#Follow My Parcel

[xxplastic-cubexx]

whos jess what’s the snap lore

jess has been my bestie since my dragon ball postin days, about five years now :]

[esleep]

amidst all the chaos that is my life right now i have fallen madly in love with a concept for a dnd campaign which might lead me to start dming again. sigh.

[grunge-mermaid]

Me: what is this feature for?

Google: BUY SHIT NOW! BUY EVERYTHING!!!

Me: but you haven’t answered my question???

google: YOU MUST CONSUME!

[gumified]

KILLSHOT !

pairing: mafia boss!toji x spy fem!reader

summary: you're tasked with the mission of spying and killing toji fushiguro so why now are you being fucked stupid in some dirty bathroom?

content: 6.3k, smut, big dick!toji, degradation, praise, dirty talk, overstimulation, orgasm control, orgasm denial, humiliation kink, creampie, dumbification, sucking on fingers (no clue if that's a thing), dacryphilia, oral (male. receiving), fingering, squirting, public sex (it's in a club bathroom)

note: i hate all of you who decided to suddenly make frat boy!gojo take the lead when i basically finished this fic TT (i don't really i'm gonna start on that one as soon as i post this) but here you have mafia boss!toji, enjoy my lovesss (not proof read at all rip)

When you step into the club the first thing that hits you is the heat followed closely by the cacophony of music and voices. The bass reverberates through your body, each thud matching the pounding of your heart. The air is thick with a mix of sweat, perfume, and the faint scent of alcohol. You weave through the throngs of people, your senses on high alert. Every so often, you catch a glimpse of a couple locked in a passionate embrace, or friends shouting to be heard over the deafening music. It's a sea of movement, a blur of colours and shadows that makes it almost impossible to focus.

The music is still pounding and it infiltrates your ears making it near impossible to focus. Your eyes search the crowd for your target: Toji Fushiguro. The intel said he’d be here tonight, but pinpointing one man in this chaos feels like a near-impossible task. You had been tasked to go undercover and take out one of the most notorious crime lords in the country. It had started simple really - tailing him during the day, intercepting any letters or parcels - but now was when it all went done. Today is the day you will finally finish off Toji Fushiguro.

You edge closer to the bar hoping to catch a clearer view. The bartender is a blur of motion, pouring drinks and exchanging money with patrons who shout their orders over the deafening music. You stand on your toes, craning your neck to get a better look across the room. Still nothing. A group of obviously drunk men jostles past you and in doing so trudging on your feet. You force yourself to bite back a curse, keeping your cool. You can’t afford to draw attention to yourself. Not here, not now.

“So many fucking people.” You mutter under your breath as your eyes still search the crowd. You’re hyper aware of the weapon you have by your side, cunningly concealed. You continue to look around, pushing through the crowd as you try desperately not to get swallowed up by the swarms of people. Then, you catch a glimpse – tall, broad-shouldered, a flash of a sharp jawline in the dim light. As quickly as you see him he disappears again. “Is that him?” You whisper to yourself as you crane your neck to try and look for your target once more.

You’re more forceful now, pushing through the crowd as you struggle to move through the pack. Almost there. You just need to get a little closer, verify that it's him. It’s hard to even breathe in the club but once you make your way out of the throngs of people you see him - Toji Fushiguro.

There were always rumours surrounding the dangerous man but they didn’t do him justice. He was even more imposing in person, his rugged appearance making him stand out in any crowd.  His dark hair is tousled just so, falling across his forehead in a way that frames his sharp, chiselled features perfectly. His eyes are piercing, a deep smouldering gaze that seems to see right through you. His jawline is strong and his lips are set in a slight smirk.

He's dressed in a fitted black shirt that hugs his muscular frame, the fabric straining slightly against his broad chest and shoulders. He isn’t sporting anything too flashy and if no one knew his reputation they would’ve assumed he was a normal man. You watch as he crosses his arms and the shirt pulls taut against his muscles. There’s a sliver of his chest that you manage to see and a hint of his tattoos peek through. It’s ridiculous but just looking at him has your panties soaking and you know it’s so wrong but you can’t help it. Through the weeks of trailing after him you never thought you would finally see him so up close. 

Your heart skips a beat. Target acquired. Now, the real challenge begins.

You approach him, weaving through the last few bodies that separate you. He hasn't noticed you yet. But you know you have to play this carefully. One wrong move, and it could all fall apart.

As you draw closer to him you try your best to put on the best smile you could, one that exuded innocence. You relaxed your own muscles and tried to calm your beating heart. "Fancy seeing you here." You lean in slightly, enough to make it seem intimate, but not desperate.

Toji's eyes snap to you, and for a moment, there's a flicker of surprise. Then his expression smooths into one of casual interest. "Is that so?" He replies, his voice a deep velvety rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes look you up and down, assessing your frame carefully before he settles on your face. "And who might you be?"

You see the smirk playing at his lips and you’re not quite sure what he’s hinting at. It’s impossible to read Toji Fushiguro and it’s even harder to do it when it’s dark and loud. You finally step closer, closing the distance between the both of you. 

"Just a girl looking for a good time." Your fingers brush against his arm. "And you seem like just the man to show me one."

He raises an eyebrow, a slow deliberate smile spreading across his face. “Is that right? His hand comes up, fingers trailing lightly along your arm sending sparks of electricity through your skin. You let out a soft involuntary gasp, your heart racing faster. He leans in, lips just inches from your ear. “But surely a little spy like yourself shouldn’t be wandering around a stuffy club and asking people like me to fuck them?”

You freeze. Your blood runs cold at his words. Silence envelops you and you can’t do anything but stay rooted in the spot. Toji’s grip on your arm tightens and it feels like you’re being burnt by scalding hot iron. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You know it’s stupid to even deny it, not when you’ve so obviously given yourself away, not when you’re not even able to look him in the eye. “I’m not a spy.”

"Oh, don't play dumb." His tone shifts into something much more sinister, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something much darker. "I've known you were watching me since the moment you walked in. So tell me, what do you want with me?"

Panic bubbles up inside you but you force it down. You can't afford to lose your nerve now. You have to stay calm, have to find a way to turn this around. You swallow hard, trying to keep your mind composed. “Like I said, I don't know what you’re talking about.”

Toji's eyes flicker with something that might be amusement but it's hard to tell. His eyes darken with a predatory gleam. “You’re a stubborn one you are. Never met a little spy like you most would have been cowering at my feet by now but you’re still here denying everything.” His fingers trail up to your face and you instinctively flinch when he touches your cheek and Toji smirks. “But doll you’re forgetting just how often I deal with people like you so don’t bother denying it anymore okay? I've been in this business too long to fall for such weak games.”

It’s so stupid how the man in front of you is able to instil fear in everyone yet as you stand in front of him all you can think about is how his grip would feel around your neck and how his fingers would feel buried in your pussy. It’s so wrong and so unprofessional but seeing Toji up close was something else. He was insanely attractive and there was something exciting about the way he looked at you as if he was going to devour you whole. 

“Unless you want your pretty little head to be blown off you better answer my question.” All playfulness was gone in his stare instead what replaced it was cold hard emptiness. His expression is long gone and he only looks at you with a blankness that you’re unable to pinpoint. “So I’m gonna ask you again, what do you want with me?”

You feel your breath stuck in your throat and you know it’s no use denying it anymore but you’re unwilling to give up. “How did you find out?” The tremor in your voice is obvious despite your best efforts to keep it at bay.

Toji smirks. "You gave yourself away the moment you walked in. Your eyes. They were too focused, too calculating. Not the eyes of someone here to have a good time." You blink, processing his words, your mind racing. "And the way you moved." He continues, his voice a low seductive purr. "Too precise, too careful. Like a hunter. Or a spy."

Your heart sinks as his words hit home. You had been so careful but clearly not careful enough. "So, what now?"

Toji's smile widens and he leans even closer, his breath hot against your skin. "Now, we play a different game." He says softly. "One where you try to convince me to let you go. And I decide just how much I want to make you squirm."

