbled. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Ororo tilted her head, studying you for a moment before sitting beside you on the bed. “You’re worried about how he sees you, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I mean, kinda of. He doesn’t see me in the way I see him, y’know?”

Ororo gave you a knowing look, her lips quirking up slightly. "And how do you see him?"

You hesitated, feeling your face heat up again. "I... I don’t know. It's just... he’s Logan. He’s been through so much, seen so much, and I’m just… me. The kid who got lucky with mutant powers and likes chemistry too much."

Ororo smiled gently, shaking her head. "You’re selling yourself short, Y/N. You're a lot more than that. And Logan sees it."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Ororo held up a hand. "I’m not saying he knows exactly what he's feeling, but he's not as oblivious as you think. And trust me, the way he’s been acting lately, it’s clear you’re important to him."

You sighed, flopping back on the bed. "Maybe, but it’s not like that. It can’t be. He’s Logan—he doesn’t do the whole feelings thing."

Ororo chuckled softly. "You’d be surprised. He’s more in tune with his feelings than he lets on. He’s just… not used to showing them."

You frowned up at the ceiling. "Then why does it feel like I’m the only one getting all messed up over this?"

Ororo stood up, crossing her arms as she looked down at you. "Because you’re thinking too much, Alchemy. Maybe you should try talking to him instead of hiding."

"I’m not hiding!" you protested weakly.

"Uh-huh," Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, hiding or not, he’s not going to let this go. Logan’s stubborn like that."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "Great. That’s exactly what I need."

Ororo chuckled again. "Just… talk to him. It might help. You can’t avoid him forever."

You sighed, peeking out from under the pillow. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it."

Ororo smiled softly before heading toward the door. "Good. And Y/N?"

You looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Give yourself a little more credit," Ororo said gently. "You’re not just some kid to him. He cares about you. Maybe more than either of you realizes."

Before you could respond, she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the knot of nervousness growing in your stomach.

---

The next day, you were wandering through the mansion’s empty halls after lunch. You weren’t hiding per se, but you were definitely avoiding a certain someone. Ororo’s words kept echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. Talking to Logan was probably the only way to clear this weird tension between you, but the thought of actually doing it made you want to curl up and disappear.

As you turned a corner, lost in thought, you almost walked straight into him.

"Whoa, easy there, Princess," Logan’s gruff voice startled you as he steadied you with a hand on your arm. "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I-I wasn’t—uh, just wandering."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but amused. "You’ve been ‘just wandering’ a lot lately."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. This was it. The moment you’d been dreading. He was right here, and there was no avoiding him now.

Logan sighed, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. "You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart."

There it was. The thing you’d been trying to dodge. Your heart raced, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "I haven’t been avoiding you."

Logan huffed, his expression softening a little. "I ain’t stupid, Y/N. You haven’t been around much since the mission. What’s goin’ on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms start to sweat. "It’s nothing. I just... needed some space. That’s all."

Logan narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you. "Space from me?"

You looked down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. "Not exactly. I just... things got a little weird, okay?"

"Weird how?" Logan’s voice was still rough, but there was a hint of something gentler beneath it. Concern, maybe?

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. How were you supposed to explain that the reason you’d been avoiding him was because your stupid crush had spiraled into something much more confusing and intense? You couldn’t just blurt that out. Could you?

Logan’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, and he took a step closer, his voice low. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you glanced up at him. He was so close now, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was making it hard to think straight.

"I just... I didn’t want to make things awkward between us," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing. "Why would things be awkward?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Because I... I care about you, Logan. A lot. And I know you don’t feel the same way because you still like Jean- ”

Logan's frown deepened, and he shook his head almost immediately. "Jean? What’re you talkin’ about?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you bit your lip, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I mean, I just assumed... everyone knows you used to have feelings for her, and it’s fine, really. I get it. I just didn’t want to make things weird by—"

"Y/N," Logan cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours. "I ain’t thinkin’ about Jean like that anymore."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You’re not?"

Logan shook his head again, a hint of frustration slipping through. "No, sweetheart. That’s done with. It’s been done with for a while."

Your mind raced, trying to process what he was saying. If he wasn’t still hung up on Jean, then... What did that mean? Why had he been acting so tense around you?

"Then why have you been so... distant?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "You’ve been acting weird too, Logan. It’s not just me."

Logan looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare sign of discomfort from him. When he spoke again, his voice was a little gruffer. "I’ve been... tryin’ to figure some stuff out, alright?"

"Figure what out?" you pressed gently, taking a step closer to him now. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, but you didn’t back down. "Logan, just talk to me."

He sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a second, you saw something vulnerable flash through his expression—something raw. He was quiet for a beat before he finally spoke.

"After that mission," he said slowly, his voice low, "when I saw you get hurt... somethin’ in me snapped. I couldn’t... I couldn’t handle it, Y/N. The thought of losin’ you like that—" He broke off, his jaw tightening, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. "I’ve been through a lotta shit in my life. Seen people come and go. But you? The idea of you bein’ gone—it messed me up more than I thought it would."

You stood there, staring at him, trying to absorb what he was saying. He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. This was more than that.

"Logan..." you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. "I didn’t know you—"

"I didn’t know it either," he interrupted, his voice rough but sincere. "I didn’t know I felt like this ‘til it hit me. I care about you, Princess. More than I care to admit, sometimes. And I ain’t exactly good at this... feelings thing, y’know that."

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you were convinced you’d misheard him. Logan cared about you? Like that? It felt surreal.

"You... you care about me?" you asked cautiously, your voice small.

Logan huffed, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. "Hell yeah, I do. I’ve been tryin’ to push it down for a while now, but it ain’t workin’. Not anymore."

You stared at him in disbelief, your pulse racing. "But... I’m just—"

"Don’t even start with that ‘I’m just me’ bullshit," Logan cut you off again, his tone more serious. "You ain’t ‘just’ anything, Y/N. You’re smart, tough as nails, and you’ve got a good heart. You matter to me. And not in some ‘kid sister’ kinda way either, if that’s what you’re thinkin’."

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart skipped a beat. He was being so direct, so honest, and it left you completely speechless.

Logan shifted a little closer, his gaze softening even more as he looked down at you. "I don’t know when it happened, but it did. You got under my skin, sweetheart. And as much as I tried to ignore it... I can’t."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. This was really happening. Logan—gruff, stoic Logan—was telling you that he had feelings for you. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like a kid around him. You felt like someone who mattered, someone he saw.

"I..." you started, your voice shaking a little. "I didn’t think you’d ever... I mean, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, but I just figured—"

Logan chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek gently. The touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You figured wrong, Princess."

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t just teasing or friendly banter. It was something deeper, something real. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was just… I don’t know, bothering you or something.”

Logan’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the sincerity in them, the raw emotion he wasn’t hiding anymore. “You ain’t a bother, sweetheart. Far from it. And if I’ve been actin’ like I don’t care, that’s on me. But I do care. A lot.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch, his words—it was all too much, too overwhelming. You’d been crushing on Logan for what felt like forever, and now he was standing here, telling you he felt the same way. It didn’t feel real.

“Logan, I…” You started, but your words trailed off as his hand slid down to your neck, his rough palm warm against your skin. The way he was looking at you, the intensity in his gaze, made it impossible to think straight.

“Stop thinkin’ so hard,” Logan murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just… be here. With me.”

Your heart pounded as you met his eyes, your stomach doing flips. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale. “Okay.”

For a moment, everything felt like it slowed down—the air between you humming with tension. Logan leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, and you could feel his breath warm against your lips. It felt like time had stopped, like nothing else in the world mattered but this moment.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his.

Logan responded instantly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he kissed you with a kind of intensity that made your knees weak. It wasn’t slow or hesitant—it was rough, urgent, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as you melted into him. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and the way he kissed you sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. It was everything you’d imagined and more.

Logan’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the strength in him, the raw power that he usually kept under tight control, but there was also a tenderness in the way he touched you, like he was afraid of hurting you.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him—in the way he tasted, the way he smelled like leather and pine, the way his hands moved over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Logan’s hands were still on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You really are somethin’, Princess.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little dizzy from the kiss, from everything. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wolverine.”

Logan smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “Could’ve told me sooner, y’know. Saved me a lotta trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you could’ve said something too. You had me thinking I was crazy this whole time.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

You bit your lip, still trying to process everything. You’d kissed Logan. Actually kissed him. And he’d kissed you back. It felt like a dream, like any second now you were going to wake up and realize none of this had happened.

But it had. He was still here, his arms around you, his eyes on you, his lips still tingling from the kiss. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel nervous or uncertain around him. You felt… right.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic

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eupheme · 3 months ago

Text

— drive me crazy

[part ii of trouble will find me] | [masterlist]

bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader

rated e - 4.6k

tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, multiple pov, flirting, forbidden relationship, masturbation, light panty kink, poor professional relationships, making out, car oral (m) sex, come swallowing

It’s a bad idea to get involved with your bodyguard, you both know that. But you certainly don’t care, not after knowing how he feels inside you. Leaving you wanting more.

And with the way he watches you, you think Logan must feel the same. So when an opportunity arises where you’re left alone in the limo - you can’t help nudging at him, once more.

It’s worth the extra ten minutes of discomfort to see the shocked look on your face when he leaves you at your door.

The held breath that turns into a pout when he leans close, only to open the handle behind you. A tilt of his head - a silent command that you enter.

You move past the threshold - only for your frown to deepen, when he lingers in the doorway.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” It’s soft, and he ignores the way it makes his cock twitch.

Logan’s arms cross over his chest, a lift of his brow.

“Got what you wanted, didn’t you?” He points out, “Said you’d listen.”

Your mouth drops open in indignation and for a brief moment, he imagines what you offered him.

Imagines slipping his fingers against your tongue again - the warm and wet suck, the press of lips that he now knows are so fucking soft.

“I wanted you.”

He almost expects you to stamp your foot.

“Already told you, sweetheart.” Logan steps back, fingers curling around the knob. The door swinging shut, with the murmur of his voice, “‘s not a good idea.”

Not looking back, as he takes the path to his room.

Not about to admit that you’ve always had him.

Logan’s barely kicked off his boots, flopped down onto the bed before the goddamn phone is ringing.

He debates not answering it - something far more pressing on his mind. But he knows it will only end with a knock on his door, and an even greater inconvenience.

“Yes?” It’s barked into the receiver.

Cradled against his ear, as a hand snakes down to palm himself. Fingers yanking at the silver buckle, loosening his belt.

A sharp voice answers, not bothering with a greeting.

They both know who it is.

“Late night. Shouldn’t you be back already?”

Logan fucking hates the check-ins. Another notch tightening in the collar, already wound around his throat.

“She felt like staying out.” It’s gritted out - just barely managing to filter out the heavy edge of annoyance.

“It’s your job to keep an eye on her-”

Bodyguard. Not a babysitter.

It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. His hand fishing into his pocket instead - tugging out the lace as your father rambles on about the importance of an early morning for whatever bullshit breakfast you’re getting dragged off to tomorrow.

An inhale, as he presses your panties against his nose. His groan near-silent, mind wandering back to the feeling of you coming around his fingers.

“-Logan. You listening?”

He bites back the growl, “Yes, sir. Early start tomorrow.”

The honorific is acid on his tongue - but if it gets your pathetic excuse of a father off the phone, he’ll endure it.

Only needs a thousand more bucks to get his bike out of the impound. A couple more to make the repairs and settle his debt - and then he is out of there.

Logan slams the receiver down the second he’s dismissed. A lift of his hips, shoving down his jeans. Not bothering to fully kick them off - he’ll do that later.

Too focused on the ache. A rumbled-out groan when his hand wraps around his cock, a rough thumb smearing the precum across the tip.

Inhaling you again, as he starts to stroke. It surrounds him, the soft musk that clings to the fabric. To his palm, where to you leaked against his skin - a low jolt in his belly, as he finally takes care of himself.

A sweep of his tongue against the gusset. It’s fucking filthy - how he laps at your arousal like a dog, but no one has to fucking know but him.

Hips rocking up to match the jerk of his fist. It’s all too dry. Impossible to imagine the soft clutch of your cunt when all he has is the calloused texture of his palm.

How wet you were, and he barely had even touched you. How you practically begged for him to fuck you, offered to get on your pretty little knees for him.

Logan’s breath hitches, air inhaled through clenched teeth. Only a heartbeat passing before he’s wrapping the scrap of lace around his cock.

Smearing himself with spit and your slick. Teeth bared as his fist curls around the head - on another night, he’d be annoyed about how fucking close he is already.

That it’s a little bit pathetic, what he’s doing.

But right now, he’s only thinking about you.

Picturing the way he’d fit in your mouth, how your lips would wrap around him. The pinch of your eyes as you struggle to take him - he knows you’d try.

That you love a challenge, and it only makes his cock jump in his hand.

Doing this so he doesn’t stomp right down the hall, shoulder your door open. Fuck you into the mattress, hard enough that he’d see your legs wobbling the next day.

Doesn’t need the mess in his life, shit is complicated enough as is. Just needs to keep his dick in his pants long enough to get his bike fixed, and get out of here.

Doesn’t need to stir things up by fucking the bosses daughter, either. He’d endure what was thrown at him, he always had, but to take on a mob family just for a girl-

The pressure mounts, coiling tight. His eyes half-lidded, lips parted as the air hissed between his teeth.

Again, and again. His mind fixed on You, you, you - and then he’s there - something ragged caught in his throat as he spills with a grunt against the lace. Soaking the fabric with each pump of his fist, wringing out his orgasm as it scorches through him.

Just barely able to hold back the sharp poke of bones between his knuckles, threatening to tear through skin.

Leaving him panting, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. His conviction leaches from him, because Logan is now certain of one thing - as his chest heaves.

Your underwear is a mess - the fabric stained dark, where he’s already soaking in.

He’s fucked.

It’s been four days of Logan doing everything to avoid being alone with you - all while being closer than he’s ever been.

Conversations are short. Gritted out, all while the familiar weight of his gaze still settles on you. Logan’s constant steady presence as the days pass, hip cocked as he watches from the corner of a room.

That mark between his brow deepening, as if he’s trying to settle something in his mind.

It’s maddening.

How he’s trying to convince himself of what he told you. Betrayed by the moments when you come together. A hand at your back to guide you through the door in front of him, his palm dipping low.

The jolt that rocks through you, an inhale that surely he must hear, when he passes you something in the dining room that you couldn’t quite reach - fingers brushing.

Orbiting around each other, neither one quite daring to move first.

The hunger that simmers, when his eyes are not hidden away.

Even now you can feel them.

Dark eyes behind gold-tinted sunglasses. A lean as he waits - the buttons on his dress shirt popped, thighs spread as he fills the corner of the bench in the foyer.

Could swear you see them narrow, when you glance his way. Half-way across the room, a distance that’s become familiar when the house is quiet.

Unable to let your eyes dip, for just a second. Down to linger at the dark shadow of hair at his chest, and then to the tight pull of his trousers.

The edges of his lips curl, when he catches you. A lift of his hips, as his thighs inch wider.

Impossible.

A sniff, as you pivot - facing away from him.

It’s not that he turned you down. Or that he seems set on taunting you.

And you’re not pouting - just licking your wounds.

You know it’s a bad idea. Just for once - you find yourself not caring. Stuck in a loop, as you try to figure out if he thinks the same.

What this game he’s playing means.

A little shake of your head to clear your thoughts - there’s Better things to think about, after all.

Things definitely more important than the way his mouth felt on yours. The way his fingers stretched you out - how full he made you feel.

How you haven’t been able to come close, with your own. Working between your thighs, only to feel a weak echo compared to tremor that wracked through your core at his touch.

It’s definitely not what you’re thinking about now - eyes drifting over the program for tonight’s dinner. Another charity event, where you’ll be paraded in front of countless socialites and politicians.

All in the pocket of your family. In your father’s.

The apple of his eye. Another reminder of a good daughter you are, to support him like this.

A leg jiggling as you wait, one crossed over the other. Waiting for your driver, but as time ticks by, it becomes evident that Johnny seems nowhere to be found.

The jiggle becomes a tap of your foot. Impatience lacing through you, adding to the keyed-up feelings you’ve carried since the club.

A hallway door opens - there’s a hushed murmur, as one of your father’s men greets Logan.

You let yourself look, while he’s distracted. A brief reprieve, letting yourself want.

He looks good. The shirt pulls tight across his chest. A jacket laid out on the bench beside him, a tie jammed into the pocket. Cleans up nice, and you have to remind yourself that he’s not doing this for you.

Just part of the job.

Quick to bury yourself in your notes again, when he stretches - crossing the room.

“Come on.” His head tilts, expression hidden behind the glasses, “I’m driving you.”

You stand, but your feet stay rooted in place, “Where’s Johnny?”

Logan sighs, hands on his hips, “Listen, kid. Do you want a ride or what?”

That gets you moving. Crossing the last few steps in front of him, your hands mirroring Logan’s as you peer up at him.

“Kid? What happened to honey?” You coo, as your head tilts, “Or baby?”

His jaw works, tongue trapped between the sharp edge of his teeth. A scowl that’s visible even through the frame of his glasses.

“Just get in the fucking car.”

The ride is short, when Logan’s driving. A short temper and a lead foot do a lot in the busy New York traffic.

You end up early, the limo idling in the parking garage beneath the hotel. Tucked away in a back corner as Logan argues with one of the attendants - or you assume, with the way his lips pull back over his teeth.

The sharp gesture of his hands, one lifting to rake through his hair, messing up the tufts.

Before he opens the door, leaning against it.

It’s unfair the way it frames him - shins to chest, your head turning so you don’t stare.

“They’re still getting set up.” Logan growls, “Guess we’re early. Said they need another thirty minutes, at least. Maybe an hour.”

He leans then, a lift of his brow as he waits for your call.

You can think of a lot of ways to pass the time. But you’re not about to voice any to him.

Going elsewhere - a cafe, even back home - feels pointless. Not enough time to do anything meaningful, not with how you’re already dressed so nicely for the dinner - an elegant dress, heeled shoes. Makeup and hair done just the way you like it.

Your shoulder lifts. “I’m fine waiting.”

Logan fixes you with a long look, as you drag out your bag - root through it for your planner. Making notes as the door closes.

Muffled conversation, before he’s climbing back into the driver’s seat.

Your eyes meet twice in the rearview mirror, as the radio plays, winding through sounds. Stevie Nicks, The Stones, Elton John.

The drum of his fingers against the steering wheel, to a tune that only he can hear. Logan’s cigar and lighter are still tucked in the back console, from the last time you were in the limo.

If he wants it, he can come get it himself.

But he has more willpower than you, even if his patience wears thin. The music bumped up, when one of your legs crossed over the other.

Inches of fabric tugged up at your thigh, baring skin.

That weight settles over you again, though his head does not turn your way.

Eventually - you cannot help but to voice the question you’ve been carrying. To slice through the silence and tension, thick in the air.

“Are you going to give them back?”

That gets his attention - the slightest turn of his head. The flicker of an eye that dips across your legs, so quickly you almost miss it.

“Give what back?” He rasps, and your eyes roll.

“You know what, Logan.”

There’s the slight narrowing of his eyes, the barest hint of a smirk, “Mm. Don’t think I do, princess.”

The teasing nickname sinks into your skin, curling in your belly. He’s going to make you say it - spell it out for him.

You don’t have the same level of bravado bolstered by soft hum of alcohol in your veins, but you still know that something changed, that night in the club.

Your teeth grit, but you hold his gaze, “My panties.”

“That’s what you call those?” His eyebrow arches - a hint of a dimple, “Wasn’t much there, sweetheart.”

The low husk of his voice weaves through you, sending your nerves alight. Encouraged by the back-and-forth volley - how he shifts, granting you his full profile.

“Well, they’re my favorite,” You push - arms crossing just beneath your chest, and you swear his eyes dip again, “What do you need them for, anyways?”

His laugh fills the space - rough and low as it drifts back to you.

“Your favorite, huh?” The peek of his tongue between his teeth - avoiding your question, “You’re telling me that’s what you wear under all those pretty dresses?”

For a long moment, you hold his gaze.

A shift of your hips, as your legs uncross. Letting your knees spread - thighs falling open for the briefest second.

Letting him have a peek at the red silk beneath, before you primly cross your ankles, tucking them against the seat. Your voice pitching low, sweet as honey.

“Come back here and find out.”

His jaw ticks.

For a moment, you think you’ve pushed too far. A lead weight left behind, as the embers in your belly start to snuff out.

But then, there’s the gritted out “fuck it”, as he moves.

The car goes silent, as his keys slip from the ignition. The creak of the car door - it feels like it takes him an age to cross the steps from the driver’s seat, back to you.

Anticipation palpable, as the door opens. As he folds himself into the backseat - so different than the times before.

Now, he crowds your space - caging you in. Making up for the days he’s spent apart.

Despite the seats in front you of the space feels small with him in it, your pulse spiking as the door is tugged shut behind him.

A heartbeat passes, before you’re meeting him - closing the space. His back pressed against the blue velvet as his hands find your waist, guiding you to him.

Your own tugging at the fabric of your dress - rucking it up to your thighs so you can straddle him. Shins pressing into the seat, as you press down flush against him.

There’s the click of the door lock, before his mouth tips to yours. A rough sound in his throat as you pick up where you left off - your hands smoothing over the soft fabric of his dress shirt, up to his shoulders.

His slipping from your waist down to your ass. Palming you, tugging you closer until your core rocks against the front of his jeans.

A hand slipping to cup the back of your head. Keeping you close as a tongue licks across your lower lip, then further when you part. Swallowing your moan as heat floods through you, as you let him deepen the kiss.

As you feel how he stiffens beneath you, trousers pulling tight as your core nudges against the thick curve.

“You need it that bad, baby?” Logan rasps, as you inhale a breath, “Makin’ it really fucking hard to do my job.”

Chasing your mouth, bringing it back to his. It makes you smile, the way he groans when you grind down.

“Supposed to be keeping an eye on me,” You coo, “Doesn’t this make it easier?”

There’s an inhaled breath between clenched teeth, “Not when I’m too busy looking at you. Driving me crazy, sweetheart.”

Fingers trace against your bare thighs. Beneath the hem of your dress as you moan. The pad of his thumb ghosting against your slit again, low hum as you whine his name.

Letting your hands wander. Tracing over the bulge in his pants. Your palm flattening against him, fingers mapping the curves.

He growls out a soft warning, “Don’t start what you can’t finish, princess.”

The rough tone of his voice makes you shiver, your fingers flexing, “Should be saying that to you.”

There’s the peek of his teeth as he grins, voice pitching lower.

“Just trying to warn you, honey.” He croons, “I'm the best there is at what I do, and what I do best isn't very nice.”

Your mouth finds his jaw, as your fingernails tap against the silver buckle, “I know. Why do you think my father hired you?”

He makes a rough noise in his throat, when you tug at his shirt, fingers skating against the bare skin beneath.

“That what this about?” There’s a sharp edge to his voice now, as your eyes flick back up, “You tryin’ to get back at daddy?”

That makes you scowl. Fingers stilling as your eyebrow arches - pushing yourself back so you can fix him with a look, “What do you think?”

His lips are parted, breath heavy. Those hazel eyes darkened with lust, as he traces the edge of your panties. Slipping beneath soaked-through fabric, tracing against your slick folds.

“No,” He rasps, “She’s beggin’ for it. Isn’t that right?”

A smirk that turns sharp, as your lips press to his. Mumbled against your mouth, “Know this is all for me.”

“For you.” You agree, as he circles your clit. A slow pressure of his fingers, as your hips cant into his touch.

Need pulses inside you, low in your belly. That urge to taste him battling with the desire to rut against his fingers. See if he’ll give you more, like last time.

All too aware of the minutes that tick down. That you’re running on borrowed time, not enough left to do everything you want.

“Don’t tease, Logan.” You whine, when he keeps up the slow swipe against your skin.

“Tease?” He laughs, tongue peeking out against his lips, “You were the one trying to take someone home. Did you already forget?”

“S not how it went',” You pant, “I remember telling you I didn’t want him.”

He hums, eyes flicking down to the wet peek of your pussy, “Mm, and I remember how sweet you felt coming around my fingers.”

“That, too,” Your breath hitches, “And I remember saying I’d get on my knees for you.”

“Is that what you want?” Logan’s eyes darken, “Still want a taste, baby?”

There’s a whine caught between your teeth. Nodding, as you carefully slip off of his lap and down to the floor, arranging your skirts around you - settling between thighs that inch wider.

Watching the way his hand drops to palms himself, the rough “fuck” that slips from him that sends your heart racing.

Logan’s always been a big man, but he looks massive when you’re on your knees. The carpet scratches against your shins as you shift - eyes already greedy, fixed on the thick curve you had rubbed yourself on.

Watching the slow flex of his fingers - the glint of silver on his belt buckle.

The slow unzipping of his trousers, and you swear your mouth waters as all that skin comes into view. Nothing beneath but the dark trail of hair.

And for the briefest second your eyes flicker out the tinted windows. An unconscious check towards the door set into the parking garage wall, checking before you allow yourself this.

“Hey. You’ve got time, baby.” He coos - bringing you back, “I’ll keep watch. Keep your eyes right here for me.”

And they do - dropping back down without thought.

His cock still trapped beneath the fabric, but you can see the vein that travels down from his abdomen, the heavy curve that finally springs free when he lifts his hips.

You can barely bite back the moan of want, your eyes widening. He felt thick beneath your palm but it’s nothing compared to now. The heavy bob of his cock - velvet soft skin that flushes at the glossy tip.