You feel yourself grow even hotter at his words and you catch the sight of his lips and oh how badly you want to grab his face and smash your mouth to his. Fuck it’s a bad idea but it’s all you can think about in this moment. And then it happens, you’re grabbing his shirt, pulling him down as you crash your lips to his and Toji’s eyes widen in surprise. You take a second to realise what you've done but just as you pull away Toji’s already tugging you to somewhere else. You can barely keep up as he leads you, weaving expertly through the sea of bodies.

"Where are we going?" You manage to gasp out, struggling to be heard over the pounding bass. 

"Somewhere more private."

You don't have time to protest or question further as he drags you down a dimly lit hallway away from the main floor. The noise of the club dims slightly and the music becomes a muted throb behind the walls. You barely notice the curious glances from a few stragglers in the hallway as Toji pushes open a door with a bold "Restrooms" sign hanging on it. The moment you step inside he slams the door shut, the sound echoing in the small tiled space. His lips are on yours in an instant, the kiss fierce and demanding. It’s as if all the raw tension explodes right there and then.

He pushes you against the cold, tiled wall, his body pressed firmly against yours. His hands roam over your body, rough and possessive. You respond  just as eagerly, tongues tangling with each other as you reach your hands into his hair. You moan into his mouth and the sound is swallowed by the relentless kiss. His hands are everywhere, sliding up your thighs, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

"Tell me you want this." He murmurs against your lips.

"I want this." You breathe as your hands clutch at his shoulders pulling him closer. "I want you."

Suddenly you’re ripping each others’ clothes off at light speed. The buttons on his shirt fall off as you try your best to unbutton the first few before giving up and deciding to just rip it off. Toji chuckles at your fast pace, a smirk making its way onto his face. You put a hand over his mouth, already annoyed by the sound of his laughter and you didn’t want to hear what was going to come out of his mouth next. He reaches a hand up to wrestle yours away from his face.

“You’re awfully eager for someone who was just trying to kill me?” He locks his eyes with yours and you swear you feel your pussy clench around thin air. “I’d say you’re desperate for a good fucking aren’t you doll?”

“Shut the fuck up Fushiguro.”

Toji grins at your response, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Your gaze drifts downward. The dim lighting accentuates the tight muscles that ripple beneath his skin. You can see the faint sheen of sweat, highlighting the contours of his abs, the hard lines of his chest. He takes advantage of your momentary distraction, flipping you around and pressing you against the wall with a thud. His hands are everywhere at once, rough and demanding, as if he's trying to imprint himself onto your very skin. You arch into his touch as a moan escapes your lips despite yourself.

"See, I knew you wanted this." He murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You’re practically begging for it."

His words send a shiver down your spine and you grind back against him, eliciting a low groan from his throat. "Don’t flatter yourself." You manage to gasp out.

He laughs, a deep rumbling sound that you can feel reverberate through his chest. "You can't lie to me, doll." One of his hands slips beneath your waistband, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin there. "Your body knows exactly what it wants."

Your breath hitches, and you bite your lip, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to spill out. It’s beyond humiliating how he has you pressed up against the way but you can’t deny how much you want the man in front of you. His touch is electrifying and he inches closer and closer to the heat between your legs. You whine when he cups your pussy and Toji simply smirks at the reaction you give him. His hand stays there for a moment and you can feel the warmth he radiates. 

“Think you can handle me Fushiguro?” You glare at him although there’s a hint of desire beneath your angry gaze. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Toji grin, his face leaning close to yours. He’s too close and you have to resist the urge to pull him in for a kiss. “Good thing I love danger then.”

Before you can even respond he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. It’s rough and messy and far from sweet but you don’t mind. You feel his tongue pry open your mouth and you let him in easily. He tastes like whiskey and you find that you don’t mind the sharp taste of alcohol he has on him. You moan as he rubs small circles on your clit, his fingers inching dangerously closer to your pussyhole. He presses his hips against yours and you can feel his cock hard against your thigh. The both of you kiss for what seems like forever. Your eyes constantly shut as you enjoy the taste of him, the touch of him, the scent of him. Everything is so intoxicating that you can’t refuse to want more. Toji is too much to handle but you’ve always liked a challenge.

His fingers finally reach to pull aside your panties, plunging his wet digits into your heat. You moan loudly at the contact. It felt so different to the hours you spent trying to please yourself during the night, the fruitless attempts at trying to make yourself cum. Toji did it so easily, too easily. He smirks as he watches you squirm in his grasp, clutching onto his shoulders as if they were your lifeline. You feel your pussy squeeze around his fingers and he groans.

“Fuck you’re so tight. Why have you been neglecting this pretty thing for so long, hm doll?” You let out another breathy moan at his words. In truth you haven’t had the time to have hookups and your job didn’t exactly give you lots of free time. Most nights were spent on your own, in your bed. “Don’t worry I’ll give her a good fucking today.” He purrs in your ear and you feel your own body melt to his touch.

“F-Fushiguro you’re such a-ahh!” Your sentence is cut short as you feel him curl his fingers and he prods at that spot that has you jolting forward with a long moan. Toji grins wickedly at your reaction. He loves the way you give him such innocent but lewd expressions that he can’t help but want to ravish you entirely. “You’re such a t-tease.”

You give him another glare but this time it’s telling him to hurry up and fuck you because you’re impatient. You’ve never been good at biding your time well and all you want right now is his cock inside you. Toji’s other hand makes its way up your chest, he cups one of your tits and you whimper as he squeezes it hard. You’re sensitive beyond belief and his touch only stimulates you more. You let out a strangled cry when he pinches your nipple, playing with it cruelly with his rough fingers. You feel every crack, every line on his fingertips and it makes you go crazy.

“Tell me what you want doll.” 

Toji whispers as he leans in to place hot-mouthed kisses across your neck. You mewl at his touch as you feel his lips move along your body as he kisses and licks your smooth skin. You feel his breath against you and it’s weirdly comforting in a way. He’s so close to you that it sends you into a frenzy. Your hands reach up to knot into his hair, pushing him impossibly closer towards you. His fingers never stop their movements, each thrust causing a jolt of pleasure to sing through your body. You can do nothing but moan as he scissors you open, adding more fingers in as you indulge him in your noises.

“Be a good girl and tell me what you want from me.”

His voice is deep and oh so seductive. You’re sure he’s an incubus in disguise by the sheer aura he exudes. His confidence in himself and his abilities irritate you beyond belief but you know it’s not misplaced by the way he’s making you fall apart on his fingers alone. Your eyes rake over his muscled body, the darky inky tattoos that littler his skin. You feel your fingertips trace each individual art piece and then suddenly you’re falling into his chest. 

“F-Fuck off.” You manage to stutter out.

Toji smirks when he feels your pussy throb and drip. The wet sounds of your sopping cunt fill his ears and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard something so addictive in forever. Paired with your desperate moans he can’t help but want more of you. Your pussy tightens around his digits and you try to keep yourself up but it proves difficult. You’re gasping for air, feeling light-headed. Toji notices and he grins at your cuteness. 

“You’re so adorable when you want to be.” He sighs as he twirls a strand of your hair. You’re embarrassingly close and all you need is for another curl of Toji’s deliciously thick fingers to bring you closer to the edge. You feel yourself clenching around him, your gummy walls begging for your orgasm but you refuse to beg, not to him of all people. Toji grins at your determined expression, it really is cute how you think you have some sort of power in this situation.

Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his thumb rub your clit harshly, bringing you so close to your release. “T-Toji I’m so, nghhh, I’m s-so close! Oh my goddd-” Your words are cut off as yet another lewd moan escapes your lips. You’re so close and you can feel it. You feel your pussy tighten and your body starts shaking with pleasure. You just need one more push, one final push.

And then without any warning it’s all gone. Your eyes shoot open and you see the smug face of Toji Fushiguro, fingers in his mouth as he sucks them sensually. You see the way your arousal coats his digits as he places them in his mouth, tongue swirling over them. Your thighs clench together as you watch him. He’s way too sexy for his own good. Toji’s smirking at you widely and you would have found it hot if he hadn’t just ripped your orgasm away from you. You glare at him, ready to pounce.

“Why the fuck would you even-”

“Shame you’re a brat most of the time.” He interrupts you, fingers still in his mouth. You scowl at his comment despite having him just inside you. “We need to learn how to shut you up don’t you think?”

It’s so fucking hot how he’s able to get you on your knees so quickly. The floor might be dirty but you couldn’t care less. You don’t know what overcomes you but your mouth is already open when he’s unbuckling his belt and when you see his cock you only salivate more. Toji’s big, that's undeniable. His cock is so pretty, the prettiest you’ve ever seen. He’s so thick and the tip’s flushed pink and there’s pre cum oozing out. He smirks at your awe, bringing his length closer to your face as you watch, pussy pulsating at the sight. 

“You look like such a desperate slut. What would the higher ups say if they say you like this huh doll?” His tone is teasing and he inches his cock towards your open mouth and you take him slowly. It’s almost as if you’re in a trance as you feel him fill your mouth. You look up at him and Toji moans as he feels your tongue swirl around his top. “There we go, such a good girl f’me.”

His praise sings through your ears and you feel yourself grow hot just at his words. Your hands reach up to wrap around the base of his cock as you take the first few inches. Toji brushes a hand through your hair and you lean into his grasp before squealing when he tugs harshly. Pain shoots through your head as he pulls your face up to meet his eyes. You see the dark dangerous glint that’s in them.

“You’re gonna suck like you mean it doll.” He growls before thrusting into your mouth causing you to gag as his length hits the back of your throat. Tears pool at the corners of your eyes as you struggle to breathe through your nose. His scent fills your senses and it’s poisonous how much you want him. “Go on then, what’s taking you so long?”

You whimper as you feel his tight grasp on your hair tighten and you get to work. You bob your head up and down, sucking him dry as you moan around his length repeatedly. Toji smirks when he sees you choking on him. He watches as you try your best to take all of him while looking at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. He loves the way you’re so obviously struggling with drool dripping out of your mouth yet you’re still so determined. It’s pathetic but he loves it so much.

“Just a nasty cockslut aren’t you?” Toji snarls as he buries you full of him. You whine in retaliation, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you do so. “Came here to kill me but you’re sucking me off instead, god what a filthy whore.”

It’s humiliating and you feel yourself burn with embarrassment. If anyone were to walk in and find the both of you like this that would be horrifying. But you know that won’t happen since Toji probably has his men positioned outside the bathroom denying anyone access as he fucks you silly then again he might not.

“Nghh- T-Toji can’t, hnngh, breathe-” You manage to say despite your best efforts the phrase comes out more like a jumbled mess of words rather than a coherent sentence. If Toji understands you he ignores you completely. He coos as you try your ebay to take all of him. You look so cute on your knees sucking him off that he could get used to seeing you like this. 

You feel your mind turn foggy as your throat starts to feel bruised from the sheer force he is thrusting into you with. Your knees have been hurting from kneeling for so long that you have resorted to sitting down fully as you take his cock. Saliva drips from your chin and you know it’s messy and you know it’s disgusting but you feel so horny. Your thighs clench as you watch the man above you fuck your mouth. Toji’s abs glisten with sweat and your eyes trail his toned body. His thighs are thick and your imagination runs wild as you think about what you can do sitting on them. Your pussy throbs at the thought.

“You’re thinking dirty thoughts aren’t you doll?” Toji catches your wandering eyes and his hand comes down to grip your chin. You whimper. “C’mon now why don’t you focus on one thing at a time.”

You nod your head as the tears spill from your eyes. Toji only grins as he lets you get him off. He watches as you let him fuck your mouth quicker as you moan like a slut beneath him. He sees the way your expression twists into one of pure pleasure every time he pulls on your hair and he relishes in the fact he can make you feel so good. He moans every time he feels your cute little tongue swipe against his cockhead, teasing him further to his release. You look up to him with those seemingly innocent eyes and it has him edging closer and closer.

“You’re gonna make me, f-ffuckk, cum if you’re not careful doll.”

Toji watches as your eyes light up at the mention of him filling your mouth and it only spurs him on. You’re so cute and he wants to - no needs to - ruin you. You suck harder trying your hardest to bring him to his orgasm and Toji lets out a mix of curses as his cock twitches in your mouth. You feel his cock throb before he bursts inside of you. His thick cum coats your tongue and you feel the hot sensation spread throughout your body. Toji doesn’t taste horrible and it isn’t the bitter or sour taste that you’re used to. 

He pulls out of your mouth once he’s done spurting all of his cum into your mouth and he grins when you open showing him you've swallowed it all. He brushes his thumb over your lips and you feel him swipe the mixture of liquid over your chin. You would feel embarrassed of the mess you’ve made but the sheer neediness of your pussy distracts you from everything else.

“Please…” You whisper, your voice hoarse. You’ve long abandoned any self respect or dignity you have. All you need now is his cock buried in your heat, fucking you senseless. You couldn’t care for rules or procedures. You need Toji Fushiguro and you need him now. “Please fuck me Toji.”

The man in question smirks at your demand. He stares at you, dark eyes boring into your soul. “See it’s not so hard, all you had to do was ask nicely.”

Toji picks you up before you have a chance to respond. His strong arms carry you up from the floor and you squeak when he places you on the edge of the sink. The hard porcelain digs into your thighs, but the discomfort is drowned out by the overwhelming desire coursing through your veins. Your back is pressed against the mirror and Toji’s right in front of you, hair mused because of you. His fingers find their way to your pussy again and his smirk widens when he feels just how wet you are.

“Look how wet she’s gotten.” He coos, flicking your clit a little. “Did you get turned on from sucking me off doll?” His voice drops deeper and you whimper as he plunged two fingers inside, stretching you open. You gasp when he curls his digits, hitting that familiar spot again. “Did you imagine my cock pounding this pretty little pussy until it’s broken?” You can’t seem to say anything, mind blank from the pleasure you’re receiving. Toji’s fingers still and you watch as his expression darkens. “Answer me brat.” 

Your lips tremble as you feel your body squirm. Everything feels too good and all your senses feel overstimulated. Your mouth opens yet nothing comes out. Toji refuses to move but your pussy still clenches around him pathetically. 

“I-I did…” You breathe out, chest heaving up and down as you try to hold in your noises.

“There it is.” He starts to move again, slowly but surely. “You gotta make sure you answer my questions doll, I hate it when people ignore me.”

You nod your head helplessly, whimpering as you do so. His fingers curl inside you and you squeal at the movement, collapsing onto his chest as you feel your lower half tense up. You’re so close and Toji knows what he’s doing when he teases you like that. It’s so fucking annoying but god does it feel so good. You whine his name over and over again begging for more like a desperate bitch in heat. All dignity has left your body as you become putty in his hands.

“Toji Toji Tojiiii! P-Please I need m-more, please just need to - nghhh - feels good…” You moan out as your hands find their place on hsi broad shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as you feel your hips raise higher. Toji hisses at the pain before leaning in to kiss you. It’s hot and searing as both your lips move against each other. He’s not gentle at all and it only makes you clench around him tighter. “Gonna cum gonna cum gonna cummm-”

Toji pulls away from you, moving his fingers faster as his other hand goes to rub your sensitive clit. “C’mon doll, cum all over my fingers, show me how dirty you are, let me see you make a mess of yourself like a good girl.” He purrs and it’s all you need before you’re spasming around his digits. You feel a gush of liquid spray from your pussy and you gasp when you realise you squirted all over the man you were supposed to kill. You feel your body ache as you orgasm, each bone in your body rattles with pleasure as you moan continuously. 