How his fingers curl around, the lazy flick of his wrist as you shift in front of him. The slight sway as your head follows, a deep flutter in your thoughts as you wonder just how much you’ll be able to take.

Underestimating, in your daydreams. Your lips eagerly parting, as you lean forward.

His tongue clicks.

“Greedy girl.” Logan coos, “Hold on. Thought you said you wanted me to show you.”

At your moan he shifts, thighs spreading. Voice pitching low.

“Open.”

Your head tilts - offering your mouth, letting your tongue rest against your teeth.

Letting him feed his cock to you - tasting the salt that leaks from the head, when it taps against your lip. The low groan that shoots right through you, as he inches into your mouth.

“That’s it.” He husks, “You can take it.”

Your eyes are fixed on his as your jaw opens wider, as he sinks further inside. Fingernails biting into your palms as you try to listen.

“Pretty fuckin’ mouth,” Logan pants, “Good girl.”

A stifled groan, as your head bobs. The eye contact breaking as yours flutter shut, lips closing around him as you start to suck.

You can hear each of his breaths like this, in the quiet car. Rough murmurs of something sweet, held back between clenched teeth.

“Keep going, sweetheart.” He coaxes, thick fingers leaving marks in the velvet - grooves that your own will trace later, on the way home.

Resisting the urge to bury them in your hair, to urge you down the rest of the way. To palm at your tits, wrinkling the pretty fabric.

Letting you explore on your own. Letting him slip down your throat until tears prick in your eyes.

That thin sense of the outside world still keeps you tethered. The mutual knowledge that he can’t use you like you’d both like - until spit drips down your chin, messy and slick, from where it pools on your tongue.

You’re content to trace each vein, instead. To feel the weight as you suck - eyes opening to gauge his expression when your hands finally slip up.

Once bracing on a thigh, the other curling around his base. Stroking what doesn’t quite fit, as he sucks air in through his teeth.

He’s handsome, always. Beautiful like this - eyes burning in the beam of vapor lamp light that streaks through. The pinch of his furrowed brow, but so unlike you’ve seen before.

Looks like he wants to devour you. To tug you up to his lap, bury himself in your wet cunt instead.

You wish he would - another squirm as your thighs press together.

“Feels so good, baby.” Logan rasps. There’s a shallow lift of his hips now. Chasing the rhythm of your hand, the soft suck of your mouth.

The muscles in his thigh flexing beneath your palm, filth slipping from him as he chases the building pressure in his belly.

“God, I want to fuck you,” It’s growled out, and you whine with want, “Been dreaming about tasting you again.”

Again. The taste of your slick on his fingers, pressing against your tongue as he kissed you. An image of his face between your thighs sends a dull throb of need, as you moan around him.

Logan inhales, as you start to speed up, “Know you need it, honey. Bet you’re soaked through, aren’t you?”

Another whine buzzes around his cock, as he groans, “Take care of you tonight. I’ll, fuck-”

His fingers nudge yours out of the way, fisting around his cock. The other catching your chin, easing you off him. A string of spit connecting you, until it breaks.

“Shit.” He hisses out, as the tip bobs against your parted lips, “Keep just like that, princess.”

Logan’s thumb presses at your chin, as if there’s anything that would make your move.

Too focused on the way his eyes glint. Honey-gold in the stream of artificial light. The hiss of breath when your tongue peeks out further.

“Gonna take it all, won’t you?” He husks. Tone almost desperate, “Nice and wide now, don’t wanna mess you up.”

You know he’s thinking about it, you’ve thinking about it as well. Running mascara and a lipstick-smeared mouth.

There’s a rough groan that almost passes as your name, as his hips hitch. Muscles flexing as he spills white ropes across your tongue, with a ragged moan.

“Good fucking girl.”

Your eyes keep on his, as he jerks himself empty. Letting his release pools on your tongue - a soft groan as he shifts, slipping his cock deeper into your mouth.

Eyes finally closing as you suck, his thumb leaving your chin to catch the start of a drop, smearing it across your lip and back between them.

Feeling how you swallow around him. Tongue teasing at his slit, until you’ve taken every drop.

“Fuck, baby.” He breathes.

The tension weighs heavy, as your mouth slides from his.

Logan’s mouth is just beginning to tip towards yours - when there’s the slam of the side door.

A mutually shared expression, as you begin to scramble.

Your time is up.

He stalls for you.

Grilling the head of security for as long as he can - lip curled as he runs through a list of questions, the picture of professional concern.

It’s all bullshit - they don’t know what they’re doing. Not that it matters - he won’t be more than an arms-length away from you for the rest of the night.

His fingers tugging at his tie, knotted quickly and too tightly for comfort. The puff of smoke through his cigar, snatched as he slipped from the backseat.

Unable to help the tilt of his head when you slip from the backseat of the limo - his hand already extended to help you out.

A low throb behind his ribs at the smile you flash his way.

Never would have guessed that his cock was just down your throat, if he hadn’t known better. That you’d taste like him.

All the evidence neatly tucked away. Hair tidied, your dress tugged back into place.

But there’s little things he catches.

A fresh swipe of gloss over your slightly-puffy lips. The color matching the sticky ring around the base of his cock, one that will linger for hours.

Pupils that still are blown wide and dark. The arousal that clings to you like perfume, heady and sweet.

The way your eyes flick over him, hungry. A fleeting second before you’re pulled back into your world - a practiced smile curving your lips.

“Showtime.” You mutter as you take his arm. Following, as he leads you inside, “How do I look?”

The edges of his lips pull up, his voice a low murmur - something just for you to hear.

“Beautiful.”

thank you so much for reading! I keep getting little ideas for them, so I think this is going to be another mini-series (with 4 currently planned parts in total) 💖

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x f!reader

1K notes · View notes

crushmeeren · 8 months ago

Text

Bakugou/Fem Reader/Kirishima

❥ All characters aged up/18+.

Master List Link

❥ Warnings; dirty talk, pussy eating, blowjobs, fingering, squirting, vaginal sex, Eijirou stuffs you ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Don’t be such a pussy. You know you can fucking do it, so do it.” Katsuki isn’t asking you. He’s demanding you. His jaw’s clenched tight and he speaks with a tone that says his patience is running thin.

Unfortunately for him, the harsh pep talk doesn’t quite motivate you the way he wants. You know it’s his way of being encouraging, but his efforts fall flat.

“Fuck off Kat.” It’s hard to speak when you’re panting so heavily. “God! I wish Ei was here,” you hiss crossly, gritting your teeth. Your sweat covered palms slip over your bare knees as you bend in half, desperately gulping down air, heart rate erratic.

Katsuki clicks his tongue behind his teeth, laughing. Which really sounds more like he’s mocking you as he taps his foot impatiently.

Clearly he’s not offended by your nasty comment.

“Why? So he can baby your ass?” He taunts meanly, lifting his chin up to stare down at you. He crosses his arms over his tank top covered chest, sitting up straight on the workout bench across from you as he stretches a leg out in front of himself. You throw an icy glare his way, choosing to ignore the jab for your own peace of mind.

Standing upright, you use the bottom of your muscle tank to wipe off the metric ton of sweat pouring down your face. The scent of your shirt is overwhelming and gross, causing your nose to wrinkle in distaste.

You’ve been at the gym with Katsuki for two hours. Two grueling, lactic acid filled hours.

The gym at Eijirou and Katsuki’s agency is relatively quiet and secluded, with all the equipment you could ever hope for. It’s a perfect place to focus on your lifting without distractions. So naturally, Katsuki woke up deciding today was the mother of all days to work on one rep maxes.

You’re both off work. Ei is out on patrol — so Katsuki can push, bully you into lifting as much weight as he wants. Which Katsuki swears it’s so you can’t run to Eijirou with “big ass doe eyes” and a pout whenever you get tired and want to go home.

So, here you are, stuck with Katsuki. He’s already hit a new PR and you’re working on yours. You’ve failed this weight three times already, and you could put your fist through the wall you’re so pissed off. Your glutes are on fire. Your hamstrings are on fire. Your lower back is on fucking fire.

Still, your boyfriend is ruthless. With his snarky attitude, it doesn’t take long for you to reach your boiling point.

“Kaaaat,” you whine, dragging out his name until he rolls his eyes. “I can’t do this today. Please, I just - I wanna go home. I wanna see Ei.” Tears of frustration start to sting and well up in your eyes and you sniff, adjusting the strap of your lifting belt tighter, avoiding Katsuki’s gaze.

An exasperated albeit fond sigh hits your ears. You take to fiddling with the hem of your stretchy biker shorts, irritated in your own lack of ability.

It sits in your chest like a lead balloon.

The bench protests as Katsuki rises from his seat, but you refuse to meet his gaze. Adamantly staring at a crack in the black mats that make up the floor, shifting from foot to foot.

You listen to his quiet footsteps approaching until suddenly black lifting shoes fill your vision.

Gently, a thumb and forefinger grip your chin. Katsuki tilts your head until you’re meeting his warm yet intense ruby red stare.

You deflate, becoming putty in his hold.

“Baby,” he begins, gruff voice infinitely softer now. “You are going to fucking lift this weight. You’re stronger than you know.” He’s overly confident, as normal.

Your lower lip wobbles, heat creeping up your neck and burrowing into your cheeks.

As infuriating as he can be, he’s no doubt your biggest supporter, fan, etc. Not counting Eijirou.

Katsuki’s unwavering belief in you sends goosebumps crawling up your sweat soaked arms. It ultimately convinces you to try again. You wrap your fingers around the wrist helping support your chin, feeling his steady pulse thudding.

“One more time and then we can go home?” You ask reluctantly. His lips curl into a smug grin realizing he’s won you over. Playfully, Katsuki shakes your head side to side, grip tightening on your chin.

“Yeah whatever,” he relents, rolling his eyes. “Ya know, if you hit this, I’ll give you a reward,” he says nonchalantly, trailing his hand down to snake around your throat with a barely there pressure.

“What kind of reward?” You eye him suspiciously. Although, you’d be remiss to deny the anticipation his words bring.

He leans into your personal space, smirking like the Cheshire cat. It gives you a close up of the golden brown freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose.

The air between you sparks dangerously. Warm like the left over embers of a bonfire.

“How bout, I eat that cunt till you’re squirting all over my face, yeah?” He purrs, squeezing your throat a bit harsher.

You grab his tank top with both hands, inhaling sharply. Katsuki’s tone of voice, his words - your entire body flashes hot within the second. “Oh?” You squeak out, trying to ground yourself while you’re this close to him.

Katsuki pushes in until his soft lips brush your ear lobe, tickling you pleasantly. He slips two fingers into the top of your lifting belt, tugging you to his chest.

“Fuck yes. I’ll get you so soft, so goddamn pliant, that Ei will just slip right into your pussy when he gets home,” he whispers huskily.

“Oh god,” you groan, letting your forehead thump onto his collar bone. You fist his shirt until your knuckles are white, a blistering heat gathering in your belly.

Katsuki snickers, placing a kiss to your jaw and pulling back to force your head up, leveling his gaze with yours. “C’mon baby, you know how much Ei loves that. So, why don’t you be a good girl, hit this lift and let me take your ass home.”

With that he’s gone. Leaving you to soak in the offer, causally making his way back to the bench. Your hands linger mid air where they held his tank top, blinking rapidly as you watch him — mind blown, shattered, melted.

He sends you a pointed look to say “hurry the hell up”, resting his left hand on the seat to hold his weight.

You breeze through your personal record the very next try.

One steamy, rushed shower later — you’re spread open wide, entirely bare and resting on your back. The cool sheets on your bed helping to soothe your sweltering skin.

You’re not alone. Katsuki’s naked too, comfortably laid out on his belly between your thighs. He’s lazily pumping two fingers in and out of your drooling pussy, paying close attention to the lewd way you suck him in. Your yearning, insatiable, cunt strangling every coherent thought from his head besides the stunning view in front of him.

Katsuki reaches up to take hold of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. He runs his thumb over your palm, keeping your focus trained on him, and casually rests your conjoined hands on the mattress near your hip.

Your low moan pierces the air when Katsuki sinks his canines into the delicate skin on your inner thighs. He gazes up at you through long blonde lashes while he marks you with dark reddish purple hickeys all over.

They ache and sting, pulsating dully, each new bite causing your pussy to flutter. It steals your breath away, the way he’s taking you apart.

Yet, you’re getting restless, squirming in the blonde’s hold. By now you’ve already sent a salacious video of you deep throating Katsuki’s cock to the red head.

Drool and precum had been dripping down your chin, cheeks flushed and eyes half lidded for the camera as you dragged your lips up his cock. Katsuki’s rasping moans decorated the background, hips rolling shallowly to meet your mouth. The two of you obviously played it up, wanting to seduce Eijirou, to tempt him into getting home quicker.

You’re proud to admit it works almost too well.

He instantly replied he’d be home in 20 minutes. That was about 15 ish minutes ago. You’ve already been made to cum twice since then.

Katsuki had let his release spill down your throat right after he clicked send on the video. Now he’s currently inching you towards a third orgasm.

You’re aware Katsuki’s going to make you squirt this time. The slight fullness and pressure building in your bladder is a telling indicator.

He’s also trying to his damndest to stretch this out until Eijirou gets home, craving for the red head to be his captive audience. You share his desire, longing for your currently absent boyfriend to just be here already. You desperately want Eijirou to fold you into a pretzel.

Nevertheless, it’s exhilarating how sweetly Katsuki’s treating you for the time being. He’s normally a bit rougher so this tender side of his is turning you to a pile of mush.

Slim fingers curl up into your sweet spot, stroking it lovingly, and it sends a warm shiver snaking down your spine. Your back bows off the bed with something similar to a keen falling from your lips.

“Katsuki!” You cry out his name. It sounds as sinful as a curse and as holy as a prayer, free hand bunching the silky sheets up in pleasure, skull digging into the mattress below.

“Yeah that’s right. Your pussy feels fuckin’ amazing, doesn’t it princess?” He purrs, tone almost patronizing, but he can’t hide the underlying simmering heat coloring his voice. His soft lips plant a kiss over your swollen clit and your blood buzzes.

“So — ah! So f-fucking good Kat,” you babble, eyes falling shut. It’s irresistible, the pull you feel to roll your hips in time with his thrusts. You’re almost feverish from it all, cheeks so scalding steam may as well be rising from them.

You cling to Katsuki’s hand even more while he edges your orgasm to the surface, intermittently kitten licking your puffy clit. You tilt your head, glancing down at Katsuki with half lidded eyes, slack jawed. He keeps his leisure pace, stretching the rubber band of your climax to its limit.

The blonde’s expression mirrors yours. Dilated pupils, red blossoming brightly over his cheeks and down his throat — lids so heavy they’re almost closing.

His stare is laced with a rabid want that you recognize all too well, and the sight of him occasionally rocking his hips down into the mattress sets your nerve endings alight.

It’s obscene, the way he chases relief for his obviously aching, full cock, smearing precum along the sheets below. He never fails to become drenched when he’s so badly turned on.

You stare briefly at the ceiling, knowing it’ll be over immediately if you keep leering at him. You’re already on the cusp of cumming. The slow, sweet buildup of it making your heart pound brutally behind your rib cage.

Katsuki rips a high pitched wounded noise from your throat when he suckles on your clit again, your free hand darting out to tangle and twist his soft blonde hair.

A fresh wave of goosebumps light up over your arms, a thrill racing through you as he devours you. Instinctively you cross your ankles over Katsuki’s upper back, huffing as your tits heave with the rise and fall of your breath.

You try to warn him, open your mouth to tell him you’re about to cum — but you’re interrupted by your bedroom door swinging open.

Katsuki halts his movements, your orgasm fading into the background as both your heads snap towards the direction of the door. You don’t have time to be upset about it because finally your other boyfriend is home.

Eijirou stands there in street clothes, broad shoulders filling up most the doorframe. His red hair hangs loosely, framing his face. The ends are dripping, remnants of a quick shower he must have taken at the agency.

Eijirou wolf whistles. “Well damn! What did I do to deserve walking in on a sweet treat like this?” Eijirou teases, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder on the doorframe.

“Ei! You’re ho—oh fuck!” You begin to greet him but cry out when Katsuki brushes the pads of his fingers over your g-spot intentionally, startling you.

You untangle yourself completely from the blonde, leaning up and bracing your weight on your elbows. You shove at the blonde’s shoulder with your heel, half heartedly scowling at him.

Katsuki snickers, pillowing his cheek on your squishy thigh and slyly looking over to Eijirou. He looks quite seductive, scarlet eyes full of mirth. Eijirou laughs delightedly at the playful display, the sides of his eyes crinkling when he beams at you both.

“Oi, quit fucking around Ei. Take your damn clothes off and get your ass over here.”

You smoothly join Katsuki in egging the other on. “Yeah Eijirou, been waiting a lifetime for you to come home. Katsuki wants to put on a show for you.”

Katsuki barks out a laugh, wanting to deny it, but he can’t.

“Okay! Okay, I’m hurrying,” Eijirou giggles, cheeks turning a soft peachy pink. He wastes no time disrobing, pulling down the zipper of his hoodie to reveal he’s wearing nothing underneath. Eijirou ignores the over the top catcalls you both throw his way, mumbling under his breath and pretending he doesn’t love it.

He sheds the jacket, dropping it carelessly to the floor as he makes his way to the side of the bed. He slips out of his sweats just as shamelessly.

You watch Eijirou’s already half hard cock twitch when you reach out for him. He eagerly accepts it, kneeling on the bed next to your head. You look up at him adoringly, lips turning up into a smile that makes the apples of your cheeks twinge.

“Hi Ei, we missed you,” you croon, affectionately squeezing his hand.

In response, he bends down to give you a sweet kiss in greeting. It’s brief, but makes you feel like you’re bathed in sunshine either way. He pulls back, a question clearly on his lips.

“Wanna sit in my lap baby? I’ll get the best view of you that way,” Eijirou offers, entirely serious. He shuffles until he can sit behind your head, bracing his back on pillows and the headboard.

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” You scoot backwards until you’re able to slot in between his wide spread thighs, resting your own sticky back along his chest. As you do so, Katsuki chases you, inching forward, never letting his fingers leave the searing heat of your pussy.

“Oh fuck,” you laugh breathlessly, taking note of their presence. You tighten around him greedily, desire burning you to ash.

“Oh princess, look at you. Even more fucking needy now that Ei is home,” Katsuki comments meanly, digging his thumb into your puffy clit as he settles in his new spot.

A weak yelp leaves you at how sharp the sensation becomes. You feel the rumble of Eijirou’s laughter as it vibrates throughout his chest.

“Maybe I just want to cum,” you chide him. “You’ve been edging me forever.”

Katsuki doesn’t respond, just grins like he’s won the lottery, a bit manic, and sets a borderline violent, relentless pace.

The howl you produce is ear splitting. The sudden dynamic shift begging your spine to bend but Eijirou quickly cages you in. He wraps his thick biceps around your stomach, hooking his chin into the muscle just behind your collarbone.

“Be good,” Eijirou warns. “You wanted this yeah? Then let Kat do what he wants.”

You scramble to lock onto his forearms, nails dragging angry lines over his skin. You obediently nod along with what he tells you, starting to get the impression your skin is too tight to fit over your bones.

Your body bounces in time with Katsuki’s motions and the razor sharp points of Eijirou’s teeth threaten to pierce the delicate flesh of your shoulder.

Mercifully, your orgasm comes on like a freight train. In less than a minute to be exact.

Katsuki bullies your g-spot with a precision only he could possess, flicking his tongue over your clit in a steady up and down rhythm. Pleasure pulses white hot in your pelvis, threatening to prickle out all over your waiting body.

“Oh. Oh, I’m gonna cum Kat! Ei, please, shit!” you curse, head spinning, not even sure what you’re begging them for.

“That’s it babygirl, we’ve got you,” Eijirou coos, tone a 180 from a couple minutes prior.

You’re wiggling in his iron clad grip, on the edge of exploding. One more push is all you need. The stifling heat of Katsuki’s mouth envelops your clit once more, sucking.

Your toes curl into the sheets, all the muscles in your lower half tensing as your climax rips you apart. You hold onto Eijirou’s forearms for dear life, molten lava gushing through your veins like a busted dam.

Katsuki pulls his mouth away with a wet pop, punishing you with each slippery glide of his fingers. You don’t think you can take much more, crossing into over sensitive territory. It doesn’t matter though, not with the looming pressure on your bladder giving without your permission.

“You’re so hot like this baby. Now fuckin’ squirt for me,” Katsuki snarls. Eijirou’s cock kicks where it’s trapped against your lower back.

It’s too easy to bend to his will.

You’re soaking the blonde’s chin and wrist before you know what’s happening, liquid running down to your ass. His head jerks back, briefly startled, before his eyes get wide. Katsuki slows, lolling his tongue out to lick his drenched lips for a taste. He moans, pink flush traveling down to his chest.

“No more,” you complain, hips stuttering as you push at his forehead. You try to catch your breath, coming down from the high and become boneless on Eijirou’s chest.

“Good job sweet girl, you did so well my love,” Eijirou murmurs in your ear. His breath tickles your cheek and you lean into him, letting the red head smooth his warm palm over your belly.

Katsuki slips his fingers free, biting the inside of his cheek when your pussy desperately tries to keep him from leaving you empty. He rises up, settling back on his calves, and admires how drenched his hand has become. He arches one pretty blonde eyebrow, smirking at his boyfriend.

“Want a taste of her Ei?” Katsuki teases, wiggling his fingers at the red head. Eijirou hums his agreement and Katsuki surges forward over you, dangling his dripping hand in front of Eijirou.

Katsuki’s cock, hot and heavy, brushes your lower belly. God, you just want to drag him down by his slim hips, flip him over and ride him until he sees stars.

But you don’t.

The deep seated desire for Eijirou to fold you in half wins out. You tilt your head up just in time to witness Eijirou’s pink tongue dart out for a taste. He trails his tongue up Katsuki’s fingers, dipping into the grooves between. You shudder, simultaneously moaning with the blonde.

“Ei,” you interject brokenly. “I need you to fuck me, now please.”

Eijirou’s boner jumps against your lower back. “I can totally do that,” Eijirou responds, playfully pushing at your back. You laugh, looking up at Katsuki expectantly as he continues to hover over you.

“Yeah whatever I just wanna watch Ei fuck you silly,” he says with a wink. You swallow and it’s like your throat’s been lined with cotton balls. Katsuki retreats, loosely circling his fingers at the base of his cock and squeezing for some relief.

“C’mon Ei, I’ve been waiting for you all day,” you giggle, sliding down until you’re flat on your back again. You plant your feet on the bed, allowing your legs to fall open as wide as they’ll go.

“I won’t make you wait any longer baby,” Eijirou assures. He crawls down as Katsuki moves upwards, effortlessly switching places. Katsuki’s knees bracket your head as he maneuvers until he’s comfortable. If you glance backwards you’ll be met with the view of the blonde’s cock and his partially obscured face.

“Ready pretty girl?” Eijirou paws at the squishy spots of your thighs, inching close enough until he can part the lips of your pussy with his shaft. The pink head bumps teasingly into your clit, a jolt of pleasure startling you. You nod eagerly and bite into your lower lip.

Eijirou uses his thumb to angle his cock down to where your warmth waits to greet him, to suck him in like a vice. To clamp down around him until his brain is fuzzy.

He barely dips the head of his cock in once, twice — before finally applying enough pressure his tip fully pops in. The initial stretch makes you shiver, and as he fills you with the rest of his cock, you start to tremble.

Your pussy doesn’t offer even a hint of resistance.

You wheeze out his name when he bottoms out. Eijirou’s blunt nails leave indentations on the backs of your thighs as he pushes them a bit more towards your chest. His grip is bruising, licking his lips as he concentrates on being still so you can adjust.

You look down to where you’re connected, fists clenched in the sheets by your sides and your pelvis throbs briefly from just how big his cock is. Eijirou grabs your attention with a strangled sound, and your gaze flickers to his impatient expression. You nod, giving him the go ahead.

He runs with it, proceeding to carve out a space inside you just for himself. Glazed over eyes flutter briefly as your pussy pulses, choking his cock, and his lips part slightly, eyes glued to where you’re swallowing him. Eijirou rolls his hips, pulling back and thrusting in with a singular fluid motion, slowly working up to a rougher, faster pace.

Katsuki curses from somewhere behind you, voice low and ragged as he tells you just how “fucking pretty” you look taking Ei’s cock. You echo the sentiment, praising the red head as he shifts around on his knees and thrusts harder.

Eijirou whimpers, taking your ankles and lifting until your knees hook over his shoulders. He bends you in half, placing his hands by your head. A moan is punched out of your chest and you grasp as his shoulders, the jarring sensation of feeling like his cock is in your belly making you whine.

“Eijirou, holy shit! Please — don’t stop!” you beg, voice edging on a sob. Katsuki hisses in pleasure behind you, the slick, wet sound of him jerking his cock burns your ears.

“Anything baby, whatever you want,” Eijirou says with a breathy sigh, fucking you hard enough to bounce your body with each thrust. The smack of his skin against yours spurs him on even further.

Your pussy chases his cock every time he pulls back, not letting him go for a second. He fucks you until you feel high, and when you get impossibly tighter — he knows you’re cumming.

Eijirou talks you through it, because of course he does. He drags out your orgasm as long as he can, a drop of sweat falling from the tip of his nose into the valley between your tits. He admires the way your body releases all its tension as you come down from the high.

“Good girl, you cum so beautifully for me,” Eijirou praises. “I’m gonna cum inside you okay?” He’s panting as he moves, clearly hanging on by a thread.

“Cum for me Ei,” you murmur, trailing your hands up and wrapping your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Eijirou moans as you pull him down into a hungry kiss, attempting to eat him alive. He whimpers into your mouth, shoving his cock to the hilt in your pussy, and a new warmth blooms inside you as your boyfriend cums.

Eijirou wrenches his mouth from yours to gasp, jaw falling open as he rides out the last few pulses of his orgasm. A high pitched whine slices through the gooey atmosphere and you look backwards to witness Katsuki’s gorgeous face as he reaches his high.

His eyes pinch shut, the muscles of his neck straining as he tosses his head back on the headboard with a thump. He traps the tip of his tongue between his teeth, partially muffling the next moan he can’t control.

Eijirou hisses when your pussy involuntarily flutters around him, staring at the blonde squirming with pleasure. Katsuki’s shoulders drop as he relaxes, chest heaving. His stomach is covered in cum, as is his chest. There’s even some on his cheek.

Reluctantly, your attention snaps back to Eijirou when he gingerly pulls his softening cock free. Taking a moment to track the way his release sluggishly flows from you.

“Enjoying the view?”

Eijirou glances at you in surprise, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “I always do baby,” he coos.

“Fucking sap,” Katsuki snorts.

“Hey!” Eijirou protests. You laugh, reaching backwards to slap Katsuki’s ankle.

“Don’t listen to him Ei, he’s just as bad.” Playful banter consumes the three of you as you enjoy the relaxed atmosphere.

Eventually, you manage to clean yourselves up. You and Eijirou easily convince Katsuki to cook and fill your bellies with food. While you wait, you sit at island in your kitchen, happily retelling Eijirou how you got a new PR today at the gym.

You don’t leave out the way Katsuki used dirty tricks and promises of sex to persuade you, which makes Eijirou laugh loudly.

Katsuki just raises his middle finger over his shoulder in return, taking all the credit for your lift either way.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #kirishima smut #kirishima x reader #kiribaku x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bakugou katsuki smut #kirishima eijirou smut #dividers by saradika #bakugou katsuki #eijirou kirishima

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pomefioredove · 4 months ago

Note

hello! if you’re still taking event requests, can i request "Maybe making out for a few minutes would help us figure things out." with vil? please and thank you 🥰

you guys are going to be the death of me 😭😭😭 /positive

summary: "maybe making out for a few minutes would help us figure things out" type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, suggestive og my god author's note: I don't usually get embarrassed writing requests but this one got to me. I couldn't write anything beyond where it ended

It's almost cute.

Vil is used to having people fawn over him, but there's something quite special about it being you.

He's never seen someone with such an obvious crush.

The brave, responsible, practically indestructible Ramshackle prefect, reduced to wide-eyed stares and trembles at his hand.

No. Not almost cute. Very, very cute.

He just can't help himself, sometimes.

"You've got it wrong again," he says, one hand on the table beside your workbook, the other on the back of your chair.

"Too acidic. You'll never be able to do the real thing if you can't get the formula right."

You can't even make eye contact with him. "Sorry,"

"It's nothing to be sorry over," he smirks. "I won't punish you. Unless you think it would help."

No response. He chuckles.

"Very well. Let's take a different approach; what exactly are you having trouble with?"

You look over your shoulder and meet his eyes for the first time in hours. "Focusing,"

"Focusing," Vil repeats.

He stands and sits at the edge of the table, crossing his legs and looking down at you. You stare back, wide-eyed, your lips pressed together.

It's a pretty view. And he likes having you under him, anyhow.

"And why do you think you're having trouble focusing?"

It's not often he leaves someone completely speechless, and, admittedly, Vil is enjoying it a little too much.

Alchemy can wait.

"Am I making you nervous?" he asks, leaning forward.

"Do I make you nervous?"

And then you're back to avoiding his eyes. You stare, unblinking, at the carpet, and he's tempted to ask what the floor has that he doesn't.

Vil looks back at your page of failed attempts and tsks.

"You'll never get anywhere at this rate... Maybe making out for a few minutes would help us figure things out,"

For a moment, it looks like you're about to say something. Laugh it off, perhaps.

But you wait to see what he does.

He likes that about you. So well-behaved.

Vil's fingertips slide under your chin and tilt your head up. He wants you to look at him. He makes a mental note to work on your confidence some other time...

But, for now:

"Is that a yes?"

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #queued

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mountainsandmayhem · 4 months ago

Text

BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing.

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin.

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club.

The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about.

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met.

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud.

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me.

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home.

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it.

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again.

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone.

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste.

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time.

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement.

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants.

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges.

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive.

“I can too!”

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?”

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.”

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?”

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.”

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.”

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

“I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated.

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.”

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.”

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle.

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask, “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?”

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours.

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.”

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.”

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream.

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.”

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years.

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo.

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him.

You

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night.

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!”

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.”

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.”

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.”

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs.

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?”

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?”

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?”

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind.

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.”

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!”

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes.

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops.

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself.

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile.

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo.

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man.

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning.

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve.

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it.

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear.

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in.

Spanking, five.

Whips and Crops, five.

Paddles, five.

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point.

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five.

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel.

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied.

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours.

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you.

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call.

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears.

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs.

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller.

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel.

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, ��I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his.

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips.

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you.

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on.

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently.

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives.

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging.

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table.

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms.

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

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almondmilkcleanser · 1 year ago

Text

𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓐𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽 ⚰️

■ ` ♡ characters / fandom ; f!reader x undertaker

■ ` ♡ tw ; cumming inside, corruption, praise, manipulation ;MINORS DNI

■ ` ♡ word count ; 2.7k+

■ ` ♡ a/n ; just clearing my drafts! nothing to see here (maybe)

main menu | one-shots menu

“i’ve told you multiple times, dear if you want to satisfy me you have to give all of yourself to me, unrelentlessly and without hesitation. otherwise,” he stifled himself from snickering under his breath.

“this would all be a grandiose joke. don’t you agree? “

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you were a newcomer at the local mortuary. you’ve studied and apprenticed for months just for this opportunity to present itself in your lap. all the tedious, grueling hours learning anatomy, drawing anatomy, dissecting and dealing with the lecherous eyes of your overseers while you dressed the undead in their wardrobes to send them off into the next life. it was finally worth it.

you saw everything; kids, adults, the elderly, prostitutes, wives, widows, and even a noble or two. you waited for the adjustment to be easier, but it didn’t. you just tucked your hair behind your ear, pinched your lips, and devoted your love and care into making sure each of your clients were well-adorned and ready to transition.

“My, my…” you sighed, braiding the hair of a corpse that laid across your table that afternoon. You just embalmed her and now it was time to let the chemicals sit and dissolve whatever remaining acids were inside. With your magnifying glasses peered down the bridge of your nose, you studied her hair strand by stand. parting the scalp, observing any marks that laid about. and there it was, a large scar splattered across the dome of her scalp. it looked to be… sewn?

that’s odd you thought. she was not a victim a violence nor were there any records indicating any crimes involving her.

“just what happened-“ as you leaned closer to examine the craftsman quality suture, you heard footsteps around you. jumping up, you looked around. there was nobdy else here. the owner closed for the night and left you to finish this woman.

“w-who’s there!?” you barked, eyes wildly dancing across the darkness. there was but a dimly flickering candle on both sides of the body, barely showing much else after her thighs. your heart rate intensified as the footsteps grew louder. confident. paced.

your knife. where was your knife? turning around, you saw your self-defense blade was moved. shit! your only thought focused on one last option, the blade hidden under your dress.

“damn these blasted layers. w-whoever you are, show yourself!” you hoisted the hem of your skirt up, revealing a laced garter that tucked a crimson blade in its equally laced sheathe safely against your thigh. you reached for the blade, whisking it in front of you, ready for your mystery assailant.

the footsteps stopped, only for snickering to replace the sound. you turned your body back and forth, hearing the voice bounce from wall to wall. you couldn’t pinpoint where or who, but it was in this room with you!

cut the games! you shouted, a quivering tone to your voice. you didn’t sign up for this. you didn’t anticipate your first night alone to end in your demise. you just weren’t going to go out like this!

“show yourself, now!” you demanded. the voice hummed at your sudden assertiveness, visibly amused.

“I see you’ve met one of my specimens.” specimens? what the hell was this stranger talking about?

“I don’t know what you mean by specimen, but that’s neither here nor there. i’m just a mortician trying to do my-“ you took a step back, only to collide with a firm, lean chest. as your body tensed and your eyes bulged, with a snickering voice, the stranger lowered himself to your ear with a smile.

“boo.”

on reflex, you jumped forward, dropping the knife and stumbling over the corpse that still laid across the table.. luckily the corpse didn’t hit the floor, but you did.

the stranger couldn’t hold it any longer. he held his sides and leaned over to let out a boisterous laugh. his long gray locks covered his face but when you turned around to face the odd man, you could see him wiping his eyes fervently.

“just who-“ the stranger wiped his eyes a few more times before standing upright, a wide smile across his face.

“why, i’m the owner of this shop. didn’t you do your homework before just signing up to any old job?” now things were getting even more confusing.

“but-“ you pointed towards the door, your eyebrows furrowed together. “the man-“ the stranger’s lip twitched, stifling another bout of laughter.

“oh, him? he’s just my cover.” you didn’t know whether to run away or to stay. if what he was saying was true… then he’d be-

“then you’re my-“

in a flash, his humored smile straightened out and curved into a small grin. he tilted his head down at you and a glimpse of his fluorescent green eyes sent shivers down your spine. you swallowed hard, confused and apprehensive to make a move, fearful of his next response.

“that’s correct. i’m your boss. “

dammit.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you sat across from him atop an empty coffin, fidgeting with a cup of tea offered from him. he sat cross-legged, bemused and beaming with a silent excitement that made you twitch uncomfortably. why was he so.. giddy? this was, presumably, the most depressive job someone can take on and he looked to be absolutely thrilled to be there.

taking note of his black crypt-keeper getup, you saw an array of lockets hanging from his hand. his hands clenched the locket and your eyes jumped upwards to his face. this time both of his eyes were showing. he brushed his long hair out of the way to get a good look at you, observing you from your face, to your chest, to your legs, down to your shoes. unconsciously adjusting your corset and sleeves, you cleared your throat.

“so, mr..”

“please, call me undertaker.” he assured you, a balled fist nestled under his chin.

“right. undertaker, sir. I- this must be some kind of mistake. I was interning under an old man named Geoffrey for months. and you never showed up, not once. how do I know you’re really the owner?”

“ah, you see it’s easy to come and go. but it’s also easy to stay under the radar while never leaving.” he smirked. “have you never paid attention to the red coffin that always sat upright during your studies?”

your eyes grew big. you never thought of it till now. your “boss” always told you it was a gifted coffin from the queen and that it would never be sold. but something about it made you consider it in a different light.

“does it make sense to you now?” he asked.

silently, you nodded. but then, another thought came to your mind. you’ve invited company to the mortuary after hours. a lover, to be exact.

“so, you’ve been in that coffin every time?”

his grin spread from ear to ear, like he read your thoughts entirely.

“every time. and might I add that some of the extracurricular activities you’ve… embarked on, are grounds for immediate termination.” you swallowed hard. “unless-“

“unless? please, don’t fire me. i’ve studied for so long for this chance and I don’t want to lose it!” the shame that you’d feel returning home, humiliated and defeated. not only that, but the thought of disappointing your parents who were the only ones who believed in your dream weighed heavy on your shoulders.

undertaker’s smile grew wider. and wider. and wider. so much, that he started to snicker. you stood there, confused. what was so funny? you looked ahead at your ‘boss’ during his fit of laughter until he calmed himself down. when he did, he cleared his throat, still visibly bemused, and shuffled his hair out of the way. you saw his piercing green eyes again as he looked directly at you, boring a hole into your skin.

❁ sway with me into oblivion as we watch the nightfall combust into flames. i’ll hold your hand till the abyss consumes us, so when we’re reborn we remember to return to eachother one day. ❁

Muffled moans escaped your lips, his hands covering your mouth so peculiarly. He smelled of Sandwalwood and rich tobacco, each second passing lacing your ears with the aroma more and more. Your dress was hiked above your hips to gain him more access to you as his hands slipped in your black panty hose.

Back and forth, he rubbed the outer layer of your plump, bountiful mounds, only quickly grazing against your clIt. One motion, he would scoop your essences from your awakening ravine and with another, he would glisten your love button with your own juices. Tastefully taunting how ready and willing you were. For him.

“I just couldn’t believe the look on your face, how desperate you looked to keep this job. I simply couldn’t stop myself from laughing in my head.”

You shut your eyes, succumbing to the waves of pleasure that roared through you the more and more he rubbed. Your legs buckled, but he picked you right back up, quickening the pace on your throbbing, aching pleasure pad.

He focused more on one side, rubbing the rough patch of skin just right, causing you to throw your head back. You were near your peak, you just had to cry out.

The moisture from your deep breaths dampened his palm but it didn’t stop him. He kept rubbing, and rubbing, and rubbing, until-

“Ohhhh~ What do we have here?” You absolutely wanted to die. What the irony.

He pulled his hand from your stockings, shaking it dry of your juices. Your face was burning hot! As you stood there, you could see the puddle of your own leakage pooling at the both of your feet. As you continued to look down, you saw his slender hands hold itself in front of you, two fingers pointed at your mouth.

“wha?”

“Say ‘aaaaah~’” before a proper warning, your fingers were stuffed with the same glistened fingers, tunneling a way down your throat. With your free hand, Undertaker guided it to the crotch of his pants, throwing you completely off at just how long and bulging he actually was.

One couldn’t tell underneath that ever flowing cape…

His chuckles grew louder, feeling your tongue coat each drop of your own juices on his finger, inch by inch cultivating all saliva in the back of your throat so it can trickle down his wrist.

He grabbed at your best, playfully unbuttoning your blouse till your lacy undergarments were on full display. It didn’t take much for him to slide his hand into your bra, flicking your nipple back and forth to further stimulate you. You were trying to hold your composure, your mind whirling back and forth at the random peaks of pleasure cascading across you from head to toe.

This stopped being a last-ditch effort to save your job. You needed to be ravaged. Soon.

Undertaker pushed you forward onto the desk in front of you, hungrily lifting your dress over your waist.

“Curse these layers.” He sighed to himself. After so much senseless shuffling, he decided upon the next best option: ripping your skirt up to your waist line and parting it down the middle.

“H-hey!” you barked. This was a year of savings right down the shitter!

“Don’t worry, darling, i’ll have my errands coined in once i’m down. Now-“ He motioned his hand to the hem of your stockings, playfully lining the hem with his long fingernail. One forceful motion towards him, and your pantyhose ripped, splitting down the middle, exposing your glistening cunt to him with no barricade.

“Stay just like that. Mhm, just like that-“ he loved seeing your beautiful insides. So tight, aromatic, delicious to the taste and poised to the appearance.

He stroked his bulging mass to attention, a perverse smile spreading wider and wider the more and more he looked at you. He grabbed your hips, positioning himself behind you as you looked ahead in a fluster. You wanted to fight back, but you needed this job. You needed to make your family proud. You needed t-

“Ah! Fuh-!” he stuffed the plump insides inch by inch with his thickness, prodding and poking at your quivering nest. It didn’t take much for you to adjust to him, to latch onto his veined growth with a firm suctioning hold, making Undertaker growl under his breath.

“Fuck, you’re a tight one. I’m going to enjoy this, teehee~” his cinched his nails into your skin only slightly, slamming his hips back and forth against your flesh. Your bottom was warm to touch the more he pounded away inside of you, but you never flinched. You secretly enjoyed it. Your breasts bouncing up and down even with one of his hands firmly clasped onto one, your bare regions exposed for all the world to see. And your face, your flushed face twisted and contorted to shield the pleasure surging through your body. You pulled in your lips, only to let out a rugged exhale. You shut your eyes, only to roll them to the back of your head.

You didn’t just like it. You loved it.

Undertaker released his grasp on your hips and your breast to pull your arms back, arching you enough so he could join both of your wrists together. He watched your ass slam against his pelvis, the motions of your bottom sending shockwaves across his skin. You looked back at him, eyes low and sweat trickling down the side of your face, begging for more. He took note of your gaze and proceeded to slow down his thrusts, now instead of his quick, hungry pace he slowed down, focusing on the intensity instead of the pace.

You dropped your head, feeling the euphoric feeling budding in the out of your stomach. You were close. Your insides sloshed like hot soup the more he took care of you. You needed to release.

“Ah! Undertaker, I- I’m close.” you whined, digging your fingers into his hands as best as you could.

“So am I, Y/N. So am I~” in a flash, he dropped you down, turned you around and re-entered you in the traditional

missionary position. He used one hand to lift your hips to deepens the depths he wanted to reach inside of you, and you allowed it. You kept your legs open so he could fit inside of you to his max potential, your love nest coating his shaft with your juices. Your honey dripped onto the table, making a slapping noise each time the two of you connected. He leaned over you, his grey locks building a shadow over you two. Even in the dim lighting underneath him, you saw his eyes. You saw the scar splayed across his face. But he kept his focus on you.

“Come, my dear. I’m not pulling out. So do as you wish~” you didn’t know what it was about this statement, but you fully let go of the reigns of virtue you held so tightly to your chest. You threw your head back, an animalistic moan escaping your lips. You couldn’t stop, your hips continued to shake and your thighs shook to the point of convulsion. He kept pumping inside of you, the whiteness of your milk mixing with his translucent elixir and coating his dick the more he continued to pound inside of you.

He pumped a total of three more times before collapsing on top of you, pulling you into a passionate kiss. He didn’t take himself out of you and you didn’t care to force him out either. When he pulled away from you, spittle still connecting you two together as the distance increased, he looked at you a bit more. Shaking his hair out of the way, he glanced down at your quivering, moistened flesh for a few moments before finally focusing his eyes on the most subtle flaw only you knew of.

“Your belly button is slightly to the right~” you couldn’t figure out what was so hilarious about that, but it didn’t stop Undertaker from gripping his sides and bursting into laughter as his member grew soft inside of you. You put your hands over your face, trying your best not to laugh yourself but also hoping there’s another morgue that needs another assistant really, really soon.

end

#female reader #female reader smut #smut #smut fic #minors dni #minors fuck off #black butler smut #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji smut #undertaker x reader #black butler undertaker x reader #kuroshitsuji undertaker x reader #undertaker smut

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stevie-petey · 5 months ago

Text

chapter six: e pluribus unum

“There’s my pretty girl!” Steve giggles, head lolling to the side as he admires you. “Isn’t she the prettiest, Robin?” Robin giggles as well, her face just as bruised and bloodied as his. “So pretty!” “Oh God,” despite their injured state, the two teens are in an unusually good mood. They giggle like school girls, Robin even bats her eyelashes at you. Something is off with them. “How hard did they hit your heads?”

Summary: things get hot and heavy in the face of death, mean russians kidnap your hot almost-boyfriend, you have a philosophical discussion about nerdiness with the kids, acid becomes your new favorite weapon, and steve and robin try drugs together. yippee !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, violence, cursing, blood and mentions of death, use of weapons

Words: 6.7k

Before you swing in: oh BOY do i have a lot to say about this chapter ,,, but for now i will hold off. pls, enjoy her. youve all waited so very patiently for this moment, and im SO excited to see what yall have to say <333

“The gate,” you, Steve, and Dustin breathe out at the same time. You stare at the machine before you; the gravity of the situation settles upon all of you as the machine continues to send pulses of light into the entrance of the Upside Down.

The lights flash, the blue flickers across your face as countless men in lab coats marvel at their creation, and your hands tighten into fists. What they have created will only undo the endless hours you have spent trying to protect everyone, it diminishes every sacrifice that has been made, it taunts the blood that has been spilled.

You hate them, you hate what they have brought back into your life.

“We have to get out of here.” No one argues with you, and quickly you guide everyone downstairs.

“What’s going on?” Robin asks as you gently push her down the stairs, quickening her pace. The urgence of your actions, however, only alert her that something is wrong. “Why do you guys look so scared?”

Days of hiding the truth from her have finally caught up to you, you can feel it, and yet there isn’t anything you can really tell her. Not yet, at least; there isn’t enough time. Hurrying down the stairs, you shake your head at Robin. “It’s a lot to explain.”

“I don’t understand, you’ve seen this before?”

She’s always been too perceptive.

You hate her genius mind.

“Not exactly.” Steve takes over now, trying to help.

Robin’s voice raises, she’s becoming inpatient. “Then what, exactly?”

Two of them argue and Dustin joins in, though you ignore them and reach the last step to start looking for any possible weapons in the room. If you guys have even the slightest chance of making it out of here alive, then you’ll need more than your switchblade and Steve’s surprising new combat skills.

As your eyes scan the room, you realize, too late, that the Russian guard Steve had knocked out only minutes ago is now gone. Horrified, you frantically whip your head to find him, but the man is gone.

Wonderful.

Erica notices this too. “Um, Steve? Where’s your Russian friend?”

With impeccable comedic timing, lights begin to flicker above you as an alarm sounds. Seems the Russian guard snitched, then.

“Oh, shit!” Your switchblade finds its way into your hand. This just keeps getting worse and worse.

Steve curses as well and sprints to the door to open it, trying to find another way out, but instead he finds a swarm of guards all staring back at him. Cursing again, he slams the door shut. He doesn’t have to say anything, you know by the look on his face that you’re in deep shit. “Go, go, go!”

Blindly you shove Dustin and Erica into the nearest door, tugging at Robin, and Steve takes the rear as the group starts to run. Your senses are in overdrive, your head swims with anxiety and your eyes flicker to any possible way out. Your legs ache with exertion, but you have no fucking idea where you are.

You make a sharp right and open a random door, but almost immediately you stumble to a halt when you see that it’s the room to the goddamn machine opening the Upside Down. Of course this is the room you chose. The scientists all stare at you, and you really wish you had stayed in bed yesterday. “Fuck!”

“Go, Y/N!” Dustin yanks on your arm and goes left, finding stairs to run down.

You risk a quick look over your shoulder and your heart drops when you see that the Russian guards are close behind. “We got company!” You’re on the landing platform now, too close to the machine and the gate for your own comfort. Dustin screeches as he shoves a Russian against the railing. You wince, feeling bad despite the horrible circumstances. “Sorry!”

“Why are you apologizing to the Russians–holy shit–” Gripping the back of your brother’s shirt, you save him from face planting into the giant laser beam. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”

Steve and the others have joined now, and you realize how helplessly cornered the five of you are. You’re standing on the edge of the platform and the laser’s heat can be felt even six feet away while twenty armed Russian soldiers approach from behind.

Defeated, helpless, terrified, you turn to the person whose hand rests gently on the small of your back; the only person who gives you solace. “Steve.”

It’s all you can say, your knees feel weak and your body turns to his, helpless. You don’t know what else to do. Steve’s eyes find yours, he can feel Dustin looking to him for help as well. Robin, Erica. Everyone is looking to him, and yet he’s just as terrified.

“This way!” He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just knows that he has to protect you. Running back down the stairs, he shoves a guard that blocks the path and you’re right behind him, pushing barrels at more guards that round the corner so that no one else can follow.

“Go!” You wave the others ahead, now taking the rear with Steve. The two of you do whatever you can to slow the Russians down as Robin leads the kids towards another door. You’re all blindly running through the endless walls of the facility.

The door flies open and everyone rushes into the room.

Everything happens quickly after that.

Steve slams the door while you hold the kids behind you, away from the door and fearful of the bullets that may rain through it. Steve braces his back against the door. The Russians pound the frame from the other side.

Madly looking around for any sign of an exit, your body fills with unbearable dread when you realize that you’ve locked yourselves in a room without any way out.

Dustin’s scared hand grips at your arm. He seems to realize what you already have. “Shit!”

“Robin!” Steve calls out to her, desperate. He’s rapidly losing his footing to hold his position as the guards’ fists rage a relentless war. “Help me, come on!”

She runs to him and throws her back against the door as well, and the distress in Steve’s voice only hastens you as you run around the room. There has to be a way out. You refuse to die like this, far below Hawkins and the sunlight you’ve come to love within the small town.

Breath quickening, you rush up the steps within the room and drag Dustin along with you. Robin’s face is red now, Steve’s feet keep slipping, and from the force of which the door they hold thuds, you know the guards have started to throw their own bodies against it.

Something creeks below your foot. You look down and inexplicably hope jumps into your chest. There’s a vent grate, this entire underground facility is full of air ducts, it’s how you got into this entire fucking mess in the first place. “Here! I found something!”

Erica joins you and Dustin and quickly the three of you pry the vent open. You help Erica lower herself inside, instructing her to start crawling, now, when Dustin shouts down to Robin and Steve. “Come on!”

“Go! Just get out of here!” Steve screams back, groaning as the pounding on the door becomes more and more violent.

Your hand, which had been on your brother’s back, ready to help him inside the air duct next, stills. Your entire body freezes as you look over at Steve, ice cold fear crawls up your neck; doubt creeps in as you realize, far too late, that there isn’t enough time for them to escape into the vent.

There never seems to be enough time.

But you have to try anyway. All you ever do is try, you will die trying, you just can’t let it be in vain. “Steve, Robin, let’s go!”