Toji smirks at the mess you’ve made, sliding his fingers out and gathering all your liquid before pushing it back into you. “Such a pretty pussy, listen to how she speaks doll.” His fingers push into you and you simper when you hear the lewd squelching of your spent pussy. He purposefully moves slowly, letting your mouth hang open as you savour every inch he pushes inside of you. Your chest heaves up and down, your lungs burn from the breath you’ve lost. Toji looks up at you, his eyes no longer transfixed on your pussy. “Oh you didn’t think we were finished did you?”

Your eyes widen when you feel his cock prod your entrance. Your eyes lock with his and Toji has a cocky glint in his eye and that’s all you see before your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as you feel him bottom out. His cock stretches you out and he’s just so thick. His cock practically forces you open, prying your insides apart as he bullies his way into you. Tears gather at your eyes once more and they become misty as they fall freely down your face. You feel as though your own sanity has left you as all you can think about is his cock. 

“S-So big- oh! T-Toji feels too-”

“Fuck- y’sure you’re not a virgin? Why the fuck is she so tight then? Have you been neglecting this pretty thing?” He grunts as his hands grip your hips. You can only reply in broken whines and it’s no use because none of it makes sense. “Tch, from now on this pussy belongs to me and it’s gonna remember the shape of my cock because I’m gonna fuck you stupid daily, got that?”

His words barely register in your mind but the idea is pleasing enough for you to nod your head frantically. You don’t care anymore what your supervisor would think, what anyone would think? You didn’t care. You’re too cockdrunk to even fathom the punishment you might face once you return to headquarters but all you need right now is Toji to fuck you like the slut you are. 

“I said got that?” His hips snap to yours hardly, eliciting a low moan.

“Y-Yes!”

Your head flings back as his cock fucks into you. Each thrust is merciless and he’s unrelenting with his fucking. Toji’s only thought is your sweet hot pussy and how pretty it looks sucking in his thick cock. He wants the sight ingrained in his memory, to constantly stare at the way it looks so mesmerising. He’s pounding into you roughly, dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and he reaches his hand up to push his locks out of his eyes. 

Your eyes flit to his fingers, the fingers that look so hot and Toji notices. He smirks as he pops them into his mouth, sucking them in front of you, eyes looking directly at yours. You feel your pussy squeeze his cock and he moans and you catch a glimpse at his saliva-coated digits. Your mouth falls open once more and he seizes the opportunity to shove the same fingers into your mouth and you moan too.

You feel the rough fingertips press down on your tongue and you suck. It feels so good. You feel your thighs tremble as his cock pushes in and out of your gummy walls. They have him in a tight hold, one unwilling to let go and all you can do is gasp and whine. Toji adjusts the way you sit and at once you feel his cock hit at a different angle causing you to tumblr forward with a squeal. He grins and buries his head into your shoulder, fucking you even harder than before.

“C’mon doll, you gotta sit up nice and straight f’me, spread those legs and let me fuckin’ ruin you.” His words are enough to have you wanting to cum right there and then but you know it won’t end well. He tugs you to meet his hips and your hands fly to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath your hands. “Such a slutty pussy…f-fuckk, you’re gonna be my personal cum dump aren’t you? Gonna let me fuck this pussy whenever I want, my hole to use?”

“Mhmm- y-yes yes yes! Yours T-Toji, I’m y-yours-” 

It’s so fucking filthy the way your lips are wrapped around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin. Your moans only get louder and louder as Toji buries himself balls deep into your cute little cunt. His cock stuffs you so full and his hand reaches down to press against your stomach to make sure you know exactly how deep he is. You gasp when you feel the faint outline of just what’s splitting you open so deliciously. You shiver from his touch as you feel your desire shoot through your body. Your knuckles turn white at how hard you’re clenching your fists as you sob out moans and cries. Toji groans at your pretty noises, fucking you deeper as he desperately tries to make you moan louder for him.

“Make a mess doll, know y’wanna cum so badly.” His breath is hot on your ear and you feel yourself melt as your pussy finally gives in. You’re gushing all over him, body throttling as you feel strangled sobs leave your throat. Toji keeps pounding into you, cock brushing against your velvety walls as he chases his own orgasm. “Such a good fuckin’ girl- fuck! Keep squeezing me like that doll.”

You feel his cock twitch inside of you and suddenly you feel heat seep into your cunt. You grip onto him tighter, pulling him impossibly closer as your hips raise to capture more of his cum. He floods your walls, painting them a delicious shade of white. It’s a sticky gooey mess between your thighs but Toji keeps his cock plugged inside of you to make sure nothing leaks out. Your body’s exhausted and you’re still breathing heavily and Toji’s still tucked into the crook of your neck.

“That…that felt amazing.” You mumble under your breath.

Toji lifts his head and there’s already his signature cocky grin on his face. He presses his forehead to yours. “I meant what I said, you’re now mine and I don’t care who I’ve pissed off but tonight you’re leaving with me and I’m gonna fuck you until the sun rises.” Your pussy clenches around his cock unintentionally from his words and Toji groans. “You gonna let me do that doll?”

You glance up at him and though you’re already so fucked-out you still want more and you couldn’t care less about what anyone else thought. “Yes please.”

Toji smirks before he slowly pulls out, cock dripping from the nasty mess the both of you have made. It drips on the floor but neither of you care too much. You reach for your clothes, hastily putting them back on. He grabs your hand and the both of you stumble towards the door, pushing it open and the loud bass enters your ears once more. You see him whisper to a man by the wall and then he’s pulling you out of the club. Your heart pounds as you watch the muscled man drag you along and you feel your pussy grow wet at the thought of what the both of you were gonna do tonight.

You know you’ll have to face the consequences sooner or later but you much prefer the latter option.

[roosterforme]

Mail Call | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After a long and illustrious Naval career, Bradley was used to months spent on an aircraft carrier. Nothing ever felt quite as good as a letter from home. He thought he knew what to expect this time, but you always made things more exciting.

Warnings: adult language, masturbation, horny love letter

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

Bradley had been in the Navy long enough to know when to expect a mail call. Maybe it was intuition or a sixth sense, but after so many years of deployments, he was certain. When he woke up on Tuesday, something told him to start getting excited. There would be a box with his name written in a familiar scrawl in his hands soon. "Commander Bradshaw." He turned to see a petty officer jogging along the interior corridor of the aircraft carrier with a clipboard in hand. "Sir, here's your schedule for the day." Bradley grunted and skimmed the sheet as he made his way up to the tower. The lightness he felt mere moments ago was replaced by annoyance. Back-to-back meetings filled every inch of the sheet, including a meeting that was scheduled for after dinner.

"Damn it," he muttered, taking the stairs two at a time. His plan to collect his parcel, enjoy a meal, and then head to his private bunk to read the letter was dashed. But he was still convinced that a Comanche helicopter would touch down on deck at some point this afternoon if the weather permitted. He'd get his mail when he could. He needed to wait a little longer to hear from you, which would make him grouchy in the interim.When he pushed open the heavy door to the tower, he greeted the collection of older officers by uttering just one word. "Admirals."

They all greeted him in response with a chorus of overworked voices, and then another clipboard was thrust into his hand. Attached to this one was a sheet detailing the flight schedules for the day, and sure enough, a smile curled along his lips below his mustache when he saw that a Comanche was slated to arrive at 1500 hours with the note US Airmail Transport.

God, a letter from you was sounding better by the minute. Your tone would be soft. You'd tell him how much you missed him. There would be something in there from-

"Commander Bradshaw. Let's get started with your pilots."

His musings were cut short, and he sighed before slipping the offered headset into place and testing out the comms. He was in charge of the training exercises for this deployment, and he needed to keep his mind clear so he could keep his aviators safe. It would do him no good to be focused on what might be happening back at home. He could read about it later.

But as the day wore on, the sky darkened, and storm clouds painted the horizon. When he called his team back to the carrier and watched them land one at a time, he asked the admirals, "Should we check in with the mail transport? It seems to have gone off schedule."