Steve clenches his teeth as another body throws itself against the door. Through his exertion he can see how pale you are now, the realization that dawns on you that you will have to leave him behind, and Steve wishes he could kiss the despair off of your pretty face. “No! Just go and get some help, okay?”

“I–I can’t–” Dustin tugs at your shirt to come with him, but your body is unmoving. You can’t, you won’t leave them behind, Steve’s biceps strain against the doorframe and Robin groans in pain, and yet your brother’s fearful grip on you reminds you of your responsibility to him as well. To protect him, to get Erica home, be with them.

But Steve is in danger. He needs you.

You don’t know what to do.

“Y/N!” Dustin calls after you as you tear yourself away from him.

Blindly, as your vision darkens and the terror in your body threatens to consume you, you stumble down the steps towards Steve. You need to be close to him, it’s all your mind and body can register as the roaring in your head nearly deafens you.

As soon as you’re in front of him, grasping at his shoulders to try and take him with you, Steve pushes you away. “Y/N, you need to leave–”

“I’m not leaving you!” The shrillness scares even yourself, the sheer desperation to stay with Steve comes deep from within your chest as you scream at him. You’re panicking now, angry at him for even considering the idea that you’d ever leave him. As if you haven’t just gotten him back.

You’re never letting go of him now that you have him.

Not again.

Robin tries to reason with you herself, distantly you think she pleads with you, but your vision tunnels and all you can see is Steve. Your body hums with the need for his.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Another thud against the door, Robin’s foot slips, and Steve has to throw his head back and brace for yet another impact. He’s angry at you, too. For not listening to him. For how you’ve always blindly sacrificed yourself, harmed yourself to protect others.

Steve won’t let you hurt yourself anymore, not when he can save you.

Not again.

“The kids need you–”

“I need you!” Tears wet your face now, you’re clutching at Steve’s shirt as Dustin continues to scream at you to run, to not abandon him, and it feels as if you can’t breathe as words begin to tumble from your mouth with hysteria. “We–we can run, right now! You’re fast, and–and Robin can jump and–”

Steve’s lips crash against yours.

He’s weak and scared and helpless; this is the only way he knows how to get you to listen.

You breathe in sharply as his lips move against yours, you melt into him. He pours everything into the kiss, your teeth knock against his and your hands find his hair, tugging at it as Steve tries to convey everything that time won’t allow him to.

The kiss is rushed, it’s messy and it’s aching, and through it Steve begs you. To love him despite the fact that he has to leave you, that he’s doing this for you, he begs you to remember him, and selfishly he kisses you because he doesn’t want to die knowing he’s wasted half the damn summer without ever knowing how your lips felt against his.

It isn’t death that terrifies Steve, it’s the idea that he almost died without knowing how you tasted.

When Steve finally pulls away, you’re too shocked to move. His lips are tinged pink and his brown eyes are dark in the lighting and you’re both breathless. Your hands remain in his hair, all you can register is how the strands feel between your fingers and that Dustin is now at your side, yanking at your arm to follow him back towards the vent.

Numbly you allow Steve’s hands to help Dustin move your limp body, your feet rise to reach the steps. The warmth of Steve’s body is gone now. Faintly you feel your brother’s firm, but gentle, hands as he shoves you inside the vent.

There’s a tugging within your chest suddenly, an overwhelming sensation to turn around, and abruptly you come back to yourself. The roaring in your head quiets for only a moment, the lights are bright and Dustin’s fingers dig into your skin, yet still your eyes find Steve.

He’s far below you now, the Russians have almost broken through the door, and his kiss still sears your lips. Urgently, viciously, you scream the only thing you can think of that encompasses all the love and terror within you, “Come home to me!”

Steve opens his mouth to promise you that he will, he always will. You can hear the promise even before he’s said it, but the doors burst open and Dustin slams the vent’s grate down.

You ran out of time.

The echo of the grate’s slam rings in your ears.

–

Erica is the one that guides you through the air ducts.

You haven’t said anything since leaving Steve and Robin behind; it’s been hours now, and yet still you do not speak.

Dustin crawls behind you, worried. He watches your body shake slightly as you crawl through the narrow space. His stomach lurches when he notices how white your knuckles have become from how tightly you clench your fists.

You’re clinging onto what little resolve you have left, it’s evident to Dustin, and he worries about when, not if, you’ll finally snap. He knows that now isn’t the right time to initiate a code blue, but he’s concerned seeing you so broken. He hates that he can’t do anything, that he dragged you away from the others.

The air inside the ducts is warm, almost nauseatingly so, and the ringing in your ears has yet to fade. Steve’s kiss still burns your lips. His promise to you, that he would return and come back home to you, the promise that he couldn’t make, drowns out all of your other thoughts.

Come home to me.

He hadn’t had time to answer you.

The thought nauseates you more than the sickening heat that surrounds you. You left him. Robin, too.

You left them both behind, just like you left Will behind the night the Demogorgon got him. And the kids, that night when you abandoned them at the middle school and left them vulnerable to that fucking monster. And Jonathan, when he thought his brother had died and you were too lost in your self pity when he needed you the most.

Now, after promising Steve you’d stay, sworn in the passenger seat of his car as the snow fell around you both, you’ve left him once more.

Take all the time you need, I’ll be here.

The promises you’ve made burn so deeply that a wince escapes your lips, and Dustin quietly asks if you’re okay.

“‘M fine,” you manage to rasp out, crawling forward despite the tormented tugging that begs you to turn around.

You hear Dustin’s lips part, he doesn’t believe you and wants to argue, but you keep your head turned away from him and he instead settles on sighing. You’re not ready to talk about it, not yet. Not now, not when you feel as if you’ve lost a piece of yourself.

Erica turns a corner and starts to slow down. “Fans up ahead.”

“Great,” Dustin groans when he sees the giant blades spinning, blocking the way forward. “Think we could time it right and jump through them?”

“If you wanna lose a head, sure.” Erica snorts, unpleased with the risky idea. “Don’t you have tools in those lame ass cargo shorts you’re wearing?”

“My cargo shorts aren’t lame…”

You sit quietly as Dustin and Erica try and figure out what to do. You’re still in shock, you can’t gather the energy to try and help them. It’s like a switch has been flipped inside of you, deactivating your ability to do anything other than be plagued with the crippling sensation of loss.

Eventually Erica convinces Dustin to try and break into the control panel next to the fans and shut them down manually. He pulls a screwdriver from one of his pockets (to Erica’s utter amusement), and starts unscrewing the bolts. Through it all, you remain quiet, and when Dustin looks over at you, he finds you staring blankly at the walls with an almost lifeless gaze.

He sighs. Needing to distract himself, Dustin figures now is as good a time as any to explain everything to Erica. The Russians, why they’re here, why you’ve almost lost your mind trying to protect everyone. “It all started the night Will disappeared, two years ago.”

Dustin explains the Upside Down, the Demogorgon and how it was able to travel to their world through a gate El had accidentally opened with her powers, and now how the Russians have somehow found this gate and are attempting to reopen it.

Erica, to her credit, listens. She doesn’t question a thing, and Dustin is surprised by her lack of sarcastic input, but when he finishes explaining everything, the girl only has doubts about one thing: Lucas being involved.

“Wait, so you believe everything about El and the gate, and the Demodogs and the Mind Flayer, but you question your brother’s involvement?” Dustin asks the girl, in disbelief of how her mind works.

“That’s correct.”

Then, surprising them both, you finally speak. “Lucas is brave, Erica. He’s done a lot for the party.”

Erica’s stony expression softens slightly, her usual argumentative demeanor backs down. “Yeah, well. Whatever. You’re damn lucky it’s your birthday and I feel bad for you.”

It’s not much, but you know that she’s spared you her malice. For once you accept the sympathy, even if your luck has run out hours ago when Steve kissed you and then tore you apart. “Lucky,” you snort. “Yeah.”

Dustin and Erica look at one another wearily, though you pretend you don’t see it. After a few heartbeats, your brother clears his throat and goes back to unscrewing the control panel.

“Um, you need help with that?” Erica asks the boy, doubtful of his capabilities. When Dustin tells her no, she doubles down. “I mean, it’s taking a while, so–”

Dustin huffs at her. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

“Don’t cuss at her.” You butt in, but Erica has already started back with her arguing.

She claims that at the slow pace you’re going, Steve and Robin stand no chance, and her words make the nausea claw up your throat. Dustin notices the way you clutch at your stomach and he quickly tries to reason with Erica, maybe say that she’s wrong, but the girl only continues to talk.

“I mean, we’ve made it about point-three miles in nine hours.” Erica looks down at her watch as she speaks, but her eyes almost swim with the numbers you assume she invisions in her mind. “Then we had to walk three hours down that tunnel, so I’d estimate ten miles back to the elevator, which should take us approximately twelve and a half days.”

You and Dustin look at each other, baffled. No way Erica managed to come up with those numbers all on her own. Sure, you’ve always secretly suspected that she was more intelligent than she let on, but Jesus. You can hardly remember the multiples of seven on a good day.

“Did you just do all of that in your head?” Dustin asks her, eyes wide with astonishment.

Erica shrugs. “I’m good with numbers.”

“That’s an understatement,” you mumble under your breath, though you’re starting to feel more like yourself again. Dustin calls Erica a nerd, which she adamantly denies, and the light hearted conversation almost seems to draw you out of your state of shock, albeit slowly.

Your brother lists off all the proof he has of Erica’s “nerdiness” and you listen, chuckling. The genuine offense on the girl’s face is hard not to laugh at, and when Dustin sees that it seems to be cheering you up, he doubles down on his efforts.

“Fact number three: you love My Little Pony.” He holds up Erica’s backpack that has two ponies printed across it, which you snort at.

Erica crosses her arms defensively. “And what does My Little Pony have to do with this?”

“Let’s recall the ponies’ latest adventure, shall we?” Dustin clears his throat and begins retelling the tales of the ponies, and you cannot believe that your fourteen year old brother still watches the show and pays enough attention to understand its themes and narrative. “Ergo, My Little Pony is nerdy. Ergo, you, Erica, are a nerd.”

“Not to take sides,” you poke your head between the two kids. “But why do you know so much about the show, Dustin?”

“Because I’m a nerd.” He manages to get the control panel open and rips the wires out of it. Electric sparks fly as they disconnect and the fans behind you slowly come to a stop. “Now, let’s go, nerds.”

Erica glares at him before turning to you. “Do you watch My Little Pony, Y/N?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not that pathetic. I read comics instead, like the mature seventeen year old I am.”

The girl rolls her eyes at you, entirely over you and your brother, and starts crawling through the air ducts once more. As she leaves, Dustin stays behind. “Hey,”

His hand wraps around your arm and stops you from following Erica. You pause, confused as to what he may want. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” In the lighting, for just a moment, Dustin looks up at you and he’s the nine year old little boy who once feared you would get lost in your mother’s grief and father’s anger.

The last icy tendrils of shock melt, you come back to yourself when you hear your little brother’s fear for his sister. Taking Dustin’s hand into yours, you squeeze it. “Of course I’m okay. I have you.”

Dustin laughs softly, relief evident within his exhale, and you yank his hat off of his head to break the remaining tension away. He lunges for it, betrayed, though he laughs again anyways, and for a few seconds it’s just the two of you giggling to yourselves as you fight over the hat.

“Are you two shitbirds coming, or do I gotta kill those Commies on my own?” Erica shouts, now on the other side of the air duct.

With one last tug, Dustin tears the hat from your grasp and sticks his tongue out at you. “Last one to Erica owes the other $5!” He starts speed crawling towards the girl, giving you absolutely no chance of winning, and you hang your head in defeat and sigh.

The fucker owes you so much money already.

–

It takes hours.

Back aching and knees bruised, you crawl behind the kids in the seemingly endless maze that resides in the facility’s air ducts. It’s similar to the tunnels you walked through what feels like years ago originally, with Steve holding your hand through it all, though you know it couldn’t have been less than a day ago now.

The entire time, your mind doesn’t once quiet its concern for Steve and Robin. Just when the pounding in your head becomes splitting, Dustin stops you and Erica.

“Y/N, help me remove the vent.”

“Why, what’s up there?” You’re next to him, squinting through the grate’s small holes. All you see are what appear to be a line of vaults, though it’s hard to tell. “I don’t see anyone.”

Dustin starts prying at the vent. “Exactly, there’s no one up there and look, can’t you see it?”

You squint again, getting even closer to the holes to peer inside. Something glows bright green on one of the vault’s shelfs. “Is that…?”

“Uh huh. Now help me, will you?”

It takes a minute or so before you’re able to pry the vent open. Together, the two of you slowly lift your heads through the opening and look around. The room you’ve ended up in is empty. Along its walls are rows of vaults with multiple vials of the green chemicals you found in the elevator.

You’re not entirely sure what your brother has in mind, but you know it can’t be anything good.

“Jackpot!” Dustin breathes out with newfound exhilaration. He climbs out of the air duct first and eagerly starts looking around while you help Erica out.

The two kids look around in amazement, but you survey the area out of habit. It’s too quiet within the room. Being so close to the chemicals again leaves you on edge. “Stay close to me, we don’t know who could be nearby–”

“Oh!” Dustin abandons your caution in a heartbeat. He starts running down the steps, and when you see what’s gotten him so excited, you follow after him. There’s a cart right at the bottom of the stairs, parked to the side without anyone in it.

It could be your ticket out of here, if you’re lucky.

“Do you even know how to drive?” Erica teases Dustin, but you step past her and join him to inspect the vehicle.

He waves an indifferent hand at her. “How hard can it be? Max did it.”

“That was the worst car ride of my life” You shiver at the memory. The taste of blood fills your mouth and you can almost feel the bruises again. Shaking your head, you force yourself to focus. “Think you could hotwire this?”

Dustin furrows his brows and ducks his head under the wheel. He shuffles around, mumbling to himself, before he curses. “No, it’s one of those fancy, expensive carts. Which is goddamn ironic for people who hate wealth. We need a key.”

“Okay, that’s not how Communism necessarily works–”

“Did you two seriously think they’d leave keys in there?” Erica interrupts you, cutting straight to the point as she always does.

Dustin starts digging around the cart now. He checks the mirror compartment, under the seat, wherever his hands can reach. “There’s gotta be a spare…” When he comes up with nothing, he shoves you out of the cart. “Go and look inside the vault room.”

“A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt.” Though you do as you’re told, trusting that the room is secure enough to leave him and Erica alone for a few minutes as you look.

There are vials everywhere, but no signs of a spare key. You wander the rows, the green liquid glows ominously. Drawing your face closer to one of the vials, the liquid bubbles in its glass container. This small, inconspicuous vial is what melted cement back at the elevator.

An idea comes to you.

“Dustin,” you call over your shoulder, eyes still on the chemical. “What if we grabbed some of these vials and used them as some kind of weapon? I mean, it’s some pretty powerful stuff.” No one responds, which you frown at. It’s then that you realize it’s become suspiciously quiet, and with your heartbeat in your throat, you run back towards the kids.

You find Dustin with spare keys in his hand, a proud smile on his face. “Found ‘em.”

“I’m going to start making you pay me every time you give me a goddamn heart attack.” A hand rests against your chest as you try to lower your heart rate. “I mean, this just can’t be good for me–”

A loud, spine tingling crack of electricity zaps behind you.

Screaming, you jump at the noise and into Dustin’s side. You both turn around, coming face to face with a giant electric prod held by a smiling Erica.

“What the hell is that?” Dustin shouts at her, fear still in his voice.

“A deadly weapon.” She zaps it again and the sound is deafening. “Could be useful.”

Both hands on your chest now, you hunch over and try to not to have a heart attack right then and there. “You kids are going to kill me one day.” You swallow, take a deep breath. “God, why can’t we stick with knives? They’re quiet, quaint. Not at all terrifying.”

“Knives against Commies? I thought you wanted to save your boyfriend, Y/N.” Erica swings the prod as she speaks and you hold your hands up.

“Let’s not swing that around, okay? The last thing I need today is to be electrocuted by that thing.” When she lowers the prod, you continue. “But… you should keep it. It’ll be useful for saving Steve and Robin.”

Dustin steps in front of you. “Wait a minute, aren’t you always lecturing me about being realistic? We don’t even know where they are.”

“And aren’t you always lecturing me about putting the party first?” You can’t believe that Dustin isn’t tearing the place apart to find Steve. “We can’t just leave them here. No way you think I’d let you do that.”

“But there are a million guards up there with weapons way deadlier than that!” He points at Erica’s electric prod. He starts walking towards the cart, keys in hand, and beckons you to get inside it as well. “Admit it, the best thing we can do for them is get out of here and find help. Our chance of surviving, and theirs, rises substantially.”

“No.” You don’t step foot in the cart.

“Just trust me on this.” Dustin tries to get you into the cart, but you plant your feet on the ground and refuse to move. “Y/N, please don’t be difficult right now.”

“I said no.” Your voice hardens. Dustin has never been one to back away from a challenge, and yet here he is. Accepting defeat and leaving Steve and Robin to suffer the consequences of it. You’ve always been the first to stand behind realism, to denounce insane ideas and stunts that the party always manages to get itself into, but this time it’s different.

Somewhere within these walls, your friends are facing unimaginable terrors. They sacrificed themselves to save you and the kids. Once again, Steve Harrington has saved your life.

And you’ve always evened out your debts to him.

“We’re going to look for them.” You walk back into the vault room and start grabbing vial after vial of chemicals. There’s an air of authority in your demeanor, daring the kids to argue with you. You’re taking control now after being numb for so long. Dustin follows you, tries to argue, but you continue grabbing vials from the shelves as a plan forms in your head. “We are going to grab as many of these as we can, load them up into the cart, and then drive around this shithole until we find our friends.”

You shove the vials into Dustin’s arms. He blinks at you, this is the most clear headed he’s seen you since descending down in the elevator. Marching back towards the cart, you place your own vials down. “Then, we are going to use whatever chemical this is to cause a distraction. We’ll melt something, maybe cause a fire. I don’t give a shit what we do. All I know is that we are going to then save our friends and get the fuck out of this hellscape. Do I make myself clear?”

Dustin and Erica stare at you, jaws slacked, both now sitting in the cart. Taking their silence as a yes, you nod, pleased. “Fantastic. Now, my dear brother, start driving or I will. Either way: we’re leaving.”

He gulps and tightens his hands on the steering wheel. When you’ve settled into the back of the vehicle, he starts the cart. “Let’s go, then.”

As Dustin drives, Erica twists in her seat to look at you. She’s impressed, albeit still slightly terrified. “Have you always been so scary?”

“Yes. I just hide it well. Makes it more useful when I need it.”

–

You’ve just finished counting the vials when Erica seems to decide now is an appropriate time to ask invasive questions.

“So what do you see in that hair guy?”

“You mean Steve?” Although, you suppose that hair guy is a pretty good indicator for him.

Erica nods. “Yeah, I just don’t understand how someone like him could impress you. He wears a sailor’s uniform and flings ice cream all day long.”

You’re oddly touched by this, though her description of Steve makes you sad. He’s so much more than just some guy who scoops ice cream. He’s brave, selfless, sensitive, and kind. “Don’t give me too much credit. There’s a lot you don’t know about Steve.”

She makes a disgusted face. “Yuck. It sounds like you love the guy.”

Dustin cringes and looks disgusted as well. He doesn’t want to hear his sister waxing and waning about his friend. “Can we not talk about that right now?”

Erica pinches his side, causing him to nearly crash the cart into the wall. “I’m an inquisitive person and clearly they’re in love. Y/N almost bit your head off when you suggested abandoning him.”

“Okay, I didn’t suggest abandoning him.”

“It’s just the facts!”

They argue, forgetting that you’re there. However, you need the distraction, and talking about Steve has always made you feel braver than you really are. A smile spreads across your face when you think about him. The words spill from your mouth without any effort. “I do love Steve.”

Dustin’s arguing fades away. His eyes meet yours in the cart’s rearview mirror. He already knew that you loved Steve, but to hear you say it, to see the blush that invades your face whenever you talk about him, it makes everything more real. Guilt washes over him. He wanted you to leave the boy you love behind.

“Look,” Dustin sighs. He needs to get this off of his chest. “I’m sorry about telling you to leave Steve and–”

A scream echoes within the hall. It’s feminine, familiar.

“Robin,” your stomach twists. She’s alive. And close. She has to be close if you can hear her screams. You grab Dustin’s shoulder. “Go!”

He slams on the gas and the cart picks up speed. Rounding the corner, he brakes harshly and you’re in yet another hallways. It’s silent, there isn’t anyone there. You close your eyes, you’re close. You can feel it, but you can’t locate them if you don’t know where they are.

“C’mon, Robin, “ you plead. “Help us find you.”

Another scream, this time it sounds even closer.

“That way!” Erica points left, and there’s no time to doubt if she’s right. The three of you jump out the cart and grab the chemicals. Dustin also grabs the electric prod, and then you all start running.

Robin screams again, and this time you can place which door it comes from. Adrenaline rushes through you. You have to work fast. At the end of the hall you see what looks to be an alarm switch on the wall. It wasn’t a part of your plan earlier, but it’ll have to do.

“Erica, go to the switch down there. When I say go, you press it. Alright?” She nods at you, quickening her pace. You turn to Dustin next, grabbing the vials from him. “Get the prod ready. I’ll throw the vials.”

When you get to the door that separates you from Robin, you press your ear against it. Voices are muffled, but still Steve's voice comes through as well. Your heart jumps. He’s with her. He’s alive as well.

Erica stands at the end of the hall and you hold your palm up, signaling her to wait. Looking at Dustin, he nods at you and holds the prod to his chest. Taking a deep breath, you start throwing the vials harshly against the floor.

You use all the anger within you to guide what little strength you have left. The anger drives you, it propels the vials, it shatters them. The chemicals spill everywhere. The cement floor begins to erode away, sizzling. After you’ve thrown your last one, you shout to Erica, “Now!”

Alarms sound overhead. Erica runs back towards you and you shove the kids behind a barrel. Within seconds the hallway fills with Russian guards and they swarm around the melted floor, but you keep your eyes on the door. Silently you beg for your plan to work. The door has to open, whoever is inside has to come and investigate the damage you’ve caused.

An agonizing three seconds pass. Sweat drips down your face. Then, a man comes crashing out of the door. He marches down the hallway and disappears when he turns the corner. As soon as he’s gone, Dustin slams through the door. There’s a man dressed in doctor’s scrubs within the room, but your brother attacks him with the prod and knocks him out quickly.

Erica and Dustin stand over the unconscious man. They’re surprised the plan has worked. Yet all you see is Steve.

Everything else fades away. He’s tied to a chair, his face is bleeding. You run towards him, uncaring about whatever else may be in the room. A whole fucking army of Russians could be standing next to you right now and you still wouldn’t spare them a single glance.

“Oh, honey.” The sentiment drips from your lips as your knife cuts through the rope that binds him. You’re so fucking relieved that he’s okay, that Robin is as well. But there’s so much blood. In your periphery you see a tray with a bone saw on it.

“There’s my pretty girl!” Steve giggles, head lolling to the side as he admires you. “Isn’t she the prettiest, Robin?”

Robin giggles as well, her face just as bruised and bloodied as his. “So pretty!”

“Oh God,” despite their injured state, the two teens are in an unusually good mood. They giggle like school girls, Robin even bats her eyelashes at you. Something is off with them. “How hard did they hit your heads?”

Dustin starts to help you untie Steve. “Get ready to run.” He instructs them with a firm voice. However, Robin and Steve continue to laugh. As if this is all one big joke to them.

They almost seem… drunk.

But there isn’t time to ask any questions. Any minute now the guards will return. You cut the last rope that’s tied around Robin and ask Erica if she can carry her. They’re too loopy to walk straight, you’ll need to help Dustin carry Steve back to the cart.

It takes a lot of yelling, slapping Steve’s hand away from your face as you struggle to drag his limp body to the cart, more bribes for Robin than you ever would’ve imagined, but miraculously you get the two idiots into the cart parked outside.

As soon as they’re secured in the back with you, Dustin steps on the gas and you leave the Russians behind.

“Tried promising you I’d come home, angel.” Steve is sprawled on your lap. His eyes are cloudy, he isn’t quite here with you.

“You didn’t have to say anything. I knew you’d promise me.” You reassure him. Carefully, you brush hair out of his face and you inspect his wounds. The cuts don’t look too deep, but you’re worried he might have yet another concussion. Thankfully, however, the blood has already started to scab over. The worst of it is over, and yet your heart still constricts when you remember that he’s injured because of you. “My poor, sweet honey.”

Steve closes his eyes and hums with content. “I love it when you call me honey.” He rolls onto his side now and nuzzles his bloodied face into your stomach. “Makes me feel special.”

Your fingers find his hair, careful to avoid any bumps and heart swelling at what he’s said. Clearing your throat, you look to Robin who is on your other side. You start checking her over as well. She isn’t as battered as Steve is, though a bruise is forming on her cheek.

When she sees you looking at her, she winks. “I lived!”

“You did,” you squeeze her hand and her head falls against your shoulder. She lets out her own content sigh, and you play with her hair as well. They’re still with you. Still whole and alive.

With Steve and Robin safely wrapped around you, you can finally rest.

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#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #nya #m's writing #yall are gonna scream at me #im so excited to see it LMAO

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rjzimmerman · 1 month ago

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Excerpt from this story from The Revelator:

When Kathryn Parsley taught biology to undergrads, she sometimes talked about Australia’s stinging tree, which is among the world’s most venomous plants — and can cause months of excruciating pain for anyone who approaches it.

“It’s incredibly dangerous,” she says. “If you even get close, its trichomes can get on you and it feels like your skin is on fire.” The sensation has been compared to being burned with hot acid and electrocuted at the same time.

The stinging tree got her students’ attention, and that was Parsley’s aim. Many people consider plants benign and boring, if they consider them at all. Most plants don’t exist for them as distinct species; instead they compose what some botanists call “a green curtain”— a generic backdrop for more interesting creatures, namely animals, preferably vertebrates, ultimately humans.

Parsley wrote her dissertation on the subject of plant blindness, a term coined in 1999 by American botanists James Wandersee and Elisabeth Schussler, who defined it as “the inability to see or notice the plants in one’s own environment.”

Several studies — including one Parsley conducted — have documented a difference in the visual attention people pay to animals compared to plants. When shown images in rapid succession, university students were better able to detect the animals and recalled more animal than plant names. There’s even evidence that some students didn’t perceive plants as being alive.

Because of its reference to vision, Parsley considers the term “plant blindness” ableist and suggests the term plant awareness disparity instead. It has also been called zoochauvinism and zoocentrism.

Whatever you call it, many people find plants unworthy of their consideration. Yet in terms of sheer volume, plants dwarf the rest of life on Earth’s surface. Plant biomass is estimated to be 450 gigatons on land, while animals account for only 2 gigatons. Plant-blind humans simply discard most of the plant information their eye-brain systems take in, processing information about something else instead.

Wandersee and Schussler attributed some of that apathy to the fact that plants, unlike animals, don’t have a face. Nor can they move or threaten us in the way animals can. But while these plant traits have been fairly constant over time, experts think plant blindness is on the rise.

So if plants haven’t changed, why have we?

As it turns out, we haven’t all changed. The rate of plant blindness varies across cultures. Most of the research on it has been done in the United States and United Kingdom, whereas “Indigenous people are very plant-oriented,” Parsley points out. “Some subcultures in the U.S. and outside the U.S. are very plant-oriented.”

It wasn’t that long ago that many people in Eurocentric cultures revered plants, too. But our relationship with plants has changed. Two hundred years ago, most people lived on farms. They grew and gathered their own food, so they had to know plants. Today most of us live in cities and towns. We don’t rely on our plant-identification skills in order to eat.

#plants #botany #conservation #preservation

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wasitforrevenge · 4 months ago

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new romantics

pairing: MODERN AU!college azriel x female reader

warnings: may be some triggering content including tampon is a douchbag at a party, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of sexual activity but nothing major, smut books mentioned (hehehe) a fight occurs but can you blame him? he’s just defending your honor ugh, two idiots in love who want nothing but each other and can’t admit it, no use of y/n, imagine her as you, because it is YOU! half editted… ill get to it later i promise

word count: 4.5k

summary: your new study partner is better than you first realize… and now you can’t stop thinking about him, but he can’t stop thinking of you either.

authors note: hi first time writing for acotor! been a fan of these books for a while and my baby azriel does something to me!!! so here’s something i spent the night writing it was 10 different things before it was this lol! pls like, reblog and comment! thank you everyone for reading! photo credit to pinterest, and please i strive to do better so any thoughts pls free feel to let me know! thank you for the support! this is the first time i’ve had the energy to write in months so pls dont go too hard

you met azriel in a greek mythology lecture that you both ended up in during the second semester of your sophomore year. getting partnered with an incredibly built and handsome man for a history report your teacher assigned was the least of your problems when you realized how fucking kind and beautiful azriel is on the inside and out.

the real problem came when you realized how hard you were falling for this man when you started hanging out casually, hitting the coffee stand before class or getting food after a long day. you learned so much about him in a matter of months and couldn’t get him out of your head.

you never spoke existence to your feelings for him, mainly because you didn’t want to ruin a very good potential friendship but partly because you didn’t think you were good enough for someone like him. you’ve heard little whispers about his other… activities and you couldn’t help the way it made you feel.

at the start of your junior year, you and azriel were practically best friends and it just felt so natural. the way you two were together. the way your conversations flowed and the way the silence was never deafening when you were together. you spent time cuddling on the couch in your living room watching movies and rating tv shows and going to visit parks around town and getting high as fuck. once time you had even gone crazy and took some acid and spent hours at the aquarium watching all the fish. you studied for classes together, the one you shared and the ones you both took on your own.

you and azriel were always testing out new recipes in his large kitchen. its wonderful that he lives alone. alone as in by himself but you cannot glance over the fact that the rhysand and feyre along with cassian and nesta live on the same floor of this apartment building close to campus. you luckly only live 2 floors down, a thing you realized when you managed to see him in the elevator about a week or two after you first started studying together.

you were debating all summer about confessing your feelings to him but could not gather the courage to bring yourself to admit it to him and face rejection. you couldn’t mess up the relationship between you already. he was your best friend and you really didn’t have too many besides him. you’ve met his family and have spend a lot of time with them, they’re all practically adopted you at the point, they welcomed you with smiles and open arms (besides amren but they told you she’s always like that.)

but a couple weeks into the semester, you and nesta were standing in a kitchen of a person you don’t know debating on what shitty cheap alcohol you’ll be indulging in tonight. it was the first big back to school party and it was still hot as hell out so you were dressed in dark denim shorts and nice tank top along with your black converse.

you and nesta instantly clicked when you met. bonding over smutty books and all the tv shows you managed to watch. she’s felt like your first real girl-friend ever, you guys got some comfortable together and every time you guys hung out, it felt like no time had passed. it was refreshing to have someone to talk to. she also happens to be the only one who knows about the feelings you harbor for your other best friend.

as you’re about to pour the tequila into your red solo cup, you hear someone call nesta’s name and she tells you she’ll be right back before scurrying off to whichever of her friends was calling her. leaving you there alone not knowing anyone at the party, nesta told you the rest of the group was going to meet you there but you have yet to see any of them as you turn your head around the room.

as you fill your cup and turn to put the bottle back down on the counter, you feel a hand glide around your waist and are suddenly aware of a man extremely too close your liking. “hey baby” he said as he slurred his words, clearly intoxicated, by the way he looked and smelled. it sent more warnings through your head even after he grabbed you like that. you had to leave, this couldn’t happen. thoughts are rushing through your head. you move your hand to push his arm off you as you turn around to be face to face with a tall blonde with long hair.

“what was that for?” he drags out as he tried to put his hand back on you. you instantly tried to move towards the way nesta went and told him, “please get off!” but he was too fast and held your upper arm in a death grip before he tugged you closer to his chest, his other hand back on your waist like the first time he did it. your eyes close in fear as he leans down to whisper something in your ear, but he’s gone in an instant.

it all happened so fast. all you see is a large, muscular, tattooed arm flying in front of you, hitting the man who was on you just seconds ago. you watched shocked as you finally lock in to the situation before you.

azriel beating the shit out of the man who had just laid his hands on you.

azriel swung his fist again towards him, hitting him square in the jaw, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he screamed at him, having another punch already landing with his other fist.

the man doesn’t respond before he swings back at azriel and managed to get a decent swing in, the hit landed to his lip but azriel doesn’t move at all. he’s standing still in the spot, continuing to tower over him.

azriel shoved the man back into the counter and landed a powerful hook right to his nose simultaneously. he cried out as it made contact, “fuck dude c’mon,” he reached up to grab it, blood pouring from his broken nose and busted lip. he steps closer as he removes his hand looking at the red liquid that has held onto his skin, ready to defend himself against the beautiful man that your eyes cannot stray from.

but azriel is faster and before he could even blink, managed to grab a hold of his shirt and pull him up to where his toes barely touched the floor. his hands fall at his sides and his eyes widen in fear as azriel gets closer to his face, leaning down to whisper something in his ear that you can’t hear over the loud music, people partying and the screaming and crying in your heart as you watched this all unfold.

suddenly azriel is tossing the man back into the counter and he barely managed to grab it and hold on, azriel suddenly grows larger, as if he could get any bigger, and leans to spit out the blood that had collected in his mouth behind him. and suddenly your attention is focused on the warmth now englufing your wrist. your eyes immediately register the sight of him standing in front of you, this was warm and right, his hands on you. it just felt so right.

his other hand reached out and gently lifts your chin to meet his gaze. the way the sense of safety coursed through you with his simple touch just confirmed, yet again, that this was going to be so hard for you to tell him.

“hey baby…” he spoke softly, his eyes darted between both yours. his attention solely on you. he let his finger rub against your cheek as he finished, “are you okay?” you can’t help the feeling the shoots through you at the use of the pet name and the look of shock that painted your face. not knowing if it came from, whether it was from what unfolded in front of you at this party or the fact he still holding your face and talking to you like this, so sweetly.

you blinked a couple times and the realization hit you that you’ve just been standing there, staring into his beautiful eyes. not paying attention to the group of people that crowded around as the fight was happening or the looks you guys are getting from other party goers that still surrounded you. the only thing you can stand to focus on his gaze.

azriel.

“i don’t know,” you almost whisper towards him, feeling his warmth covering you both. before you can talk again, he moves his scarred hand from your wrist, you feel almost… empty at the loss of contact but that doesn’t last long as he slipped his hand into yours and intertwined his fingers with yours as he guided you towards the front door.

you passed by so many people, you tried not to pay attention to all the looks you were getting. girls stared as they realized it wasn’t themselves in azriel’s grasp, but you. it was your hand he was holding. your heart beat at just the thought of it, your nerves were already shot as the events unfolded not even 10 minutes ago and this did not help one bit.

your eyes manage to catch nesta’s in the crowd, her eyes widen as she takes in the sight before her, azriel holding your hand and leading you out of the party. oblivious to what actually happened to cause this, she gave you a huge smile and two thumbs up. you cant help but silently chuckle at your friend despite the other overwhelming feelings you have. you’ll explain the situation later when you text her but you were sure eventually she’d hear what happened.

he leads you out the front door and looks back at you with a small smile as you trail behind him. he walked you over, without a word and hands still intertwined and you finally notice your next to his old beat up mustang on the side of the street, the one that smells like him and the faint smell of weed that always lingers regardless of the last time he smoked in there.

he opened the car door for you and you released your hand from his and got into the passengers seat. once you were in, he reached over and buckled your seatbelt for you, giving it a tug to make sure it was connected before smiling down at you from outside the car. he shut the door satisfied and walked around the back of the car to open his own door and sat inside.

the silence is comfortable. it always has been, you pray that sometimes it’s awkward or uncomfortable but it never is. you sit in your seat, eyes staring down towards the hand he had been holding, almost in disbelief, that he defended you like that. you’ve never seen azriel angry like that either. he turns to face you, wanting you to meet his eyes.

azriel walked in the front door of the party, after having a pretty day. the customers at the restaurant he works truly sucked today. small tips and even shittier people. all he wanted to do was smoke off some steam and get drunk with cassian and rhys. he knew you were going to be here. cassian mentioned it in passing while talking about nesta so he was also on the look out for you. the girl who managed to catch his heart after having been partnered together. azriel couldn’t help the way he felt about you even though it almost felt wrong to him.

he didn’t want to take advantage of you, he knew you were shy and never really been in a relationship. he found that out when he walked into the kitchen of cassian and nesta’s apartment, and overheard nesta telling cass all about you after her and you hung out for the first time outside the group. so he just tried to ignore his feelings but regardless of that fact you were his bestfriend. he just couldn’t escape you.

and when he walked into that kitchen to see tamlin standing over you, your arm tight in his grip, the way your eyes were slammed shut trying to back away from him. he didn’t even think. he was there pulling him off you before he could even recognize what he was doing. throwing punches left and right towards the man who dared touched you. he barely even registered the hit he managed on no one but him can put his hands on you. he’s had that thought before but never brought life to it, but here? now?

all thoughts of guilt for feeling that way vanished. there was no way he was letting anyone touch you. but him. that’s all he wanted. he wanted you in a way he didn’t think was reciprocated. love was a funny thing to him, something he was never accustomed to until after he met rhysand and cassian.

his family never showed it, he lives with the constant knowledge of that every time he looks down at his hands. he thought about the way you never judged him of them, like it was nothing at all to you but that was everything to him.

the one sided crush he harbored on mor for a couple years was nothing in comparison to the way he felt about you. his few flings he had over the past couple years (after he realized it was pointless liking mor, also… because she slept with cassian) were mildly of convince and of urge but once he met you, he knew he was a goner.

he stopped the girls. the stopped the meaningless flirting and hooks up and took to just pleasuring himself to the thought as you, as shitty as it made him felt after. sometimes he just couldn’t look you in the eye the next time he saw you but you never said anything. you never commented on it and he silently thanked you in his head.

but right now, after he pulled you out of the party, scarred hand in yours, he needed you to look him in the eyes. but you still hadn’t and he couldn’t just keep staring at the face of the beautiful woman in front of him while it was coated with anxiety and exhaustion.

azriel lifted his distorted hand to your face meeting the soft warm skin that was your own. he gently brought your face to meet his gaze and as you locked eyes, the spark hit you yet again.

gods he was breathtaking. dark hair that covered to above his ears, the eyes that seemed to stare into yours every single time they met, the tattoos that covered him and his golden brown skin that you swore shined outright during different points in the day. your heart cannot handle this man.

“please,” he practically whispered you barely even registered that he said it before he continued, “are you okay, what can i do?” the sound in his voice felt desperate as his eyes bore into yours, the feel of his hand on her face, you couldn’t help but lean into his grasp and close your eyes, taking in the feel of him. you responded a moment later after letting out a sigh and looking at him again.

“can we just go home? i just want to sleep” you asked him with a pleading tone as you feel his thumb rub against your cheek for the second time that night. ugh the things this man does to you. all you wanted was for him to hold you, to feel the press of his body against yours. anything to get the feeling of someone else off you. “yeah baby, we can.” he said gently before he moved his hand down to yours and gave you a light squeeze before he turned the car on and shifted into gear, pulling off in the direction of home.

once you arrived back to the apartment building, he parked in the lot next to the front door and moved around the car to open your door, he gave you his hand as you stepped out. he went to put his hand at your lower back as he opened the door for you but decided against just in case that was a lot for you right now. he did not want to make it worse. he could see the fear in your eyes back there, no way would he subject you to that if you weren’t comfortable with it. so instead he just followed behind you, hitting the button to the elevator to take you up to your floor.

the elevator luckily isn’t taking forever today so when it opens, you and azriel step in and he goes to hit the floor for your apartment but your hand reaches out and stops him. “can we go to yours please?” your head moves up to meet his gaze but his eyes are focused on where your hand is on his wrist. a second later his eyes meet yours and he gives you a small nod and hits the button for the fifth floor. you remove your hand and lean against the wall right next to him, his hand reaches out and entangles his bumpy fingers with yours.

“is this okay?” he asks you. you can barely hold it in after that, the tears finally fall. he feels the sudden change in your body as he moves closer to you but removing his hand from yours in fear that you didn’t want to touch him. but in reality that’s all you want. you want him to touch you. you want him to love you. you want everything with him. its all just so overwhelming, everything that has happened.

he goes to speak but before he can get a word out, your body is on his engulfing him in a hug around his long torso, he instantly wraps his arms around your smaller frame. he can feel your body shake with tears and all he wants to do is make sure that no one ever makes you feel like this again. you deserve so much better, he only wishes he could be better for you too. you squeeze him tighter and he just holds you until the elevator door opens and you pull away from him. mascara and tears running down your face, you can see it on his shirt. he smiles at you before he pulls his hands to your face and wipes your cheeks off with his rough yet soft hands.

you cant help the laugh that escapes you as he wipes his hands on the t-shirt staining it even more with the leftover residue on your face. he gives you a chuckle before connected your hands yet again, walking with you out of the elevator to his one bedroom apartment. he fishes in his pocket with his other hand and pulls out his keys. he unlocked the door and held it open for you to walk in.

your senses are taken over by the smell of him. the smell of his candle lingered from the coffee table covered with textbooks in the large living room, he has a basket of blankets he keeps in the corner because he knows you get cold watching tv. he has a big L shaped couch which had a 60 inch tv across the room, with a boatload of dvds underneath. something you both agreed was a dying art. you and azriel swear physical media will make a comeback one day but you guys will never forget how they ruined it!

his space was a lot bigger since you have a two bedroom apartment. but it was perfect for him. azriel had loved the way he made his space his own, his bass guitars set up in the corner next to his collection of vinyl records and a record player that rhys and cassian got him when he turned 21… as well as a shit ton of booze. he had a bookshelf that held his favorites, as well as your own.

he bought a copy of almost every book you talked about so that he was in the loop with what you were reading. even the ones you didn’t talk about that he caught on your nightstand or in your reading nook. when he bought one of those and read it, his jaw dropped. he immediately thought of nesta and her smutty books but this sent something else though his body. he couldn’t help but keep reading… he wondered if you thought about him while reading these scenes of them ravishing each other, in every way imaginable. he sure did! his right hand hates him!

and you definitely did to… thought about him in ways that you shouldn’t. thinking about him doing all those things to you. the way you knew he would take care of you. the way you knew you could take care of him, despite how inexperienced you are. the thoughts drove you crazy. it was practically all day and every day at this point. thinking about the way his hands would feel running up your thighs or the way his lips would feel on yours.

now here you are, standing in his living room, just wanting all that and little did you know… he did too.

“hey az…” you uttered towards him. he was already next to you as you spoke, “can we lay down please?” your voice was barely a whisper.

he didn’t even need to speak, he just brought you to his room. he lead you to sit on the corner of the bed as he turned and riffled through his dresser, pulling out a large dark green shirt and handing it to you with a smile, “change into this, i’ll be right back.”

“can i take a shower?” you asked azriel shyly. “yes of course, one sec.” you watched as he walked out the room and shut the door behind him. you took your shoes off and placed them by the bedroom door next to azriel’s shoes. he came back in a second later with a fresh towel and a water bottle.

“here you go, you already know where the shower is,” he says with a small chuckle. you give him a grateful smile and a thank you as you took the items from his hands and gave him one last look before heading into his connecting bathroom.

you turned on the hot water and you stripped out of your clothes and threw them into the laundry hamper in the corner of the bathroom. you got in the shower and felt instantly better. the way the water followed hot you could feel the touch of the man from the party washing away, only to be replaced with thoughts of azriel touching you instead. you reviled in it.

you washed your hair and body with his shampoo, conditioner and body wash. silently thanking him for not using 3-in-1 (nesta found out that’s what cassian used and flipped shit) you finished your shower and dried off with the towel he gave you.

you put on his t-shirt that made its way down to your mid thigh when it was on completely. you loved when you were covered in him. you walked back out into the room and didn’t see azriel so you took your seat at the edge of the bed and waiting for him to come back. you sat there and picked at your nails, feeling so wore out you didn’t even want to cry anymore.

azriel came in two minutes later, dressed him long flannel pajama pants and you can see the band of his underwear peeking out as he gets closer to you. he changed after you went into the bathroom, and then went to the kitchen to make sure he was stocked up on the tea you liked and the snacks you guys enjoy together, just in case you got hungry.

he ran around his living room and cleaned random odds and ends. putting dishes in the sink, folding the blankets thrown on the couch and organizing his cd collection. anything to busy himself instead of thinking of you in his shower. anything to get his mind off the amazing woman just in the other room. he hears the shower turn off and waited a few more moments before heading back into the room.

he moved the covers down to make room for you as he said, “after you princess,” with a smile on his face. you returned it and stood up to make your way to the bed but not before turning to hug him again. his arms wrapped around you as you mumbled “thank you azriel,” into his chest. you hold on for a few moments before releasing him. he looks at you before motioning to the bed, “i would do anything for you, you know that.” you felt your cheeks grow red at the thought, at the knowledge that he would.

you climb into the bed and laid your head on the pillow, turning to look at azriel, you wondered why he was still standing. “az are you coming?” you said bashfully. he blinked and bent down to the bed to be eye level with you. “i’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight.” you could feel the way your face dropped in disappointment as you registered what he said. he saw it too and felt it deep in his chest.

he stood up and was about to say goodnight but you beat him to it, “azriel please i need you.”

you could feel how desperate you sounded but you didn’t care. you just needed him. next to you right now. he said nothing else as he moved the blankets again, but this time he was under them. he didn’t hesitate to pull you into his chest, your hand found it’s way over his fast beating heart and his tattooed arm wrapping around you. the warmth and scent of him took over everything in your body. you finally felt safe. your legs tangled together as you eventually fell asleep to the rise and fall of his chest.

“i need you too.” he said to a room with no one awake but him to hear.

part 2??? i would love to write one! let me know what you think! i’d love to keep writing for acotor so yay! pls enjoy :) i’m on the edge of my seat writing this hehe

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel series #azriel supremacy #batboys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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absurdthirst · 20 days ago

Text

Dominating the General {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: Courtesan Reader, prostitution, dominatrix, dom/sub dynamic, power imbalance, oral sex (female receiving), grinding, cum eating, fingering, praise, punishment, face slapping, controlling an orgasm, after care, cock binding, oral sex (male receiving), orgasm denial, overstimulation, anal fingering, bondage, cock warming, whipping, anger/frustration, menstrual blood, menstrual cramps, period sex, role reversal

Comments: The weight of Rome weighing on his shoulders, General Marcus Acacius seeks you out. A skilled courtesan with a speciality in taking control and giving pleasure to those who obey. Finding freedom in allowing you to dominate him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

His stomach churns, in fear or perhaps anticipation, the acid rolling and making his steps slow as he approaches the ornate entrance. There is nothing forbidden or taboo about where he is going. Many men seek entertainment within the carved limestone walls. The pleasure to be had within the bodies of those that work there. He would not be rebuked for seeking out an evening in the most famous brothel in all of Rome.

Marcus Acacius would be expected to have lovers while he is in the city, resting from his latest conquest and campaigns for the glory of the empire. It would be viewed as unfavorable if he did not seek pleasure. However, only a few, a discreet selection of men who shared his predilections, would ever know why he was seeking out this particular pleasure den out of the many others around the city. Who he was seeking out inside those walls. Senator Crassus had given him the name, assured him of the satisfaction that would be found. Now he simply needs to enter and give the mistress your name.

The brothel where you live is part bathhouse, part theater and part temple. As large as the Basilica, more ornate than the Pantheon, and more welcoming than the Baths of Diocletian, the brothel was home to hundreds of talented prostitutes. Men of all ages would come to seek solace and entertainment. Whispers of your fame and talents were murmured into ears and many sought and were denied your favors. It is your home and you find amusement in knowing that many important and powerful men bow to your whims and eagerly rush to obey your orders.

Unlike the other men and women of your brothel, you do not take orders. You give them. You take control and power from men to make them feel weak. You control their pleasure and they shower you with coins and jewelry to do so. You have been proposed to by three senators and have been begged to become a permanent mistress to countless more. Turning them all down because it would give them more power over you than you would want.

Your name is given by Marcus with a nervous lick of his lips and the madame strides off to inform you of your appointment. "Send him back." You declare, knowing that Marcus will not want to be paraded through the halls. The others who have been paid to keep him company have spoken of his ability to pleasure and you are excited to experience the brave General on his knees for you. Marcus swallows harshly as he walks through the marbled halls, his stomach twisting in anticipation and he finds himself at a door where the madame declares it to be yours. "You may go in." She gestures and walks off, leaving Marcus to take a deep breath for a moment. He inhales and reaches for the metal, pushing the door open to enter your room.

“Stop.” You give him the order the second the door closes behind him. Sitting on the edge of your chair, you watch him freeze. A good sign, one that he could obey orders. “Take off your clothes and come to the center of the room to kneel down.” You are eager to see what the life long soldier’s body looks like. You have heard that he is well endowed and you want to see how long it takes for him to get hard.

His cock twitches at the mere idea of being naked while you stand there fully clothed. He nods and reaches for the hem of his tunic, not wanting to dress in armor when it's not needed, and he kicks off his sandals before he walks into the center of the room and kneels, his dark eyes focused on the marble floor instead of you, knowing you'll need to give him permission.

“Good boy.” You let him wait for a moment in silence, watching as his cock slowly starts to fill. Hardening and lifting up from his groin. You slowly stand, humming as you take in the broad shoulders, the lines around his eyes and scars that adorn his body. This is a man who has lived many lives, battled for his very soul and now he is yearning to give up control to someone else. To you. “When you are in this room, you are to obey me.” You instruct, your sandals striking against the marble floor as you walk around him, looking at him as if you were inspecting a servant. “If you disobey me one time, you will be punished. Two times, you will be sent away.” You believe in being upfront. “Three times and you will be denied my attentions until I feel you have learned.”

Marcus lets out a whimper, turned on by hearing the rules. He wants to give control to someone else. He doesn't want to think about anything when he's here. He just wants to follow orders. "Words." You demand and he chokes out, "yes, domina." He hardens when you move to stand in front of him but he keeps his eyes on the floor.

Lifting your leg, you drape it over his shoulder and your gown that is slit down the middle, parts to reveal your cunt to his eyes. “I am going to use your tongue for my pleasure.” You tell him. “Eat my cunt. I want to see how well you can pleasure me.”

Marcus knows this is a test and he groans, surging forward to slide his tongue through your folds. His tongue flicks over your clit as he closes his eyes and groans at the way you taste.

You are surprised at his eagerness, most powerful men balk at the first true test of giving over control. So used to be the ones to receive pleasure, they are almost shocked to learn that the women they fuck want to have the same. You don’t make a sound, withholding them from Marcus to see how he responds.

Your moan makes his cock twitch and he resists the urge to touch you, his hands on his thighs as he lets you rock your cunt against his face while his tongue slides into your pussy.