Lightning cut across the sky just as the comms crackled to life with a new voice. "This is Comanche. We're coming in low from the east, trying to avoid the rain. Are we clear to make a quick landing in seventeen minutes?"

Bradley listened to the air traffic team guide the helicopter in, and sure enough, the landing was low and loud, followed by another crack of lightning. He watched from his high vantage point as a team ran out in boots and rain slickers to collect bin after bin of mail, and now his hands were itching again. He could already feel the familiar weight of the box packed with his favorite snacks and some handmade artwork.

"Commander, you'll be late to meet with the pilots."

Bradley was once again yanked from his daydream of being at home where it was warm and dry and cozy, and he was faced with the prospect of having to duck outside into the storm to get to the meeting rooms on time.

The first gust of wind had him shivering and wishing he could grab his mail directly from the helicopter and head back to his bunk. The second gust left him cursing under his breath. He had to go lecture all of these young pilots about where they needed to improve before they could fly their mission, and he just didn't have the energy for it.

"Work now, reward later," he told himself, taking a deep breath and picturing your smile. That was enough to get him through the meetings. It was enough to get him back to his small office where he wrote up his notes for the day. It was even enough to get him all the way to the narrow hallway where the mail was being sorted.

But now there was a massive fucking line of officers in uniform waiting for the same thing he was. And to top it off, his stomach was growling. He could bail out of line, eat dinner, and come back later, hoping there was still someone there to disperse the mail before they closed up shop for the night. But it wasn't worth the risk. He'd be happy to skip dinner in favor of mail from you. It wasn't even a question in his mind.

When he finally reached the window and the rows of alphabetized bins, he told the officer in charge, "Bradshaw, Bradley," and then waited quite impatiently to have an ordinary looking cardboard box thrust into his hands. But his heart leapt with joy as soon as he held it and saw your handwriting. "Thank you."

The box felt a little lighter than usual. Maybe you didn't have time to load it up with as many snacks as you usually did. He hated leaving you for weeks and months at a time to deal with everything at home on your own. He loved being at home for the day to day grind. Loved it. But there was something unique about seeing how much things changed while he was gone.

He shook the box a little bit, curiosity getting the best of him. He passed the cafeteria and ran like a child to get back to his bunk as quickly as he could where he set the box down and tore into it. When he saw the three envelopes on top, he had to fight back his tears and take a deep breath.

He carefully picked up the envelope that said Daddy in purple crayon and opened it up to find several coloring sheets and a note written in light pink crayon that was a little hard to read.

Daddy,

I lost my first toooth. The toooth fairee took it. I got a glittery doller. I drew you the toooth and the fairee.

Love, Wren

Bradley found the corresponding page with a drawing of the tooth along with the tooth fairy. His daughter also wrote her name all over the back of the paper in every color crayon imaginable which made him smile. He read her note again before carefully placing it on his nightstand, and then he picked up the envelope that said Dad in black pen.

Dad,

When are you coming home? Fourth grade is so boring. We are learning how to write in cursive, but I already know how. Mom doesn't make the homework as fun as you do. Don't tell her I said that.

Actually everything is better when you're at home. I had a good report card, so mom let me get a skateboard. I covered it in bird stickers. I can almost stand on it for three seconds. Soccer tryouts are next week, and mom promised to take a video so you can watch it later. When are you coming home again? I'll make sure she doesn't delete the video.

Wren drew you a tooth fairy, but it looks like a demon. So then I started to try to draw the tooth fairy, and it looks really cool. It's on the back of the page. Please write back and tell us when you're coming home.

Love, Hawk

His son's version of the tooth fairy did look pretty cool, and now Bradley was cracking up as he took a second look at the one his daughter drew. Yeah, it was a bit frightening. He set both notes aside, finally ready to read what you had written to him. The third envelope said Bradley in your familiar handwriting, but his heart lurched into his belly. Instead of the thick envelope filled with page after page that he usually received from you, this one was light. His brow creased in concern as he opened it up to reveal just one sheet.

Bradley,

We miss you. The kids are mostly holding it together, but we're waiting until we know your return date to start a countdown. You know how much Wren cries when the countdown goes on for too long. Honestly, it makes me want to cry, too.

I could write you a novel about work and school and how much I miss you, but I thought it might just be more fun to show you. I got a little carried away with the camera a few nights ago when I couldn't sleep. I was too hot, and your pillow still smells like you. It smelled so good. I started thinking about what you and I will do when you get home. Then I couldn't stop. I literally could not stop touching myself, Bradley.

It never feels as good without you, but I do think some of the photos portray just how vivid my imagination was that night. Like I said, I got carried away.

Let us know when you'll be home.

Love, Your horny wife

Bradley immediately started digging through the box, and he soon realized you'd only included a thin layer of his favorite snacks. He scooped them out onto his bed and was left with some Polaroids. A lot of Polaroids.

"Holy shit," he whispered under his breath, reaching in and pulling out a photo of you wearing nothing but a tiny lace thong in his favorite shade of blue. He loved that thing. He loved taking it off of you. Your arm was covering your breasts in the photo, but that was okay. He had a vivid imagination.

Oh, but you didn't leave him hanging at all. The next one he grabbed was you sprawled out in bed, tits on full display, thong present and accounted for. You were biting down on your lip, and he could almost hear you moan. Your nipples were hard and looked just like they did after he had them in his mouth.

"God damn it, Baby. You're killing me." He missed his family. He missed being at home. But right now, all he could think about was fucking the absolute shit out of his wife.

Now he was looking at a beautiful shot of just your face, eyes closed, lips parted in pleasure. That was followed up by you bending over in the thong. And then one where you had your nose buried in his pillow.

There were so many photos, he was getting dizzy. And he was hard. He took a few seconds to unzip his khaki uniform pants while his eyes searched through the photos still inside the box. "Damn," he groaned, wrapping his right hand around his cock while he picked up one of the photos with his left.

You were straddling his pillow in your underwear. Literally grinding your pussy against it. Back arched, tits front and center, riding his pillow like it was his face. He really wished it was.

"Okay, Baby," he murmured, picking up another one while he stroked himself. Your hand was inside your thong. Another one where your blue thong was pulled to the side, showing off your pussy. Another one where you had two fingers knuckle-deep inside yourself. Another one where you were licking your wet fingers.

When he reached blindly into the box again, his hand connected with something softer next to the Polaroids. To his absolute delight, his fingers wrapped around that bit of fabric that he recognized right away. The blue thong. His cock jumped in excitement as he raised your panties slowly from the box and brought them all the way to his face. He knew. He knew you hadn't washed it. He just fucking knew this little thing was put in the box directly after you came all over it and dragged it down your soft legs.

His mouth watered as he pressed it to his nose. Eyes squeezed shut, he inhaled the scent of your arousal. He moaned your name. He could practically taste you as he rutted into his own hand. Bradley inhaled and exhaled your smell, running the lace along his nose, mustache and lips. The fabric was soft on his face, and he could picture you teasing him with it.

He would do anything to have you right now. He wanted you bent over the end of the bed, sobbing and begging him to go harder. He wanted your sweet voice in his ear. He wanted you on your knees. He wanted to bury his face in your pussy until you screamed.

"Jesus Christ," he whined, panting as he jerked himself off. All he could smell was you. It smelled like home and being in love. He couldn't get enough as he rubbed your thong all over his face before lowering it down to his cock. The lace felt exquisite as he ached with need. The fabric glided along in his hand, creating a friction that left him groaning.

He jerked himself off slowly, trying to make it last as long as he could, but the Polaroids were all he could see, and your pussy was all he could smell. He came all over your thong, ribbons of white decorating it while he held onto the wall for support.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered, voice harsh as he drained every drop onto the lace. He held the sticky mess in his hand and huffed out a surprised laugh. From thousands of miles away, you did this to him. This was different from the mail he usually received from you, but he wasn't complaining. He got a nice update on what was happening at home plus a lot more than he bargained for.

Bradley walked into his tiny bathroom and draped your thong over the sink faucet before washing his hands. Maybe he'd have time to grab some dinner before returning to his bunk to write back to you, Hawk, and Wren. He had so much to say. Especially to you. He'd set himself up in bed with one of his clipboards and tell you all about what you made him do.

"Oh, shit," he told his reflection in the mirror as he thought about his clipboard again. "Fuck!"

He had one more meeting left. Starting in just minutes. He eased his cock back into his pants, still zipping up as he left his bunk. Then he walked while discreetly trying to tuck his shirt in and straighten out his uniform.

The further he got from your wrecked underwear, the more he realized he could still smell you. He was going to be able to smell you all night. This was going to be a painfully long meeting. And the letter he wrote to you later was going to be as dirty as your underwear.

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

Thanks for reading! It's been a while since I posted a Bradley one-shot, and this one was hanging out in my drafts for a bit. Much love for a DILF. Hope you enjoy your Valentine's Day as much as Bradley enjoyed his mail!

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[quarterlifekitty]

Can we pretty please have König with the secret baby trope?

/)/)

( . .)

( づ♡

I offer a little bunny as a bribe [I really hope it works and doesn’t end up misshapen lol]

Bunny looks good to me…. I accept

So in this, I imagine that you were something of a friends with benefits to him. While it wasn’t a sugaring situation, he did insist upon treating you to a nice dinner whenever you met up. When he’d come home on leave, he’d reach out, you’d meet up and fuck, and eventually he’d ship back out and the cycle repeated.

Truthfully, he’d been planning on trying to make things less casual for a long time. He’s not the kind of person who can fuck someone repeatedly and not fall in love, as much as he tried to be when this began. He decided that on his next leave, he would tell you.

He didn’t expect his next leave to be as far away as it turned out to be. While he is within his rights as a mercenary to decline extending his time on the job, he often doesn’t. He’s a workaholic and one of the small number of people at KorTac with no family to speak of, so he often takes on the burden staying on longer when needed. The time gets away from him. He’s gone longer than a year.

He comes back, anxious about where he stands with you. What you had hadn’t exactly been exclusive, and it’s hard to believe that you wouldn’t have been snapped up in that time away. To him, there can be no shortage of other men in your life that are crazy about you.

He contacts you. You tell him that you’re not really in a position to meet up with him, and you don’t really know if you ever will be again, honestly. His hands are sweating and his fingers fuck up on the keyboard all the time, so he just decides to call. Ask you what he’s done, if there’s someone else, if you know that he’s madly in love—

Not thirty seconds into the phone call, just barely past the niceties and pleasant greetings, when all of those questions are on the tip of his tongue— he hears crying. A baby crying. You tell him hurriedly that you’ll have to call him back. He decides he just can’t wait that long. He goes to your place.

You answer the door with a baby in a sling around you, tucked up to your chest, markedly more calm than it had been over the phone. Red hair. Your expression is a little tightened, like you hadn’t really wanted to see him at the door.

“As you can see, I’m not really able to attend a dick appointment right now.”

Fuck, is that what it was? You thought he just wanted sex?

A Quick look at your apartment tells him there isn’t anyone else. No men’s shoes by the door. Photos on the wall are just you and your friends— no partner in sight. It’s also kind of a mess. If there was a man in your life, he deserved to have his head beat in for leaving you to deal with all of this alone all day.

Then comes the quick mental math.

“That’s not what I want. Let me come in, schatz. Let me talk to you.”

It breaks his heart to see how reticent you are to let him in. It’s part and parcel with how tired you look.

“Look, if you’re wondering— yes, he’s yours, biologically.” Well, that clarification at the end stings a little. “But it was my choice to keep him, so I don’t expect anything from you. If this feels like an obligation to you, I’d prefer if we just cut things off here.”

The words that follow spill from his mouth uncontrollably.

“I don’t just want him— I want you. I want the both of you. I want it to be us,” he nearly babbles, hoping what he says is even halfway coherent.

“You’re all I think of when I’m away. I cannot lie and say I’d imagined the… the order of events would be this way. But I’d thought of it— with you. Please let me in, and… and let me meet him properly, ja?”

There are tears in his eyes when his son holding his finger for the first time, not ten minutes later.

[lundenloves]

dad!simon masterlist | taglist | masterlist | request info

dad!simon who will near fall asleep on the sofa, sat upright with wide legs and his arms crossed, only opening one eye to pretend he’s listening while one of his daughters rambles about school drama.

dad!simon who scoffs when another monthly subscription or amazon payment goes through his card, brows knitted together after asking just why the house has to be subscribed to four separate streaming services.

dad!simon who never remembers his kids’ friends names. it could be his daughters best friend of seven years and he still wouldn’t remember.

dad!simon who visually could not care less about the gossip his daughter waffles about, mumbling “mhm” every so often to appear engaged though shrugging when called out on his evident boredom.

dad!simon who tsks at all the parcels that come through the door day-to-day. living with three daughters and a wife, it’s constant. he detests being the only one home and having to sign for something — will actively ignore a knock on the door when there’s other people in the house.

dad!simon who (when drunk) is the height of amusement for his eldest. many snapchats exist of him being handed the phone already recording and goofily grinning into it while looking up at her “what am i supposed to be looking at?”

dad!simon who sticks post-it notes in bold handwriting to the fridge whenever anyone has an appointment due the following day. “don’t forget.” complete with a fullstop and a harsh underline of the time in military digits.

dad!simon who replies sarcastically to almost every obvious question with his natural glare, something each of his kids had genetically taken: “don’t ask stupid questions and you won’t get stupid answers.” he loves them really.

dad!simon who silenced the family groupchat as soon as he had figured out how to, only replying every other day with a thumbs up reaction or more likely a thumbs down.

dad!simon who side eyes his kids. he doesn’t mean it, yet it happens. watching throw away tv? side eye. talking too loud on the phone? side eye. wearing a questionable outfit? side eye.

dad!simon who has a firm routine. he fucking detests being interrupted, and or spoken to from the hours of five till seven in the morning. he’ll get up, have food and go to the gym all in this time frame before anyone can dent his peace.

dad!simon who sighs avidly. a long and painful sigh after any merely simple question is asked or he’s to pick up one of his kids from a night out. “fucking well told ‘er not to expect me past twelve.” while accidentally slamming the door behind him, keys jingling around his finger.

dad!simon who struggles to show affection in any other way than a short pat of the shoulder or a one armed hug, pulling his kids into his chest for mere seconds before stepping back.

dad!simon who groans whenever anything gets moved in the house. his military mind in favour of keeping things in one position, untouched and moved for preferably ever unless he was told. though, having kids didn’t quite work like that.

dad!simon who: “do i ‘av to do fucking everything in this house? eh?”

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob

˗ˏˋ university is still kicking my arse into next week. i joined the football team too, fuck knows why i’m making myself busier than i have to be. alas here we are, and i’m feeding the pigeons! aka sprinkling dad headcannons until i get traction again. pls love me, pls follow me, pls reblog, pls validate me.

the reason i tag this as ‘x reader’ as it’s ur fuckin family with him. no one bite my head off man i can’t be bothered tonight.

[grossitsluca]

“And can I take your surname please?”

The tall man looks at you up at down, his eyes lingering on certain areas of your body, with a toothy smile growing wider.

“Aye lass, but I’ll expect a couple wee bairns from you in return.” You blink. You knew today was going to be bullshit and now you have a winking man at your register holding up the line for parcel collections.

“Sorry, Sir, I need your surname to find your parcel.” You explain, your voice trailing off at the end. A look of realisation, which quickly shifts into embarrassment, but only for a second, flashes across his face.

“Oh. Aye, it’ll be under MacTavish.” Whispering an “Okay” you turn around to head towards the stockroom. You can feel the heat rising to your face and you know you’ll have to sit under the fan for a moment or two to cool down. He’s not unattractive, not in the least, you just weren’t expecting that, not this early in the morning. To be honest, you had already been eyeing him up in the queue, taking notice of his tanned skin, he’s probably a hard worker, and the way he let an elderly lady go ahead of him even though he was there first, he’s got manners too. You imagine what it would be like, actually taking his surname, or the more so dirty parts of it. Would he give you his dick every night? Or would he eat your pussy, and be satisfied? Probably both.