His tongue is quick, he feels the way your thighs tense and shake when you like the flick of his tongue and he repeats the move. He’s a quick learner, making you smile even though he cannot see you. It will be fun to control this one, to see him fall apart for you and give you every piece of him.

Your moan spurs him on, wanting to make you feel good. He groans into your flesh and hisses at the way your fingers tangle in his hair. It's painful but his cock throbs at the feeling. His nails dig into his flesh as he restrains from touching his cock.

You can tell he wants to touch himself. HIs shoulders are tense and his head jutting forward to busy himself with your cunt. He’s good, obeying your orders and just doing what you tell him too. “You are going to make me cum. Won’t you?” You haven’t decided on a name for him yet, but it will come to you.

He grunts into your flesh, wordlessly letting you know he will make you cum. That's not good enough and you pull his head back, forcing him to look up at you. His chin is slick, eyes dilated as he looks up at you. His chest heaves and pre-cum drips onto the floor as he whines softly, desperate to be buried back in your cunt.

“Answer me.” You demand again, yanking on his hair hard enough to make him moan again and his cock twitches as it sits neglected. “Yes, domina.” He quickly agrees, trying to nod too, but you are still holding his hair. “Good pet.” You coo mockingly and push his face back into your cunt. “Now do it.”

Marcus groans, diving back into your folds and he slides his tongue back into your cunt, his nose pressed against your clit as he is desperate to feel and hear you cum for him. His nails scratch his skin as he tries to refrain from touching himself.

You tilt your head back and groan. He is doing a good job and you are impressed with how well he takes orders. Much better than the senators that will come to visit you. It takes another few minutes of his tongue pushing inside you before your stomach clenches, your cunt gushing and soaking his face with your juices. “Good.” You pant. “That’s good.”

Marcus pulls back, his cock leaking onto the floor and he pants, his eyes hooded in arousal as he looks up at you. “Domina.” He pleads, the sound almost caught in his throat as he waits for your next order. This is what he wanted. To be out of control, to let go for a little while and not be the man in charge.

You reach down, caressing his cheek gently as you pull your leg off his shoulder and press the edge of your sandal against his throbbing cock. “Rub against my foot like a good boy.” You order, tapping his cheek gently. The desperation in his eyes is beautiful.

Most men would say fuck no and demand you get down on your knees to suck their cock but your words make him whine and he is desperate to cum. He groans, rocking his hips down so he can grind against your sandal, his chest heaving with the movements and it doesn’t take long for him to fall apart. He cums on your sandal, dripping down onto the floor as he lets out a loud moan of satisfaction. It’s the best release he’s had in months and he’s not even been inside you yet.

You are surprised that he has cum so quickly, it informs you that Marcus is a man who is very pent up. He has not had a release that he has not been in control of in years, maybe ever. “Now you must clean up your mess.” You tell him, making him frown slightly because he doesn’t understand. “Lick up your spend.” You order, looking down at your cum covered foot.

Marcus’s eyes widen but he doesn’t deny you. He nods, leaning in to start licking at your toes. The salty seed coating his tongue and he doesn’t care about the taste as his dark eyes watch you as he sucks on your toe. He wants to please you so you’ll give him more pleasure.

It’s surprising that he did not protest. Another positive mark for him. “You follow orders well.” You coo, pulling your foot away from his mouth. Your cunt is aching and despite wanting his cock inside you, the first session is never an option. “Now you will stand up and move over to the bed.”

Marcus stumbles to his feet, his cock already hardening again and he looks at you, “how do you want me, domina?” He asks and you smirk, “lay down.” He nods and follows your order, laying down on the bed and he licks his lips, tasting his salty cum lingering but he doesn’t care about that, eager to see what you do next.

You lay down beside him, opening your thighs and the folds of your dress fall open. “You will finger me,” you decide. “I wish to see if your hands only bring destruction or if they can bring pleasure as well.”

His eyes darken as they take in your body, you’re gorgeous and he knows you must have men eating out the palm of your hand. He nods, shifting closer and he slides his hand along your thigh, loving the way you feel as he brings his hand up to slide his fingers through your folds.

You have always enjoyed being touched, being stroked to pleasure. Finding so many men ignorant of how to touch a woman beyond their poor attempts to do just the bare necessities, it is a surprising pleasure to feel how his fingers slide around in a slow circle, not just immediately going to your clit and rubbing furiously. Mapping out your entire sex with his digits and even swiping over the skin between your pussy and your puckered hole before coming back up to make another pass at your clit. “That is not fingering me.” You point out and Marcus ducks his head in acknowledgement. “I was wetting my fingers, domina.” His voice is low, respectful and you hum in approval.

His fingers push into you, obeying your order, and his digits are thick as he pushes two into your wet cunt. He lets out a small groan at how hot and velvety you feel around his fingers and he starts to work them in and out of your cunt.

You watch his brow pull together, furrowed slightly as he pumps his fingers in and out slowly. “Do not think.” You urge him. “I will tell you if I want you to change something. You just feel what you are doing to me.”

Marcus nods and continues to work his fingers in and out of you. He wants you to clamp down on his fingers. He wants to please you. He wants to make you moan his name. He wants to make you want him.

His brow smoothes out and you watch as his shoulders relax. His body responding to not being in charge and letting someone take over again. “Good boy.” You praise, reaching up and caressing his cheek gently.

Your praise makes his cock twitch and he relaxes as you order him to curl his fingers. He follows your demand and you moan when he hits that spot inside you.

Once he has found that spot, it doesn’t take long for you to get worked up. Your thighs might tense and you push your hips down against his fingers. “Do not stop.”

He doesn’t stop. He can’t. He wants to watch you fall apart. His dark eyes on yours as he watches you take what he offers. You moan and the sound is like music to Marcus’s ears. He works his fingers at the same pace, letting you take what you need.

You can feel the brushing of his cock against your leg as he continues to work his fingers inside you. Making you proud that he has not started rutting against you. “Make me cum and I will give you pleasure again.” You promise, reaching out and curling your fingers around his cock and squeezes.

He hisses when you grip his cock and he tries to not thrust into your touch. He knows that wouldn’t please you. He pushes his fingers into you, desperate to feel and hear you cum. “Please, domina.” He begs, wanting you to cum for him, to please you.

His plea throws you over the edge, clamping down on his fingers as you use his name for the first time since he has entered the room. “Marcus!”

He whimpers as he watches you fall apart for him. It’s intoxicating to know he’s pleased you and he is not in control of your pleasure. You are. Your grip tightens on his cock and he bites his lip as he watches you work through your orgasm.

You bat his hand away and push him onto his back after letting go of his cock. Still wearing your dress, you straddle his waist and press the soaking folds of your cunt against the underside of his cock. “I never let a man fuck me our first session.” You admit, caressing his chest. “I am tempted though, so I will pleasure you as closely to being inside me as I can.”

Marcus whines, wishing you would sink down on his cock but the whine is cut short when you slap him. His eyes widen and you grip his chin, “you take what I give you.” You growl and he nods, “yes, domina.” You start to rock against his cock, the feeling making his eyes roll in the back of his head.

You roll your hips expertly, having learned that the wet slide of your folds feels good for a man. Not quite as much as having a wet cunt around him, but it is a good reward for him being good so far. “Pull my dress down and squeeze my tits.”

He follows your order, reaching up to pull your dress down, exposing your tits to his hungry eyes, and he groans at the sight of your breasts. He cups them, his eyes flicking up to yours to make sure it’s okay, and he watches your mouth fall open as you rock on top of him.

This is for your pleasure as much as his. Moaning softly at how good it feels, you cover his hands over your breasts and squeeze harshly, showing him how you like your breasts handled.

He squeezes and kneels your flesh, loving the way you moan and he rocks up against your cunt, wanting more, needing to feel more of you. He’s desperate and he isn’t afraid to show it.

You slap his cheek again, this time a little harder than before and his eyes widen. “Do not move unless I tell you.” You hiss. “Did I tell you to move? Did I say that you could rut against me like a dog?”

“No, domina.” Marcus apologizes quickly and forces his hips back down to the bed. “I am sorry.”

“You will learn.” You know that he is just starting out and he is very used to having his own way, but he sought you out specifically to give you control. “You will find more pleasure if you obey me.” You coo. “I reward my pets. But I will spank your ass until it is red if you disobey me again tonight, and you will not cum.”

Your words make him twitch against your folds and he’s so close. “Domina. I’m - I’m close.” He warns you, knowing you could punish him if he cums before you want him to. “Please.” He begs, wanting permission.

“It is good you let me know.” You grind down against his cock a little harder and appreciate the way his body seems to tense, trying to hold out for you to give your permission. “You will cum for me now.” You command, reaching between you to massage the head of his cock as it slips out from your folds. “Cum.”

His eyes close as his stomach clenches at your touch. He groans and you grip his chin with your other hand, “look at him. I need you to look at me.” You demand and he struggles but manages to open his eyes just as he cums, he falls apart beneath you, cum spitting against your fingers as he moans.

His cum spurts against his stomach, painting up his chest as he moans again. “Domina.” You hum as you slowly continue to roll your hips, drawing out his pleasure until he is panting.

He feels boneless and he’s not even been inside you. He offers you a lazy smile of appreciation, “thank you, domina.” He murmurs, his eyelashes fluttering as he tries to come back down from Elysian Fields.

You decide that you won’t press him even more, he has performed well for his first time in your rooms. “You rest.” You hum softly, shifting off his lap. “When you are in my care, I will make sure you are cared for properly.”

He frowns, “but you didn’t finish.” He says and you smile, caressing his cheek, “it’s okay. You rest now, General.” You coo and he nods, closing his eyes as he relaxes on your sheets. He barely hears you as you prepare a rag to clean him and he only opens his eyes when you place a cup of wine at his lips, wanting to refresh him. “Thank you, domina.” He murmurs, enjoying the way his mind is peaceful, free of the horrors he experienced in the battlefield.

He ends up falling asleep in your bed and you let him rest. Sleeping for two hours before he wakes to find you sipping a cup of wine and picking a piece of fruit from a tray that had obviously been delivered to the room while he was asleep. “Now you will dress and return to your normal routine.”

Marcus nods, shifting off of the bed and he reaches for his tunic to pull it over his head. He feels almost boneless and he loves it. He slides his feet into his sandals and looks over at you, “thank you, domina. Can I - will you allow me to come back?”

“I will.” You smirk slightly as you watch him regain some of the commanding presence he had shed for you. “I will send word to let you know when I will see you.”

Marcus nods, reaching for your hand to press a kiss to the back of it before he reaches into his pouch to pay you the coins you agreed upon. He sets the coins down on the table next to you and bows his head, “I’ll await your word.” He declares and makes his way out of your rooms, knowing you’ll want some peace.

You stare at the pouch of coins and smile before you reach for it. It seems like Marcus will be a good fit for you, eager to obey and surprisingly good at following orders even though he is used to giving them. It will be interesting to see how he behaves the next time he comes to you.

****

Marcus hasn’t heard from you for several days and it’s making him anxious. He taps his fingers on the table as he waits for your word. He picks up his wine and downs it, his back tense as he needs a release. The emperors have been breathing down his neck, wanting to send him back out to conquer more land but he is pushing back, telling them he needs more time to let his soldiers recuperate.

Knowing that he must be impatient, you finally send a servant to the general’s villa, instructing him to be in your rooms and ready for you in exactly one hour. It’s not a lot of time, and you have done that on purpose.

When Marcus receives word, his cock is already hardening as he thinks of what you’ll do to him this time. He takes his time as he strolls to the brothel, making his way into the back after he gives your name. He stands in your room and he knows what you’ll require. He strips off and kneels down on the floor, waiting for you to return.

This time you are fully nude, coming out of the small room off of your larger bedroom that the wash basin and pot is. Watching him in approval as he waits for you. His cock is already hard and you want to feel him inside you this time. “You were almost late.” You chide. “If you had been, you would not have been allowed in.”

“I’m sorry, domina. The streets were busy and-” You cut him off, striding over to grab his hair and you tilt his head up to look at you, “no excuses.” You hiss and he twitches at the tinge of pain. “It won’t happen again.” He promises, his dark eyes darkening even more at the way you pull on his hair.

“You like the pain?” You tilt your head and smirk slightly. “Answer me.” You demand and he gulps. “I- I do.” He confesses breathlessly, his cock already leaking. “What else do you like?”

“I like - I like to not think. I don’t want to give orders or make decisions. I like pain that isn’t inflicted on someone else like I have to do in battle. I don’t want to think about anything but how I feel.” He confesses and he keeps his eyes on you.

“Now, was that so hard to confess?” You coo softly, reaching for the soft fabric that is wrapped around your wrist. “Stand for me, and I will give you both pain and pleasure that will have no other thoughts in your head.”

He stands, his head bowed as he waits for your instructions. “You will stand still and you will tell me if you aren’t comfortable. What is your word?” You ask and Marcus says “prohibere.” You coo, “very good.” He nods and you take the fabric in your hand, your eyes on his until you lean towards him.

His cock is already heavy and from the fullness of his balls, he has not sought out anyone or used his hand for pleasure since he had left your rooms days ago. Careful and expertly, you wrap the fabric around his genitals, binding them together and tightening it as you do. Hearing him groan, you look into his eyes. “Too tight?”

He shakes his head, “no. Not too tight. Just- I’ve never had this before.” He confesses, his stomach clenching as he looks down at his bound cock. “Fuck.” He curses softly, “domina.”

“This will aid you to not cum so quickly.” You caress his length and he moans softly. “You can prolong the pleasure, until the point where it aches.”

His eyebrows raise and he’s surprised he’s never heard of this in his travels but he’s intrigued. He nods and you squeeze his cock, making him moan again. “Domina. I need you.” He begs, wanting you to touch him some more. He’s held off all week, not touching himself in anticipation of you.

“Have you cum since the last time you were here?” You ask, smirking when he shakes his head. “Good boy.” You praise, sinking down to your knees to inspect his bound cock, “now I will make you cry out in frustration.”

He looks down at you, inhaling shakily as he struggles to breathe when your hot breath washes over his cock. The head is almost purple and leaking as he watches you kneel before him.

Instead of easing him into the feel of your mouth, you take the entire head into the wet heat immediately. Looking up to see his reaction.

He lets out a whine, his eyes fluttering shut as he rests his chin on his chest. He groans and his hands twitch but he doesn’t touch you. You take his cock deeper into your mouth and a spurt of pre-cum hits your tongue. He’s so worked up and he knows he has to hold back.

You hum around him, feeling his thighs tremble and you know that he is already wanting to cum despite the binding. Still, he will be taken to the edge many times before you finally allow him to cum.

He hisses and his nails dig into his palms as he tries to control himself. It’s so easy to give in to your touch and his cock twitches in your mouth. “Domina.” He whines softly, “I- I can’t.” He chokes, feeling the pressure build.

You pull away, stroking his hip while he pants, trying to calm down. “You can.” You urge. “You will.” It’s not a question of doubt in your mind. He will obey you and last as long as you want him to. “Close your eyes and concentrate on how it feels.”

He breathes through gritted teeth and he nods, inhaling deeply to try and calm down. You give him a moment and you take him back into your mouth, loving the way he groans like he could lose control any second. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to concentrate on not spilling into your mouth.

You take your time. Making it gentle this time. Adding another layer to the need that is building inside the general. Wrapping your hands around his body, your nails dig into the meat of his ass as your throat closes around his length.

He chokes on his breath, his fingers flexing as he feels your tight throat squeeze him. “Fuck, domina.” He rasps, his eyes still squeezed shut and he starts to count, wanting to be good for you.

You work his cock until his knees nearly buckle and then you pull back again. Your fingers slowly stroke between his hip and cock, waiting for him to calm down again. “Do you feel how heavy you feel? The ache in your limbs?”

He nods, “yes, domina. I feel like marble.” He confesses, inhaling deeply and trying to calm himself down so he doesn’t disappoint you. He wants to please you, to see that beautiful smile on your face when he follows your orders.

“Good.” You reach up and squeeze his hip. “You are doing well. You are following my orders perfectly.” He stiffens slightly under your praise and you smirk at how eager he is for it. “Now we will make your knees weak and your body beg for more.”

He groans, nodding with a plea in his eyes as you take him into your mouth again. He pants, feeling relieved at the wet heat of your tongue pressing against the underside of his cock. “Domina.” He murmurs, “feels so good.”

You hum around him, wanting to hear his sounds of pleasure and see him weak for your attention. Your tongue flutters against the base of his cock and you can feel the way that he wants to thrust into your mouth, the way he holds himself back.

He’s trying so hard to control himself and he clenches his fists, trying to control himself as you rock your jaw on his cock. “Fuck.” He hisses, trying to control himself, to be good for you.

This time, he’s worked up so quickly you have to jerk your mouth back when you feel the vein of his cock start to pulse. Hearing him whimper and you reach up to squeeze his balls gently. “Not yet.” You remind him. “You must take what I give you.”

He whimpers but he nods, knowing he needs to obey but gods, it’s hard to resist the urge to cum. “Yes, domina. Whatever you want.” He promises and you squeeze his balls again.

His eyes close and he moans softly, his cock weeping. He already looks wrecked, starting to sweat from the effort he is putting into holding himself back. “Good boy.” You murmur softly, leaning forward and running your tongue over the soft, full sacs beneath his cock.

He loves the way you praise him and that makes the pain of withholding his release worth it. He loves to please you, hear you praise him. You slide your tongue along his thigh as you give him a little time to calm down, and you squeeze his ass in your hands.

“Have you ever had someone put their fingers inside you? Fuck you?” You ask, knowing that some of the senators you have entertained have and some think that it’s unnatural. You don’t claim to judge but most men seem to like it if done properly.

He shakes his head, “no. No I haven’t but - but I’ve thought about it.” He confesses, “I’ve heard others talk about it and I wouldn’t mind - if it pleases my domina.” He says, looking at you through his eyelashes.

“Then we will see how you enjoy my fingers inside you.” You lean back from his body and stand. “Lay down on the bed.”

He nods, following your order as he makes his way over to the bed and lays down, his bound cock aching for you, for release, but his mind is blissfully empty as he waits for your touch.

The general is still, awaiting your orders as you move over to the small table where your perfumes and oils are kept. Selecting a costly vial and smirking as you walk over to the bed. “One day I will tie you to it.” You decide. “You would look good in bonds.”

He lets out a groan of approval at that, imagining being completely at your mercy. “Please, domina.” He isn’t too proud to beg as he awaits your movements, praying you let him find some kind of release when he’s so pent up. “I can be good.” He promises, keeping his hands above his head.

You hum and kneel on the bed. Watching as his chest heaves. “You will tell me if you do not like it.” You order, pushing his legs up and apart so you can see his puckered hole.

He lifts his legs higher, his stomach twisting with nerves and arousal as you slide your fingers across the puckered hole, coating it with the oil that makes him sliver slightly and he groans, “domina.”

You don't just push your fingers inside him, it's a slow process. Working the tip of your finger in and watching the myriad of emotions race across his face as his cock throbs and his body tries not to tense. "Relax." You soothe softly. "Just let me play with your body, you are my toy."

He inhales deeply, trying to relax as you work his puckered hole open. No one has touched him there so he’s tense but you push your finger a little deeper and his mouth falls open as he starts to enjoy the feeling. Your voice is soothing and he wants to be good for you.

You can feel how uncomfortable he is, but you decide to see how far he will hold against the new sensations mixed with the familiar so you lean forward to take him back into your mouth. Slowly pumping your finger deeper until it is all the way in and his hole is trembling around it.

He throws his head back against the sheets, eyes closed as you take him into your mouth and he hisses when you hollow your cheeks. “Fuck.” He curses, his fingers gripping the sheets as your finger works in and out of his ass.

You watch the way that he vibrates with need. The desperate whine that comes out of his chest. He can think of nothing but you and what you are doing to him, exactly what you want for him and what he needs. You hollow your cheeks and make your palette as soft as you can for him, caressing his cock lovingly.

He pants, getting closer and closer and you are winding him up. His stomach twists and he whines, knowing he cannot cum until you allow it. “Domina. I’m - I’m so close.” He confesses, almost chokes out as he clings to the bed sheets.

You stop moving your finger and pull your mouth away. “Calm yourself.” You urge him softly. “You can take more. I know you can. It feels almost blissful, does it not? The need that claws at you, consumes you so you are only thinking of that pleasure. It will be so sweet when you cum.”

He nods, a little desperate but he’s eager to obey you. He chokes as he tries to breathe and you look up at him, “do you want to use your safe word?” You ask and he shakes his head, “I’m okay. Just - allow me a moment to control myself.”

You nod, holding still and you don't touch him beyond your finger. Knowing that it would be cruel to push him past his breaking point when it would lead him to failing your orders. Your other hand brushes over his stomach gently, squeezing his hip in encouragement.

He manages to get his breathing under control. His cock still throbbing but no longer on the brink and the binds keep him from spilling without permission. He sighs, “I’m okay, domina.” He murmurs, looking down at you as he lifts his head.

You watch him carefully, giving him another moment before you decide to start pumping your finger again. The reaction is instantaneous, his thighs clenching slightly and his fingers curling into the sheets again as he moans. "Good boy." You lower your head and take him back into your mouth again, knowing this time you will release the bindings and let him cum into your mouth.

You work him up quickly and his cock twitches in your mouth. You press your finger into his prostate and he gasps, his legs jerking in surprise at the sensation. “Fuck. I need - please, domina. I’ve been good.” He pleads, choking on his breath.

Letting go of his hip, you unwind the binding from around his cock, hearing the filthy, breathless groan. You hum and suck harder around him before you pull away long enough to give him an order. "Cum." You demand before you are swallowing his cock down again.

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for him to find his release. He lets out a whine and squeezes his eyes shut as he falls apart for you. He lets out a loud groan as he starts to cum, hot spurts of seed hitting your tongue and the back of your throat as he swears he blacks out. His mind is completely empty except for how this feels. How you’ve made him feel.

You work him through it. Curling your finger deep and pressing against his prostate. Drinking him down and making sure that his cock pulses deliciously. Until his moan is one of soft protest and overstimulation. Making you hum and pull away to watch his hazy bliss.

He pants, relaxing into the bed beneath him as his cock starts to soften against his belly. He offers you a lazy smile as you slowly pull your finger from inside him. “That was…incredible.” He rasps, his eyelashes fluttering until he focuses on you, “how can I please you?”

You are impressed that he would wish to pleasure you. You slide off the bed and walk over to the table to pour a cup of wine. “I will ride you next time.” You promise. “This time you have been used hard. You need to rest.”

Marcus pouts but doesn't argue, he knows you'll punish him if he disobeys. He takes the cup of wine from your hand after he sits up, his body boneless from the pleasure and he loves how relaxed he feels. "Do you, uh, take care of yourself after?"

“Sometimes.” You smirk as you walk over to the little room to grab a cloth. “Or I will wait until I am entertaining again.” You wet it in the bowl and come back out to clean him up. “I think you will sleep deep tonight.”

Marcus hums, wishing he could make you fall apart on his tongue but he isn't in authority to demand you sit on his face. "I wouldn't mind watching." He smirks, unable to help himself as he allows his authority to leak through the submissive nature he's embracing.

Your brow lifts in amusement that he would voice such a want. "You like watching, general?" Your session is over and you are caring for him now, so the conversation can be more casual than before. "Perhaps you would enjoy being tied up so you could not touch yourself and watch as other's fuck?"

He smirks, regaining his normally cocky nature, “I meant watching you. I wouldn’t mind being tied up to watch you touch yourself. Or to watch but I’ve never really watched other than in whorehouses before I found my own company.” He admits, looking at you and admiring your profile.

You bring the cloth over and kneel on the bed so you can clean him up. Pushing his thighs apart again so you can see what you are doing. "I will consider it." You hum as you slip the cloth through his cheeks and smirk when he shivers. "Did you enjoy yourself this session?"

Marcus nods, “yes, domina.” You reach out to caress his cheek after you clean him up and he offers you a soft smile. “When can I come back?” He asks, eager to be inside you for the first time in the next session.

He is eager, and that speaks well for him. "Two days." You decide, striking slightly. "You are not touch yourself or find relief in another." You tilt your head to the side and reconsider. "If you touch yourself, you can only finger yourself, do not touch your cock, and do not cum." You order.

He nods, not wanting to disobey you, “yes domina.” He shifts off of the bed, grunting as his body is relaxed and he reaches for his tunic after he sets the cup of wine down on the side. “Thank you.” He says and he smiles at you, feeling almost giddy as the pressures of the world outside your door haven’t hit him yet.

You nod, aware that outside of this room, his social standing is much higher than yours. "Two days." You remind him, ignoring the curling in your stomach, the anticipation of experiencing his skills as a lover.

“Two days.” He agrees and he reaches for his pouch to fetch the coins he owes you. You are his new addiction. The way you make his mind go blank to the pleasure has him ready to come back to your rooms as soon as possible.

****

He is so eager for your attention that he shows up early. You are not ready when the servant brings him to your door and you smirk to yourself when you see that he is already naked and on his knees, his cock hard and jutting up proudly from his lap. "You are eager to please today." You comment, wrapped in a thin robe and your feet bare. Your hair is not styled and you have none of the perfumes or oils on your skin like you would normally have. Fresh from your bath, you are as you prefer to be when you are not entertaining.

You look fresh and clean and that makes Marcus’s mouth water. “I am. I have not touched myself.” He promises, his cock twitching and his balls heavy as he thinks about being inside you. He’s thought about it many times and he’s eager to experience you.