You brush down your clothes to try and regain some sense of normalcy before you head back out to the register, his parcel tucked under your left arm.

“And that’s yours, all done for you.” You say to the man, expecting him to express his gratitude and walk away, but he doesn’t. He takes another look at you, a longer one this time, like he’s seen an eye catching slice of meat at the butcher’s and wants to claim you before anyone else can.

In the same moment as him taking his parcel out of your hands, he takes your wrist and pulls it towards himself, so close you could almost swear he’d be able to count your pulse. Your breath hitches as he pulls up your sleeve ever so gently, in a way that’s almost seductive, even, as his blue eyes stay fixated on yours.

With one hand holding onto your wrist, the other reaches into the side of his cargo jeans and a pen emerges from its pocket. The ink feels like ice as it’s drawn along your skin, but you don’t dare look down. You can’t help but stay glued to his face, memorising every inch of it, from his thick eyebrows to that scar on his chin which is hardly visibly due to his facial hair, only being able to spot it due to your proximity to his face.

He pulls away after what could have only been half a minute, but to you it felt like a lifetime.

“Give me a call once you’ve got off work, yeah? My offer still stands.” He chuckles to himself as he walks away and you can do nothing but nod absentmindedly while you watch him leave the store. Looking down at your arm, still outstretched in the position he had it in earlier, you see he’s left his number there, followed by an initial.

07xxx xxxxxx -J

[luveline]

how about spencer x badass reader and they are wearing couple or similar clothes intentionally or unintentionally?? I think that would be cutee

tysm for requesting ♡ fem!reader

"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks, sounding like a kid in a candy store, a crisp twenty in his back pocket. 

Emily follows his line of sight and feels her cheeks apple unbidden, a delighted smile on her painted lips. "Oh, my god." 

"Yeah, Garcia?" Derek asks, phone to his ear, Penelope first on his speed dial. "You need to come and see this. Like, right now. Don't worry, baby, just come and see it for yourself." 

"I don't even know what to say." Emily stares at you. 

You usually dress in line with the other women in this profession: pants that aren't too tight so you can run in if needed, a simple blouse, and a blazer if you're feeling formal. 

Today, you've opted for something softer. It was a slow change, one day you were wearing a cashmere sweater, thin and fitted to your form. Another day, you chose to layer your shirt with a cardigan of a similar colour. 

Right now? You're all Spencer. Your slacks remain unchanged but your blouse has been swapped for a shirt with a stiff starched collar and layered under what can only be described as a grandpa sweater. It's not quite ugly, but it's almost identical to Spencer's. 

What's more, you've swapped your boots for converse. 

Spencer holds the door for you. He's chosen to wear a tie at least, clinging to that last strand of professional business attire. He has two coffees, one in each hand, while you carry a box. He's all elbows as he talks to you, and you, ever his fan, follow every word with a fond smile. 

"Hey, are you guys sharing a wardrobe now?" Derek asks, absolutely unwilling to hold back.

Emily piles on, "It's cute! You're totally an old married couple, you look like my grandparents." 

"What happened to your boots, lovergirl?" Derek asks, nodding at your cons, arms crossed over the back of his chair casually. "Don't get me wrong, I'm loving the sneakers." 

"You guys totally match," Emily coos. "You could be on a Christmas card." 

You smile —you smile, Emily might just call the news— and walk past them to your desk. Hotch has moved you away from Spencer knowing you'll encourage his endless chattering, which places you on a different island of desks next to Anderson and Agent Camille. 

Spencer put his coffee down on his desk, taking off his messenger bag. "Nice going, guys. She brought you donuts. You know, to apologise for calling you both antagonistic losers yesterday," he says, smiling at the mutual horror that crops up on their faces. "The fancy kind, too. She knew your favourite flavours without asking." 

From her desk, Emily can see you've opened the box and offered them to your desk mates, your expression unperturbed. "Just don't touch the chocolate sprinkle ones, they're for Spencer," you say.

No matter what they say, how sorry they sound, you give out the donuts to anyone who'll take one until they're all gone. When Garcia arrives, she finds you sitting in your desk chair with your head leaning against Spencer's stomach, taking alternate bites of the same sprinkle-covered donut like it isn't the most domestic, coupley thing you could be doing. 

Unlike Emily and Derek, Penelope genuinely thinks you look cute. "You guys are like Brangelina," she breathes, eyes wide, her smile infectious. 

Spencer fails to hide a grin, his hand on your shoulder. You're better at controlling your emotion, sliding a small parcelled package across the desk toward her.

"Thank you, Pen," you say. "I like the shoes. They're comfy. And the sweater was a gift." Spencer nods enthusiastically. 

That explains why you'd taken such an offence. Anything to do with Spencer raises your hackles. If you felt someone was making fun of his present to you, you'd defend him with your last dying breath, or, in this instance, punish your coworkers in his honour. 

"I'm sorry," Derek apologises again, "I was kidding! What do you want me to do, you want me to wear a sweater vest too? I can do that." 

You reach back to touch Spencer's side, levelling Derek with an impartial look. Not mad, not sad. Totally indifferent. "That could be a good start." 

Spencer hums. "I think so. You wanna borrow one of mine?"

The barest hint of a smile plays on your lips. "That's generous, Spence. You're a philanthropist."

"I am." He strokes the slope of your sweater-clad shoulder proudly. "You know me, I love sharing my wardrobe." 

[almostempty]

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part one

wc: 12.5k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART TWO HERE

summary: rebuilding your life, chasing cans, and hitchin’ a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

to my pedrostories secret santa recipient @katiexpunk: this was a challenge for ya gurl to be srs (and it’s not a tentacle gangbang, i lied in ur asks babe i’m srry) i hope i hit the mark on a handful of the prompts though, i had high hopes that i could really challenge myself and deliver some breeding kink cowboy but i fear it’s more of a creampie kink—i hope that still hits, i have horse knowledge, but only rodeo adjacent experience so if any rodeo queens find glaring mistakes pls forgive me — but happy holidays bb, i really hope you enjoy-- EDIT: I MADE IT TOO GIRTHY (or something?? sorry!!) and had to split it into two parts, the second part will be up and linked as asap as possible, and i'll add the full text to ao3 so it'll be in one spot

tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, guilty yearnful joel, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin’ that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta–mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am 

thanks: to @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, ideas, etc.

The sun beats down on the gravel driveway as you pull your truck toward the old house. It looks almost the same as it did the summers you spent here as a kid when it was your grandparents–the peeling white paint on the porch railing, and the barn standing sturdy, but weathered further down the driveway. The fields stretched on as you rolled down the driveway, dotted with occasional wildflowers and critters dashing into the denser brush. 

The air blows warm through the window, same as you remember, but the weight of the memories feels different now. The summers used to feel endless here, the fields seemed endless, as did the sky. It all used to feel so liberating. It’s not an endless summer now. Everything looks smaller and more weathered. 

Except for the shiny white PVC fences on the other side of the driveway and the modern-looking house and barn built on the same soil you used to spend hours patrolling with your pony, Clover. She’d search for the best bits of grass as you laid across her back coming up with stories—some days you were an old-timey cowgirl traveling west or Clover was a wild horse you were training or you were on a quest to a magical kingdom together. 

But now it’s a new home for whoever bought up the parceled land your dad sold to cover the updates on the house when he inherited it. Someone with enough money for a fancy barn and shiny truck. You pull to a stop and hop out of the cab, still scanning the neighbor's property, making your first impression. 

Your dad emerges from the barn, wiping his hands on a faded rag. He gives you a smile and a nod. “About time you showed up,” he calls, his voice warm and teasing. “Thought maybe you had changed your mind.” 

You shake your head softly, rolling your eyes. “Nope. Nothing worth staying in that city for.” 