Nodding, you motion to the bed. "Lay down, I will tie you up and then you will watch as I oil my skin." You smirk. "In your eagerness, I was not quite ready for you."

“I don’t care about the oil. I want you as you are.” He declares, “I will take what you give me.” He promises, “and I don’t want to wait.” He confesses, “I need you, domina.”

You should deny him, but there is something earnest and raw about being willing to take you without the trappings of being an expensive courtesan. His eyes are lowered, but his mouth is pulled hopefully. "Go lay down." You order again, deciding that you will tie him up before you let him know your decision.

He obeys, standing and making his way over to the bed to lay down. His cock resting on his lower stomach as he waits for your next move. His heart is pounding and he’s ready for you to touch him but he has to be patient.

You walk over to a chest that you keep your binds in, opening it and choosing ones that are both strong and gentle on his skin. While you know he wears wrist braces and that would hide any abrasions on his skin, you don't want anything that would remind him of war and the brutality of it. "You are so good for me." You coo, bringing them over and starting with his ankles.

Marcus’s cock twitches in anticipation as you start to bind his ankle and he rests his head on the sheets, closing his eyes as he relinquishes control to you. He sighs and opens his eyes when you work on his wrists. “Is this okay?” You ask and he nods, “words.” You remind him and he says “yes, domina.”

Once you have him secure, you strip off your robe, leaving yourself nude and completely unadorned. Joining him on the bed and straddling his waist so your cunt is resting against his belly. Marcus inhales and you smirk, reaching behind you to wrap your fingers around his cock. "I think I will hold your cock inside me while I pleasure myself." You coo.

Marcus nods, wanting to please you, “yes domina. Use me.” He groans when you start to pump him and you shift your hips back, letting the head of his cock slide through your folds. You’re already so wet and he groans, fists clenched in the binds.

You take your time, slowly sinking down on him and watching as his breath catches. "Breathe." You instruct, pulling off of him slightly. "Feel my cunt. Close your eyes and feel how I am surrounding you."

He inhales deeply, closing his eyes as he feels your hot, wet cunt surround his aching cock. He groans and his fingers flex as he tries to revel in the feel of you around him.

When you are finally seated fully on his cock, you lean down and tap his cheek gently. "Open your eyes now." You command softly. "Watch as I touch myself."

He opens his eyes, watching you with bated breath as your hand slides down to the thatch of curls at the apex of your thighs, you’re so hot around him and he exhales shakily, trying to move his legs but he’s bound.

One hand is sliding between your folds and the other is cupping your breast. "Have you ever watched someone like this?" You ask breathlessly.

He shakes his head, “no. Never like this.” He’s had several lovers and too many whores to count and he’d never watched any of them touch themselves. He was too proactive as a lover.

You don't roll your hips, but your walls do squeeze him when you rub your clit. Making him bite his lip and you grin when you pinch your nipple and moan softly. "So you will see how you enjoy it. Thinking of nothing but my cunt around you, using you to fill me up while I pleasure myself."

He groans, watching you rub your clit, and he aches to touch you. His brow furrowed as he watches you, “fuck, domina. You look so good like this.” He admits, biting his lip as he watches with hungry eyes.

You chuckle quietly, watching his fingers flex. You can hear the frustration in his voice. “You would touch me, wouldn’t you?” You ask mockingly. “If you were not tied up. You would treat me as if I was any other whore in this brothel.” You pinch your nipple again. “But you cannot because I control your pleasure.”

He whines, “I would. I’d roll you over and fuck you so hard you’d struggle to take another man for days.” He confesses, his neck tense, “and you’d love it. You’d give up control. You’ve submit to me.” He growls, his frustration making him dominant even though he’s here to get away from that.

You drop your hand from your chest and reach for his own nipple. Pinching it and twisting it harshly. "No, you wouldn't." You smirk, listening to him hiss in pain. "Not now, because I am the one making you submit."

He groans, twitching inside you. “Yes, domina.” He submits again, his fingers flexing against the binds. “I- I’m sorry.” He gasps, “domina.” He loves the way you pinch his nipple again.

"Good boy." You coo mockingly. "The poor general thought he was in charge." You chuckle, pinching his other nipple before you take away that obvious pleasure and go back to pleasuring yourself.

Marcus groans, his eyes darkening as he watches you rub your clit and you clench around him. He hisses, “domina” knowing you are going to tease him until he’s begging.

You narrow your eyes slightly at his tone but you continue to touch yourself. It takes a lot of restraint to keep from bouncing on his cock, it's thick and fills you perfectly. Instead of grinding down on him, you hold still, rubbing your clit and biting your lip as you moan.

Marcus watches, all he can do is watch, and he twitches inside you. You feel molten around him and it’s getting harder to resist jerking his hips up into you as you remain still except for your walls fluttering around his length.

You can tell how tense he is, poised to move and the only thing keeping him from doing so is because you have ordered him not to. "Your cock feels good." You praise.

He pants, watching you as you palm your breast and rub your clit. “Fuck.” He curses, knowing he’s going to struggle to keep from thrusting up into you. He watches as you throw your head back, your fingers rubbing your clit a little faster, and when you clamp down on his cock, he can’t stop himself. He spills into your fluttering cunt, a strangled groan escaping his lips as he falls apart without permission.

Your eyes widen when you feel his seed flooding your womb. Hissing because you had not given him permission to cum, you pull off his cock. "You should not have done that." You warn. "Now you will be punished."

He doesn’t have time to enjoy his orgasm as you are soon reaching to unbind his ankles, twisting him onto his stomach so his arms are crossed. “I’m sorry, domina.” He chokes out, knowing you aren’t happy with him.

"You are not sorry yet." You promise, climbing off the bed and walking back over to the trunk to pull out a long and thin whip. "Soon you will be."

His eyes widen at the sight of the week and you pause, “safe word?” You ask and he shakes his head, “n-no. Keep going.” He swallows harshly in anticipation and nerves but he is here to see what you can do to him and that includes punishment.

You smirk slightly, tapping the whip against your palm as you look at him. "Now, I know that you are used to pain, so I am sure that it will take quite a while to get my point across. Do not muffle your sounds." You order right before you draw the whip back and bring it down on his ass.

He hisses but it’s not as painful as he thought it would be. He’s been stabbed and punched and cut so the whip isn’t hurting as much as being stabbed with a knife or a sword. Still, being so vulnerable, the whip makes him jerk when it comes down on his ass again.

You pull your hand back again and again, bringing down the whip against his flesh. Watching the welts raise and the reddening of his skin as you punish him for cumming without permission.

He pants, the pain surging through him but his cock is already hardening again. He cries out when you whip him again. "I'm sorry, domina. I'm sorry." He chokes, knowing his apologies won't mean anything to you.

You grunt, knowing that you should pull your punishment after a few more licks. Despite it being a punishment, you don’t want to cause any lasting pain to the general. “You spilled your seed without permission.” You remind him. “Without warning.”

He gasps, "I'm sorry, domina. Let me - please. I want to make it up to you. Tell me how I can make it right." He begs, his cock hard against the bed and he whines when you drop the whip after a few more licks.

You roll him back onto his back and smirk. “You will eat your seed out of my cunt.” You decide, straddling his chest. “You ruined my pleasure and made a mess.” Your fingers tangle into his hair and you pull his head up slightly to make him moan. “Now you will clean it up.”

He nods, knowing he needs to repent for his punishment and he moans when you tug on his hair again as you lift your hips and shuffle up until your creamy cunt is hovering over his face. "I'm sorry, domina." He murmurs as he tilts his head when you start to lower onto his face.

The first swipe of his tongue is tentative, almost apologetic as he carves a path through your folds. Your fingers tighten in his hair. “You can do better than that.”

He hisses when you tug on his hair and you lower your hips a little more to almost smother him. He slides his tongue through your folds and flicks over your clit, groaning at the taste of his cum mixed with your arousal.

You grind against his face, setting the pace and forcing him to keep up with you. His tongue flicks over your clit before he dips into your cunt and you moan, starting to forgive him after his mistake. “You just could not help yourself, is that it? My cunt too tight for you to hold yourself back?”

He groans into your flesh, “domina.” His tongue curls as deep as it can go, pushing his nose against your clit, and he wishes he could touch you, squeeze your breast or grab your ass but all he can do is let you rock down onto him.

You ride his face, not caring if his cock is already hard against his belly again. You won't let him cum again this session since he had disobeyed your instructions. Now you throw your head back and moan, using his mouth for your own pleasure and having no issue with it.

Marcus loves how you grind down onto his face, making his cock twitch but he knows you won’t let him cum again. He already knows you will continue to punish him by creaming over his tongue then sending him away. The thought makes pre-cum leak from the purple head of his cock.

Your cunt is soaked with his saliva and from the slick he causes as his tongue laps inside you. He has thrown himself into the task, trying to absolve himself of his sin through his tongue. Turning ravenous as he groans into your folds and pleads for you to cum for him. You close your eyes, enjoying the scratch of his beard on your sensitive skin and whimper softly.

Marcus needs you to cum. He wants to feel it. He wants to hear it. He loves the way you grind down onto his face and he tilts his chin so you can get more friction while his nose presses against the clit while his tongue pushes deep.

“That’s it.” You moan, close to cumming now. “Use your tongue.” You close your eyes and pinch both your nipples before you cum with a cry of bliss. Feeling the wetness of your pleasure soaking his face as you grind down harder on his tongue to ride it out. “Fuck.”

Marcus eagerly laps up everything you give him, a groan vibrating through you as he enjoys the tang of your cum on his taste buds. His fingers flex with the need to touch you but he can't move so all he can do is lay and wait for you to move off of him.

You pull your cunt away and shift off of him. “You did well, this time.” You reach out and tap his cheek lightly. “Do not do it again.” You warn him.

Marcus nods, "yes, domina." He promises but he must admit that he didn't hate the punishment. He's still rock hard and aching but he knows he cannot touch himself without your permission.

You untie Marcus before you clean him up. Feeling his cock throb as you run the rag over him. “Go.” You dismiss him. “I have other things to attend to.”

He frowns at your dismissal but nods, shifting off the bed and he grabs his tunic, pulling it over his head. It tents as he slides his sandals on and reaches for his pouch to set the coins down on the table for you. “Thank you, domina.” He bows his head and makes his way out of your rooms, his cock thankfully softening before he’s back out on the streets.

****

You let a week go by without sending word to Marcus Acacius. He has sent servants with gifts and flowers, hoping to soften you to forgive him. You are not angry with him, but it is amusing to see the general slowly start to lose his patience.

Marcus grunts, swinging his sword at his opponent. Since you have neglected to invite him into your rooms, he has buried himself in training and he is getting tense. He needs a release and he hasn't touched himself since he left your rooms. He growls as he swings his sword and his opponent surrenders. "General, you are vicious. You are...wound up. Go fuck a whore or take a bath." His sparring partner demands and Marcus sniffs, rubbing his nose as he feels ready to pounce. He grunts and nods, setting his sword on the stand before he stalks out of the gardens, making his way to the brothel. He strides up to the madame and demands to see you. "She has not called for you." She tilts her head and Marcus hisses, "I do not care. Tell her I am here."

You were resting when there is a knock on your door. “I am not to be disturbed.” You remind whoever is beyond the door, your monthly flow making you unusually tired and the pains in your stomach only good for knowing that you were not carrying a child.

Marcus clenches his jaw when the Madame comes back to inform him that you are indisposed. “Does she have company?” He asks and the Madame sighs, “well no, but-” She doesn’t get to finish before Marcus is striding past her down the hall to your rooms. He opens your door and barges in, his chest heaving.

You shoot up from your comfortable position on the bed, frowning when you see an agitated Marcus in your doorway. “What are you doing here, General?” You demand. “I have not sent for you.”

“I cannot wait any longer. I haven’t heard from you for days. I- I need release.” He growls, pacing your room after the door slams behind him. He’s hard and aching but he won’t take what you won’t give him. He has never been that kind of man.

Your anger that he has burst into your room subsides slightly and you lean back, watching him prowl like a caged animal. He is a warrior and despite that, he has not approached you. “And why do you think that is?” You ask.

Marcus’s chest heaves, “because it’s been too fucking long and I- I have been training and I need to let out some of this - fuck!” He hisses, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead, “domina.” He murmurs, turning towards you with his head bowed, “please.”

You should turn him away. You should deny him. Or punish him, but his plea is stressed, his entire body is tense. A man who is pushed to the limits of his restraint. “I am bleeding.” You wince as you move, standing up from the bed. “That is why you have not been summoned. I have entertained no one.”

He feels a bit foolish now he knows the reason why you haven’t sent for him. “My apologies, domina.” He bows his head despite his shoulders being tense and he struggles to contain the pressure that’s built up inside him from a lack of release.

You can see his struggle. “I can offer you relief.” You like Marcus, even if he had broken the rules your last time together. “You can fuck me, even if I am bleeding.” You offer. “Or I can send for another one of the girls to have you fuck under my instruction.”

He shakes his head. He wants you and he voices that gruffly. You nod and he swallows, his throat dry as you shift towards him. “How can I have you, domina?” He asks softly, his hands still by his side.

“This one time, I will allow you to take me as you wish.” You decide. Your stomach is cramping and pleasure would ease the ache, although most men do not wish to fuck a woman who is bleeding. Perhaps because he has lived his life soaked in blood, he does not mind it.

Marcus’s cock twitches and he reaches for you, pulling you into his chest as he cups the back of your neck and presses his lips to yours. He’s hungry for you. He groans into your mouth, his tongue tangling against yours and his hands grip your ass, pulling you against his hardening cock.

This version of Marcus is aggressive, taking charge. You yield to him, letting him grind against you and pull you towards the bed. He’s impatient, you can tell that and one hand moves from your ass to start pulling off the loose robe you are wearing.

Marcus groans, sliding the robe off your shoulders, and he loves the exposed flesh, immediately leaning down to take your nipple into his mouth. He loves how sensitive you are as he bites down on the bud.

You cry out at the sharp pain. Your body is always more sensitive during your monthly bleeding. You don’t mind it though. “You seem to be eager, general.”

Marcus groans at the way you arch into his touch, pulling back so he can look at you. “I have missed your body. I have missed you.” He confesses, “domina, let me take you as you are.” He pleads, kissing up your chest to press kisses to your neck.

You are surprised by his confession, sure that you would never hear such a thing from a man like Marcus Acacius. Missing your attention, your body, but never just missing you. “Do with me what you want.” You assure him. “Just do not be too rough.”

He leans in to press his lips to yours again, guiding you back towards the bed to lay you down. His hands slide down your waist, squeezing your ass as he lifts you onto the bed. When you are spread out on the bed, blood between your thighs, he watches you with hungry eyes as he starts to strip off.

You don’t have any shame because of your blood, it is natural and it doesn’t take away from the way his cock is tenting his tunic until he rips it off. It is heavy, already leaking and you believe him when he says that he has not touched himself. “How will you take me?”

Marcus grunts, “on your back.” He demands and he grabs your ass, lowering you back onto the bed. He is eager for you, pressing his cock against your thigh as he kneels on the edge of the bed.

His fingers don't come between your thighs, but you don't expect it. He spits in his hand and smears it on his cock, pumping himself with a groan before he is notching his cock at your entrance. "Fuck me, general." You can't help but order him again, giving him permission to take what he needs from you just this once.

He groans as he starts to push into you. His eyes fluttering closed as he enjoys the feel of your walls gripping him. It’s so wet when your arousal combines with your blood and he clenches his jaw. He’s been so pent up, needing release only you can offer him. “So good, domina.” He groans as he opens his eyes to look at you.

You soak up the praise, knowing that he will be quick this time. Perhaps even needing more than one release before he is satisfied. The feeling of his cock inside you helps the ache already, making you moan softly.

Marcus groans, his fingers caressing your sides as he looms over you. His dark eyes narrow in concentration as he starts to rock into you, his hips pressing against your ass as he takes you without you being in charge of his pleasure.

You murmur your name, giving him permission to use it instead of domina this time. “Marcus.” You groan, closing your eyes and feeling him push deep.

He loves your name, moaning it as he grips your thighs, pushing them back towards your stomach and he looks down at his cock between your thighs. His length is bloody as he rocks in and out of you and he isn't bothered by the blood. He's seen gore beyond anyone's imagination on the battlefield. His hands slide up you cup your breasts, not squeezing, just liking the weight in his hands.

You are thankful that he doesn’t squeeze your tits, they are always sore when you are bleeding, although the feeling of his hands on them makes you moan. “Your cock-“ you pant. “It feels so good.” The normal relationship has been put aside for now, so you can praise him how you wish.

He groans at the praise, cock twitching inside you as he pushes deep. The linen sheets beneath you are ruined with blood but he doesn’t care as he pushes into you over and over. He leans down to press his lips to yours, shifting to support his weight on his forearms so he can slide his tongue into your mouth.

This is the first kiss you’ve shared during sex. It’s surprisingly passionate, gentle as his tongue moves against yours and he tastes the wine you had to ease your cramps. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and anchor yourself to him.

He isn’t as rough as he thought he would be, considering how pent up he’s been, and he slides his tongue against yours, rocking into you and loving the way you cling to him. It’s not emotional but it’s not without weight. He groans and kisses along your jaw, “so fucking hot.” He hisses when your walls clench around his bloodied length.

You chuckle softly. "You are just happy to have a cunt to use." You tease, even though he could have taken another to bed with your permission and still he chose you. "What do you do when you are at camp?" You demand. "What will you do when my attention is not an option?"

Marcus sighs, “I haven’t really thought about it. I do not wish to return to war but I have no choice. The emperors demand it of me.” He admits as he slows his pace. “Unless you come with me.” He suggests between kisses he places on your neck.

Your eyes widen when he voices that. Leave Rome? Become a camp whore for the men? Or would he want you for himself? You choke out a sound of surprise.

“I want you to be my mistress.” He confirms, “you will be protected as mine. I want you to be with me during my battles.” He declares against your skin.

A mistress. Many men had begged you to become their mistress. Promising you elevated status and riches beyond what you could imagine. Marcus is not promising you any of those things. He is greedy. Wanting you with him to see to his needs while he battles for Rome. To be the comfort he craves when he is away from the excess of the capital. You stroke his back and groan. "You would have me lounge in your tent until you return to fuck me as you wish?"

“I would wish for you to remain in my tent and wait for me to return from battle before you took control of me, allowing me to forget the battle, forget anything but the feel of your touch as you control my pleasure.” He confesses, his hand sliding down to your thigh, squeezing it after he shifts his weight onto one elbow.

So you would still be in control over him. The idea is intriguing and you hum before you feel him lift your leg onto his hip. "I would make you forget everything. Every swing of your blade or scream of pain." You promise softly.

He groans, pulling out of you. Blood straining his cock as he shifts to lay down on the bed and he grabs your hips to pull you onto his lap. “I want you to ride me. I want you to give yourself pleasure from my cock.”

You know that you shouldn't. You should make him do all the work, but you enjoy riding. It's easy to slip him back inside your cunt and you moan softly. "I am surprised that you have not cum already." You tease, smirking before you pinch his nipple.

He groans, “need you to tell me when I can fill you up. I love it when you control my pleasure.” He confesses, his hands reaching for your waist to caress your skin.

You smirk and lean down to kiss him, biting his bottom lip when you pull away and he twitches violently inside you. Making him groan your name in a plea to have mercy on him. "The general will be moaning in surrender a lot then." You promise, grinding down on his length and enjoying the way he chases away the ache that comes with your bleeding.

You grind down and his chest heaves as he watches you. His hands sliding down to caress your thighs, enjoying the way you rock on top of him. He’s happy he can touch you, watch you as you work yourself closer to your peak.

You lose yourself in the sensation, leaning back and closing your eyes as you bounce on his cock. Despite you taking no clients during your bleeding, you enjoy sex like this. Finding it refreshing that he is not disturbed by your body's natural flow. "Fuck, Marcus." You whine, leading down and pressing your lips to his again. "So close."

Marcus groans into your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours as his hands find your ass. He squeezes the flesh and helps you rock a little harder on top of him. “Cum for me, puella.” He demands, wanting to feel you clamp down on his cock.

You bite his chin and grind down harder on his cock, a few more rolls of your hips throws you over the edge. Making you cry out in pleasure. “Marcus!” You clench down around him and shake.

He groans as you rock down onto him, squeezing him in your walls. “Fuck, you’re - shit - you’re going to make me cum.” He admits, it’s been too long since he had a release and he’s throbbing when you gush around his length.

You stop moving and he huffs but he does not say anything. “Fuck me.” You order, and you drag him down with you as you fall back onto the bed. “Show me how you would fuck me if I were just another whore.”

He grunts as he adjusts his weight over you and he starts to move inside you. His hips hit your ass as he pushes your thighs back towards your stomach and he groans as he starts to fuck you hard and fast.

Your stomach heaves as you try to breathe, your fingers twisting in the sheets as you whimper. He’s good at fucking you, his hips pushing in desperation. “Fuck, that’s good. Cum for me. Fill me up.”

Marcus can't hold back any longer. He hisses as he pushes deep, a loud groan of your name escaping his lips as he pulses, painting your walls with his hot seed.

He drops his head to your chest and you him, stroking his back as he fills you with hot ropes of cum. Letting him ride out his pleasure and enjoying the way that he trembles over you. It’s rare you let a client fuck you this way and it had been good.

He kisses along your jaw, enjoying the way you feel around him while his cock twitches as he rides his high. He sighs, "you are incredible."

You smile, relaxing into the bed. “That is all part of my appeal.” You remind him, although you are a bit more gentle with him, reaching up and running your fingers through his curls.

He smiles against your chin, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before he shifts to pull out of you. He looks down at the mess between your legs and the crumpled linen, "we made a mess." He chuckles and you snort, "You mean you did." He shrugs, unable to feel bad for that but he shifts off the bed, making his way over to the water bowl to wet the rag so he can clean you up.

It’s rare that you let a man care for you, but this time, you let Marcus clean you up. “The sheets are ruined.” Marcus hums, the blood streaked on the linens. “They will be changed.” You wave away the sentiment. “They are ones that I always use when I bleed.”

Marcus nods, knowing you are in control again. This is your room and so he picks up his tunic, ready to be sent on his way after he’s paid his coin. “I am leaving in three days time. The emperors’ wish for me to conquer more lands in their name. That’s why - why I was so pent up.” He confesses and he’s loath to leave Rome so soon when he longs to stay and relax, lose himself in you.

You bite your lip and move to the edge of the bed, still naked and you watch as he dresses. “Did you give me an honest offer?” You ask quietly, not as composed as you might appear. “About joining you as your mistress?”

Marcus turns to look at you once he’s dressed and he nods, “yes. You’d be mine and only mine. You’d want for nothing. I just…I cannot return to the battlefield without something…someone to give me hope, to motivate me to return.”

You look around the rooms that you have called home for many years. Weighing your options seriously before you look back at him. “I accept.”

His eyes widen before a surprised smile appears on his face, certain that you were going to say no. He surges forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his lips to yours. “You shall want for nothing.” He promises, “I’ll come find you in three days' time. I have much to prepare for my absence in Rome.” He informs you, “prepare yourself and be ready, amor.”

His stride is sure and proud as he walks out of your rooms, the confident gait of a man who has tasks to accomplish. You will be ready for him in three days time as he wishes, packed and will travel around the world with him and his army. He is important to Rome and her emperors, and you will make sure that he is well rested and prepared for battle.

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius imagine #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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sciencebecameouraddiction · 9 months ago

Text

title: dancing in the rain

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: PG

genre: slight, baby angst/ major fluff

pairing: Alastor x Reader

summary: all hell had was acid rain, and all you wanted was the rainstorms you knew on earth.

Rain hardly ever was an occurrence in Hell. And when it was, it was acid rain. You sighed, looking out the window and watched the green acid pouring down on everything, missing desperately the rain storms that you had on earth. Being the youngest at the hotel, you remembered more clearly the burn of the sun on your skin, the cool breeze on a fall day and even the mix of the humidity in the air that felt like it would choke you but the reprieve as a rainstorm came and fell from the heavens.

“What has you so melancholy, my dear?” A voice asked behind you, shockingly quiet all things considered, toning down the announcer quality in his voice.

“Hey Alastor, just thinking is all.” You replied and smiled at him, not wanting to explain that the acid rain made you sad.

“Now, whatever it is that you’re thinking about is casting a dark shadow over your usually lovely face. So, tell me, what’s wrong? What kind of hotelier might I be if I didn’t ensure that all the patrons here were happy?” He said, the announcer tone coming back into his voice, which made you wince. Knowing that meant he knew you were lying so he was going to put on a show if you were. You sigh.

“It’s the rain.” You explain.

“The what now?” He asks, all effects gone from his voice except shock and a bit of confusion.

“The rain. I miss the rain. Not this rain. The rain on earth. The smell of the earth after a good rain storm, the way that especially in the summer when it was so hot, the rain was a cool reprieve. It always felt like…” You trailed off.

“Forgiveness?” Alastor finished, looking outside the hotel now too. You blink and look up at him.

“Yes. Are you sure you don’t read minds?” You chuckle, resting your head on your hand. You suddenly feel his microphone tap your head. You look up at him as holds his arm out to you.

“Come with me.” He says, not giving you time to feel confused. As when you take his arm you shadow travel with him to the other side of the hotel appearing at the door of his room.

“This is your room.” You say, confused now.

“Ever observant. A skill many would kill for I’m sure.” He smiles at you, but the sarcasm is evident as he holds open the door for you and you step into his room.

“Just a certified Sherlock Holmes.” You roll your eyes, taking his sarcasm.

“I never had the chance to read those books.” He mused for a moment, as he shut his door and walked around you heading to the forest area. You stayed near the door.

“I have the collection if you’d like to borrow it and read them.” You explain. “They are annotated though, so you’ll have to put up with my notes.” You explain.

“That would be lovely, dear.” Alastor says stepping on the grass and you watch as he takes off his coat and hangs it on a coat rack that appeared suddenly. He turns to you. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I-I guess?” You say, more like a question. You jog over to him and start walking next to him. “Are you killing me in your forest because I complained about acid rain?”

“Oh, no. Not you at least.” Alastor chuckles. “I want to show you something.” You look up at him skeptically.

“Hey Alastor, can you take smaller steps?” You ask having to jog to keep up with him. He looks down and hums seeing how you were almost running next to him.

“Good to know that if I had to catch you I could do so without breaking a sweat.” He says, as he walks slower and taking smaller steps, allowing you to actually walk, instead of run.

“Har har.” You say deadpanned and roll your eyes. You walk into a clearing that has a cabin in the middle. The whole forest felt like it was shrouded in the twilight of fall when lightening bugs gently floated around and the sky was a perpetual shade of blue, purple and pink. You finally looked up and around, seeing the trees, the bugs, the animals, the sky. Tears formed in your eyes. “Alastor, this is beautiful. It looks just like-“ You stop, your throat constricting as emotion overtakes you. You feel Alastor’s clawed hand rest on your shoulder.

“Just like earth?” He finishes, speaking softer than you had ever heard. You nod and look at him, watching him take everything in and then looking down at you.

“Come, let me show you something else.” He says, walking away and heading to the cabin. You walk in and suddenly feel at home. The decor is a little dated and you feel transported to the 1920’s, but it’s all homey. There’s a kitchen, a living room, a lounge and a hall way leading to what you assumed to be a bed room. You walk through the living room, taking it in but trying not to pry at the photos Alastor had in frames along the mantel of the fire place, you see at the back door there is almost like a deck, with a more modern porch swing.

“The porch swing is a nice addition.” You mention, smiling a bit at the modern accessory in what felt like a time capsule.

Alastor chuckles as he sets his microphone down and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. He joins you next to the window. “You haven’t seen the best part.” He murmurs, unusually quiet and reserved. You don’t mention the change in demeanor though, wanting to savor the quiet and this almost more authentic view of the Radio Demon.

“What’s the best-“ You stop when you hear it. The start of a pitter patter of rain on the roof, that builds and when you look outside, it’s raining. “Is that?” You blink a few times.

“It is. Safe for you to touch as well. You won’t get hurt.” He smiles a genuine looking smile as he goes over to the record player and starts playing music. Your hand touches the door, feeling the coolness of the water slide down the glass pane. You can’t stop yourself as Alastor fiddles with the record player, you open the door, quickly closing it so no rain would get in the cabin and rush outside off the deck. Twirling in the grass as the rain poured down soaking you.

“What are you doing?” Alastor yelled from the door, watching you like you had gone mad.

“Dancing in the rain!” You yelled back, a smile feeling permanent on your face.

“You’ll catch a cold, get back inside!” He says, looking up at the sky and then back at you.

“No! Come join me! It’s amazing! This is exactly what I remember.” You say holding you hand out to Alastor. His smile looks more like a grimace as he takes you in looking like a wet dog. He looks back inside and waves his hand at something and you see towels appear and the record player is louder so you can hear it outside. He takes off his shoes and socks and places them neatly at the door but far enough away that when you come in, water or mud won’t get on them.

He walks out getting drenched almost immediately as you run up to him and grab his hand and pull him on the grass. You take both his hands and start trying to spin around in a circle with him, as you see his eyebrow raise. You stop and look at him, a little disappointed when he doesn’t spin with you and you start to let go of his hand, until his hand tightens and pulls you to him.

“We can dance in the rain, but we will be actually be dancing.” He says as he proceeds to guide you through a dance that was popular when Alastor was alive, morphing into an odd mash up of a swing dance and you dancing like you were at a rave. You both settled down and were now just slow dancing as the song had turned a bit slower. You watched as Alastor’s eyes were closed as his face angled up to the sky. You made a spit second decision, and rested your head on his chest, really it was like the start of his abdomen but it was as tall as you could reach. You didn’t see his head snap down to you and watch as you seemingly relaxed in his arms, drunk off the warmth he gave and the cool from the rain still coming down. His hand moved up, and grabbed your chin, encouraging you to look at him. As you did, you saw his eyes widen and his cheeks turn bright red.

“What’s wrong?” You ask quietly.

“I’ve never… done anything like this before.” He says quietly, and it breaks the fogginess you felt before.

“You don’t have to be scared. It’s just me.” You say, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world.

“Just you? Darling, just you is enough to have me go to war.” Alastor murmurs and then his eyes widen again, shocked. You realize that he is just blurting things out and there is no filter. You smile.

“Well, I’m honored that the Radio Demon would want to be in my corner.” You say as your hand reaches up to touch his cheek, stopping just a few centimeters away, allowing him to close the gap if he wanted to. He leans into your touch shaking his head.

“Not the Radio Demon, dear. Just Alastor.” He says, looking at you with a vulnerability you had never seen before. Your eyes widen and you smile.

“Even better.”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor altruist #alastor/reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #alastor fanfiction

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eupheme · 7 months ago

Text

— common ground [into the fire, part iii]

part i | part ii | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, sex for favors, 1 spank, sub/dom elements, light degradation, use of chems, shotgunning chems, riding, PiV, canon-typical violence and death

a/n: the scene where he complained about doing all the work had me like 👀 (reimagining), so here we go! 💖

“S’that right? Need me to fuck you? Fill up that greedy little cunt?”

His head tipping back as he hums, as if disappointed. Each word exaggerated, with his slow drawl, “Well, I’d sure like to sweetheart… but it seems to me like I’ve been doing an awful lot of work around here.”

“Findin’ this place. Cleanin’ it out. Gettin’ you clothes.” A sigh, before his voice drops, “Makin’ you come.”

“Think you oughta return the favor, don’t you?”

(Or - you take the Ghoul for a ride)

"Fuck!”

You crouch outside as another loud shotgun blast fires - the wooden door next to you peppering with bullets.

This wasn't what you had in mind.

You had thought you'd find a chem station in the next town. A pharmacy, an old hospital. Something somewhat respectable - not standing watch as the Ghoul blew his way through a long-abandoned two-story home.

The layered yelling dies off with each pull of his trigger, until everything going silent.

He finds you there a moment later, still curled in on yourself. A roll of his eyes when he sees you - still unused to the violence.

"It's clear." The Ghoul beckons, "Let's find that station."

You follow him inside, your gaze boring a hole into his back. Trying hard not to look down, nose wrinkling when you almost trip over a set of legs that sprawl across the floor.

A hand pinches at your elbow, keeping you upright.

"What?" He asks, at your expression.

"Did you have to..." You start, as he checks down the hallway.

It's empty - the doors leading to two bedrooms. The bed frames bare and rusted, the rooms already picked through.

A shrug, "They shot first."

"You goaded them."

You could hear him, even from outside. That knowing tone - some kind of warning. A rough laugh, and then the firefight had started.

"We're looking for a chem station, sweetheart." He scoffs, head cocking as he backs you up against the door he just closed, "Think they're gonna share with you like you’re on a goddamn play date?"

"They-" You blink up at him, "They might have."

He clicks his tongue, giving you a long look,"You still got a lot to learn, Vaultie."

A second, before he steps away.

"These weren't those kind of people."

You find it in the basement. A man slumped just outside the cracked-open door, the weathered lab coat stained and splattered red on the left-hand side.

Anything salvageable from above must have been brought down here. Three threadbare mattresses behind a makeshift wall. A long couch that faces a television that still runs, the picture blurry with static.

The station sits along the back wall. A beaker still bubbles over the burner, the smell acrid. Bottles litter the surface - something being made in a batch.

Your mind is already racing ahead, eyes scanning for things you'll need. Too-large gloves shoved on, disposing of the burnt mixture while you search for an empty glass.

Missing how he angles the couch to watch, feet propped up on the wooden coffee table. That ever-steady wariness waning with your focus, the tension in his shoulders easing as he sinks into the cushion.

You're too busy to notice. Sorting the different ingredients, littered across the counter.

There's an excess of toxic soot flowers, their petals papery between your fingers. Opened packages of Med-X, a spilled pile of Buffout. A jar of acid.

Psycho. Cut with something else, something stronger. You think the Ghoul was right - maybe you had been foolish to underestimate them.

You try to shake the thought away, as you gather what you need. Antiseptic, from your own bag. Three jars of glowing fungus, found beneath the sagging counter. Ground up and tipped into a dusty beaker, the heat turned down low.

"Can you get me some water?" You call from over your shoulder, a jar held in your hand.

There's no answer. Silence, until something hard presses into your back, pinning you against the table.

It feels familiar, the way his hips nudge against yours, and it sends your mind back. An urge to arch - bend low. Mimicking the days before, where you can still feel the twinge of him with the stretch of your thighs.

"You think you're callin' the shots now, sweetheart?" His voice is low, the brim of his hat brushing your head as he leans over your shoulder.

"No," You squeak - caught off-guard, "I just-, I can't leave this until it thickens."

"Mm.” His hum is low. “Too bad. Would've liked to see you try.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks at his words, that rough drawl, even after the last couple days. A thin layer of suggestion in his tone, as he shifts closer - his chest bumping into your back.

Your mind flickering through possibilities, before his voice cuts through.

“Said you need water?”

"Yes. Please," The nod you give is small - you have to start your stirring over, losing your rhythm, "I saw a few cartons in the kitchen. If you don't mind."

"Polite little thing, when you're distracted," He husks, "I'll have to remember that."

The Ghoul makes no effort to move, though. Fingers wrapping around the glass. His other hand gripping the edge of the table, boxing you in. You wonder if he can hear the way your heart thuds in your chest, eyes fixed firmly on your work.

“Where’d you learn to do this?”

It takes you a second to answer - he’d had never offered many questions. Responses that were no more than a couple of words, over the stretch of long hours on the road.

“Uh, my Vault. We were short on hands, my mother was a chemist.” Your words are slow - a still-painful topic, “Used to make all kinds of stuff. Medicine and… and chems, alike.”

People who left were always brought back. Dazed and half-sick from the world above, whatever they had seen. Left at your doorstep to be patched up, if they made it that long.

You always told yourself that wouldn’t be you.

That when you were gone, you’d stay that way.

“Hm.” His tone flattens, “Wouldn’t have guessed. Don’t seem the type.”

“Yeah?” You head turns, catching his shadowed ones. Leaning into the welcome diversion, “What type do I seem like, then?”

The Ghoul’s eyes narrow, an unconscious flick down to your mouth.

“Trouble.” He husks, with a shallow roll of his hips. You can’t help the short inhale that he’s certain to hear, the way your fingers tighten around your instruments.

“Though I’m still workin’ out what kind.”

It’s there that he leaves you. Flustered and silently revisiting evenings before, a familiar anticipation curling low inside you.

The steps creak behind you as he slips upstairs. Returning some time later with what you need - twirling a dented pot found in the kitchen, so you can purify it. Folding himself onto the couch when you tell him it will be a while.

A cut glass decanter salvaged as well, that he drinks directly from. A rough gasp as the bitter alcohol floods through him. Helping himself to the chems that litter the tabletop - before his feet kick up, the hat tipped low over his face.

You think he does rest - a rarity.

You examine him then - as you wait for the water to boil, and then cool, before you can use it to mix with the other components.

Taking the rare chance to do it freely.

In the Wasteland you’ve learned to stay cautious. That you can’t fall behind. That surely he would notice, if your gaze lingered on him for too long.

But here, time seems to slow for a moment. Nothing to do but wait, as your fingers drift to your neck. Pressing into the bruise, as if you could feel the indents of his teeth.

His presence feels the same.

A mark left on you. Something you can’t help but want to touch, even if it aches. A reminder that lingers, and there’s a part of you that wishes it would stay.

It has you wondering, as your eyes sweep across him. Over the long-faded clothes, hiding rough and reddened skin - every inch of him wrapped away.

If you got close enough-

Would you find that he bore a mark of his own?

You make enough for a little over two weeks. Carefully poured and sealed into a variety of small bottles and tubes you’ve scavenged, scraping out every last bit that you can.

In the less-than-stellar conditions, it didn’t turn out so bad. The vials you had seen him buy was a thin, piss-yellow that had made you cringe. Poor work to begin with, and that was even before it was cut with more water.

What you offer out to him is thick - a sheen clinging to the glass as it sloshes, when it passes from your hand to his.

Liquid gold, in comparison.

“Mm.” The Ghoul hums - eyes greedy, as he examines, holding it up to the bit of light.

Before they’re focusing on you. Flickering from head to toe - considering - before his legs spread a bit wider. A hand clapping down against a thigh.

The look you give him is blank. A squeak when his fingers hook around one of your belt loops and pulls - hauling you onto his lap.

“You think I’m just gonna take somethin’ you cooked up?” His brow lifts, hands pinching against your hips, “Not a chance, sweetie. I think we oughta try this together.”

The Ghoul’s fingers slip up then, rucking up the hem of your shirt. His tone turning knowing.

“And I don’t think you’ve got enough in you.”

Your cheeks burn at his insinuation. More than aware, your breath catching as the rough tips of his leather gloves drag across your skin.

“Bet I’ve been leakin’ out of you since last time.” The Ghoul rasps, “Wouldn’t want to waste this, would we?”

He’s solid beneath you. Your thighs splitting on either side of his waist, knees digging into old cushions. Close enough to kiss - if you weren’t so certain he’d bite.

Lost though, on how to proceed. You don’t know the rules to his game. Always keeping you at arms-length - wrists bound, caught in his grip.

Would he let you touch him?

He mistakes your hesitance, his brow pinching.

“Spent enough time starin’. Lookin’ like you wanted to take a ride.” Acid slips into his tone, teeth bared, “Change your mind, now you’ve got a front row seat?”

That knocks you out of your thoughts - embarrassed that you were caught staring at him. Annoyed by his assumption. A scoff, as your hips start to move, a slow roll. Hands coming up to rest against his shoulders, meeting his eyes.

They’re pretty, like the rest of him. Shades of light brown - looking like they’re caught the sun, even underground. Thick lashes, above the deep hollow of sunken eye sockets, the split cavern of his missing nose.

Something that had startled you, the first time you saw him. Now, you hardly even notice. And his mouth -

“I’m not scared of you.” You murmur, watching the way his lip curls in a sneer. A soft sound bitten back as you grind down, feeling how he’s stiff beneath you.

You wonder how long he’s been this way. Hard, from watching you work. Waiting.

Another exchange, though you wish you could tell him it doesn’t have to be that way. You had meant what you said, when you had made your offer - even if you mean it a little differently, now.

Maybe you still could.

“You should be,” The Ghoul growls - hands ghosting over your sides, up to the thin cotton, “If you had any goddamn sense. Letting me touch you like this-”

A hand is cupping your breast now. A hard swipe of his thumb against your stiff peak, your fingers biting down into his jacket.

Your hips jerk against his. A soft moan, when the seam of your pants catches against your clit - leaving you clenching around nothing.

“I want you to.” You confess - catching the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, “Told you, whatever you want.”

The Ghoul makes a rough sound in his throat, watching as you tug the cups down to fit beneath your breasts, putting yourself on display for him.

“Haven’t learned, have you?” He warns, his voice low, “Don’t make an offer you can’t follow through on.”

The pinch of his fingers sends an ache down to settle between your thighs, the hint of pain pairing with your pleasure.

Your own hand wandering, wanting to see more. Sliding against a leather vest, the stained shirt beneath that was once as blue as your suit. Frayed, looping embroidery on the faded collar.

Feeling the warmth of his skin as you tug at the snap at his throat. An inch, and then another, before he’s catching your hand.

Dragging it up to his shoulders, fixing you with a look, “You best keep those right here.”

“You don’t want me to touch you?” You ask, eyes flicking down to the peek of skin at his throat.

“I want these off.” He tells you instead, snapping the waistband of your pants against skin.

You have to leave him to do it. Watching the way his arms stretch across the back of the sofa, as you kick the pants off, then your underwear beneath.

Bare again, as you settle. Fitting yourself against the curve of his cock. Leather and metal kissing your skin as you move against him, until his lips are parted with a ragged breath.

You can feel your muscles clench. The slick slide of your pussy against his bulge, barely nudging at that deep-seated ache to be filled.

“Makin’ a mess, sweetheart.” He husks, his hips lifting to meet yours. Gloved hands moving to curl around your waist - pulling you down to meet him, coaxing a lazy rhythm from you.

“Rubbin’ up against me like a bitch in heat. Should make you clean that up.”

It coaxes a whine from you, as you let him move you. The sound does something to you - the layered approval in his tone, the low rasp of his voice. Not so unaffected as he seems, with how hard he is beneath you.

He must see it in your expression, a hand leaving the couch to grasp at your chin. Flexing up and into you, letting you feel the hard ridge of him.

“This what you want, sweetheart?”

Making you meet his gaze, as you answer. All dark eyes and the flash of teeth, under the brim of his hat.

“Yes.” You keen, “I need you, please-”

“S’that right? Need me to fuck you? Fill up that greedy little cunt?”

The hand leaves your chin to drop down. Slowly loosening a belt buckle, letting it pool on the cushions. Your cheeks heating when you see the slick shine to the front of his pants, where you’ve rutted yourself against him.

“Findin’ this place. Cleanin’ it out,” His eyes are on yours - your breath short as he tugs the zipper down. “Gettin’ you clothes.”

A sigh, before his voice drops, “Makin’ you come.”

You moan at that, a soft sound caught behind your teeth - fingers pinching into his shoulders.

Waiting for him to draw his cock out - fist wrapped around the base. Flushed and thick in his palm, inches away from where you need him.

The Ghoul does grin then, a wicked thing that shows his teeth.

“Think you oughta return the favor, don’t you?”

He’s giving you an inch - seeing if you’ll try to take a mile. A firm handle, still wrapped around a fist, but loosening the reins.

Letting himself watch.

“Seems fair.” You manage, breathless.

“Then go on,” He husks, “Show me how you can take it.”

Your hand reaches down, but then he’s clicking his tongue - fingers fixing back on his shoulders.

Leaving you to lift your hips. His cock slipping against your slick core, your teeth biting into your lip as you line yourself up - the rough head catching at your entrance.

It’s different this time. Sinking down on him, feeling each inch as it splits you open - instead of suddenly filling you to the hilt.

“Fuck,” You sigh, with the stretch. It twinges deep inside you, where his hips fit against yours.

Lifting yourself only to sink back down, his arms flexing beneath his coat as he lets you ride him, your pace slowly picking up until you’re bouncing on his cock.

As much as you enjoyed last time, there was something about this. Fully able to watch the way his lips part, hear the rattling groan when you tighten around him.

See the way his eyes skate across the bruise on your neck, only to drop down to watch the sway of your tits as your fingers lace behind his neck.

“Goddamn, sweetheart.” His hand flattens against the small of your back. The other gripping your hip, tugging you towards him, “You sure know how to ride.”

Not giving you time to answer, before his head is dipping. The brim of his hat knocking back when it hits your chin - the tips of your fingers just catching it. Slipping it on your own head for safekeeping before he can protest.

It earns you a sharp nip against the curve of your breast, before his lips close around the tight peak of a nipple and sucks.

You cry out, chasing the pressure that builds in your belly. Growing even more wet with the slick swirl of his tongue and the scrape of teeth - his cock grinding against a spongy spot inside you as you arch into his mouth.

“Please,” You whine, fingers flexing and then curling. Needing more friction against your clit, where your heartbeat has dropped and settled.

Trying so hard to listen, a whine between your gritted teeth. Your tits glossy with spit when he leans back, giving you a knowing look.

“You wanna come?” He husks - his eyes dropping, as you nod, “Only if you lean back and show me, sweetheart.”

Relief sings in you, as you adjust. Thighs spreading, as you grip onto his shoulder. Leaning back until he can watch the way he spears into you. How he shines, all slicked up, with each roll of your hips.

Your other hand loses its grip in his coat to slip down, press where your bodies meet.

Fingertips circle, a low moan at the much-needed touch. Your rhythm grows sloppy until his hands hook beneath your thighs. Guiding you into a harsh rhythm, each pound of his cock winding you higher and higher as the couch creaks beneath you.

“Come on, cowpoke.” He rasps, his hand cracking down against your ass, “Is that the best you can do?”

It builds - your fingers pressing harder against the slick bud. Whimpered noises that are more sound than words, as his thighs spread, feet planting so he can drive up into you.

“I said come on.” He growls, “Wanna feel you come on my cock again.”

Like before, it feels like the control slips through your fingers. Your own touch brings you close to that edge, but it’s the pounding of his cock that makes you fall.

Your back arching, crying out as your core clenches. Pleasure bursting deep inside you, racing up your spine and down to the tips of your fingers and pointed toes.

The quick thrust slowa into a lazy grind. A low “atta girl” that he grits out, as he feels the way you come hard around him.

Eyes dropping from your face to watch the greedy press of your fingers as you draw it out - until his own hand is wrapping around your wrist.

Tugging your hand away as the pleasure still courses inside you, hips still chasing the last ripples as you ride his cock.

Bringing your fingers to his mouth. Fitting them against teeth and tongue as his lips close around, tasting the slick that clings to them.

It makes goosebumps raise on your skin. The briefest thrill of fear. Certain that if you pulled your fingers free right now, the flesh and muscle would peel from you - leaving only bones behind.

He groans loudly around them, teeth indenting your skin. Tongue swirling against your knuckles, his hips rocking up to meet yours.

Freeing you, only to grasp at your hips - urging you to move faster. A loud slap of skin until his jaw is clenching - and he’s bringing you down once more against him with a rough sound.

Coming inside you again, but this time you get to see the way his head tips back with his snarl. How his fingers bite into your skin as you feel him throb - throat bared as he spills deep inside you with each rough jerk of his hips.

A flare of something flicking to life in your belly, knowing you did this to him. The groan he made when he tasted you echoing in your mind, giving you something to keep.

You make to move when he goes still, but a hand grips at your hip - holding you in place. Keeping you full of him, as the afterglow still glitters in your veins.

His eyes are dark, fixed on you. Taking in your shadowed, half-lidded gaze - sweat-dewed and bare skinned against him. His hat, still perched on your head. Looking like it belongs there.

A hand digs around in his bag. Pulling out the inhaler for his serum. Snapping it together without his gaze leaving you.

Bringing it to his mouth after - sucking in a deep, held breath. Those eyes closing with a low, contented groan.

A broad hand slips from your hip to splay across the back of your neck, fingers digging into your throat. Pulling you down to him - just as his head tilts to press his lips against yours.

Just as you soften, he exhales - the RadAway flooding through your parted lips. A stinging, metallic taste of iodine that makes you shudder, before you realize he’s deepening the kiss.

You lean into it without thought. The ache in your gums fading with the brush of his tongue. His grip anchoring you in place as he takes, licking into your mouth while his cock still fills you.

Leaving you breathless. Letting him, as your own arms wrap around his shoulders to keep him close. Meeting the messy scrape of teeth and swirl of tongue. The sharp taste fading, layered with the whisky and a hint of you that still lingers.

Before he’s pulling back far too soon, eyes dark as he pants.

“Fuck.” He rasps - his tongue tasting where yours had been, flicking across a lower lip. Before he’s looking at the inhaler - shaking it for another use.

“Looks like I might just have to keep you around.”

You make what you can with the rest of the supplies afterward - waste not, want not. An extra stimpak. Swiping the rest of the mentats, keeping the grape and berry ones for yourself. Refilling your canteen with more of the purified water.

The rest of the chems you gather - packing them in a tin. Tossing them his way, a low whistle when he sees what’s inside.

It’s late enough that the Ghoul decides it’s best to stay here, and leave at dawn. Certain that he will catch up to the bounty tomorrow, already sure of two places where he might be offloading the stolen wares.

You don’t mind. The uneasy thought of sleeping in a house with corpses quickly overshadowed by the real mattresses waiting in the basement. Stained but there’s still bedding - patched up blankets.

A fire, that he coaxes to life in the fireplace upstairs. Dinner, roasting over it.

It almost feels like something. A moment you can play pretend - that these walls will keep you safe.

That maybe you could clean it up.

That maybe he didn’t despise you, and maybe he’d want to stay.

It’s a foolish thought, a sigh as you push it from you. Digging a spoon into the rusted can of Pork ‘N Beans you had scavenged - not trusting the look of the skewer he had been tending.

A thumb running across your lower lip, as you chew. Remember how his had felt. Examining the angry marks pressed into your knuckles.

His shadow crosses over you, then - you have to crane your neck up to see him. His hat back where it belongs, much like your own clothes.

The tilt of his head, as he considers you again. Before his hand is slipping into the bag that slings across his shoulder.

Gloved fingers curling around something - tossing it silently into your lap, before he’s disappearing upstairs to finish his sweep of the house.

It’s golden, in the light of the fireplace. Seems like he’s already done a little looting of his own. A rolled up bag, the tube and needle tucked inside.

And a bottle of the RadAway you made for him.

save a horse, ride a cowboy and all that 🤠💖 (thank you so much for reading! would love to know what you thought if you enjoyed!)

#please mind the tags!#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard

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