The gravel crunches under your boots as you round the bed to grab one of your boxes. All your belongings fit into a few boxes. At least, everything that mattered to you, everything that was still you. “Where do you want this?” You wonder how you’re going to manage living in the same house with your dad now that you’re an adult. 

“Just set it inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “We’ll get you sorted after we have something to eat.” 

As you followed him toward the house, the outline of the neighbor's property loomed large. The barn caught your eye. It was close. A pair of horses stood in the near pasture, swishing their tails in the afternoon heat. The contrast was stark. Where your dad’s place still carried the scrapes and scuffs of decades–theirs looked new and polished. Smug even. Can a house be smug? 

“The neighbors are closer than I thought.” You cross the porch, the nostalgic screen door squeaking as your dad ushers you inside. 

“Don’t mind it. We look out for each other.” He points to the room you stayed in as a kid. “He damn near built the place by himself, and helped me with the new roof on this place.” 

You shoot him a sharp look. “You said you were gonna hire roofers instead of climbing around up there at your age.” He shrugs you off. Always stubborn. Convinced he can do it better and cheaper. Despite the toll on his body. 

“Paid him to help,” he argues, “wasn’t up there by myself. You don’t gotta worry about me like that.” 

You set your box down at the end of the twin-size bed, the room falling quiet for a moment. Your dad stays planted in the doorway, but his brows pinch and lips purse briefly before he lets out a breath. You scan the room, gaze landing on the floorboards, waiting. 

Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, he says, “You hungry?” 

You grin at that, letting out a shaky breath. Your father’s daughter, neither of you likes to dig into your feelings. He taught you to show love through actions, like keeping you fed, taking on hard labor jobs without a complaint, or changing your windshield wipers before the rainy season starts and you’re cursing yours out. 

“Yeah,” you say, brushing past the knot in your chest. “Starving.” 

The rumble of a diesel engine jolts you awake the next morning, the deep growly sound reverberating through the walls like thunder on an otherwise quiet morning. You groaned, stretching and blinking blearily at the pale light filtering in through the old curtains. It was barely dawn yet, which explains the dull headache you’ve got. 

Sleep had been restless. Tangled thoughts, ruminating on what you’d left behind. A failed engagement, the job you hated, the mix of excuses you had rehearsed for why you’d come back. You’d hoped coming here would ease the ache, but just when you were finally falling back asleep—the truck from hell pulled up to the house. 

The engine is already cut off, but now you can hear voices on the porch. Your dad’s, low and steady, just a hum, and another unfamiliar drawl. Whoever it is, they’re carrying on like the rest of the world wasn’t still trying to wake up. 

You drag yourself out of bed, wearing your soft sleep shorts and a thin shirt. The worn fabric clings to your body in places it shouldn’t, but you’re not thinking about being presentable, you aren’t really thinking at all yet. You drag your feet crossing to the kitchen to pour yourself coffee, for a brief moment you miss the coffee shop you used to stop at on the way to your old job, but the familiar roast your dad’s been loyal to has its charm. Like the free coffee at an AA meeting. It’s there and you need something to keep you going. 

You push past the squeaky screen door, stepping out onto the porch. Your dad sits on the worn bench, coffee in hand. Next to him, leaning casually against the railing is a man you don’t recognize. His black Stetson gives him a classic cowboy silhouette, the morning sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw and the scruff on his cheeks. His plaid shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his jeans are worn and dusty in a way that speaks to more than just appearances. 

He straightens when he sees you, pulling his hat off with one hand in a fluid, effortless motion. “Mornin’,” he says, voice low and rich. “You must be the daughter. Joel Miller.” 

You take a sip of your coffee. “Morning,” you mutter, voice still thick from sleep. “You always roll up this early, or is today special?” 

Your dad shoots a look at you, but Joel just chuckles softly. 

“Guessin’ you’re not a morning person?”

Your eyes are narrow, defensive. “I’m just fine in the mornings,” you say in a clipped tone that doesn’t support your statement. “Just not when I’m woken up by a jet engine at the asscrack of dawn.” The chill in the brisk morning air causes you to shiver for a moment somehow making you look more irritated. 

Joel glances at your dad with a faint smirk before tipping his hat to you. “Noted.” 

Your dad laughs. “Should’ve heard her when she was ten,” he says leaning back. “Wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Still doesn’t take shit from anyone I guess.” 

“I’m right here,” you mutter, glaring at him.

“Just sayin’,” your dad replies, raising his mug in mock surrender. He turns back to Joel and they resume their conversation about fence posts or something equally riveting. You let your eyes roam as you wake up, drinking the rest of your coffee, tuning in and out of their conversation about their plans for the day. 

The easy camaraderie between the two of them was clear. Like a friendship forged through shared labor and quiet mornings. They flow between their plans for work and that subtle gossiping that men do–convinced it isn’t really gossip–as they share updates about other folks in town and a few of the local businesses. 

“What about you?” Joel asks, turning to you and pulling you out of the fog. “You’re back for a while then?”  

It’s an innocent question, but it grates at you anyway. You stiffen. “Yeah, just taking some time,” you say vaguely. 

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push for a real answer. You can feel the weight of his curiosity in the air between you. He looks to your dad, who doesn’t elaborate, letting something unspoken pass between them. 

“Well,” Joel drawls, “good timing. Lot of work to do this time of year. If you’re up for it.” 

The comment makes you pull a face. “I’m familiar with hard work,” you reply, your voice sharper than intended. 

Joel’s lips quirk again, into something like a smirk this time. “I’m sure you are,” he says with the faintest edge of a challenge. 

He takes a long swig from his stainless steel travel mug, trying to fix his eyes on the horizon. But damn, if it isn’t a challenge to see you standing there, looking every bit like you’d just rolled out of bed. In a shirt too damn thin for a morning like this, leaving too little to the imagination. 

He knew he shouldn’t be noticing something like that, shouldn’t look at you like that–especially not while you’re standing next to your dad. Hell, he shouldn’t want to look at all, but his eyes betray him. Darting for just a moment to your soft curves and the evidence of the chill in the air–the impression of your stiff nipples protruding in the soft fabric. 

Christ. He swallows hard, landing his eyes back on the scowl you wear on your face. You’re his friend's daughter. It just ain’t right. Sweet young thing like you. He battles the devil on his shoulder that reminds him you aren’t a kid. You’re a woman. A grown woman with your own life and clearly your share of grit, if the sharpness in your voice was anything to go by. 

He shifts on his feet, forcing his attention back to your dad who was still chuckling softly at something. Joel didn’t catch the joke, head too full of thoughts about you–or how to not think about you. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, unsettling him in front of your dad. 

You and him made loose plans for the day while Joel’s mind continued to wander. He shouldn’t have asked about why you were back. Your answer was vague, brushing him off like it was a privilege he hadn’t earned. For some reason that lodged it in his head further. He wanted to know more, even if he shouldn’t. 

Your dad stood up, stretching and declaring that all of you have work to do. You take that as your cue to head back inside, leaving the screen door swinging behind you. Joel lets out a low breath, shaking his head as he turns back to your dad. 

“She’s a spitfire,” Joel comments, keeping his tone neutral.  

“She is,” your dad agrees, adjusting his hat. “Good to have her back.”  

Joel huffs a small laugh, “S’pose we could use a strong woman around here. Keep us in line.” 

“No doubt she will,” your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. The whole exchange stuck with Joel though. Something under that edge of yours, something unpolished that has him curious in a way he isn’t used to. He shakes his head knowing it isn’t his place to go digging. 

Your dad starts down the front steps. “Let’s get moving, then.” Joel moves mechanically, boots falling in line with your dad’s, but his mind is half on you—in that t-shirt, with that scowl on your face, and that faraway look that he’d like to unravel. 

You were used to hard work but your muscles weren’t exactly dialed in for the functional conditioning. It was humbling as you found yourself aching and exhausted by the end of the night. However, the fatigue did make it easier to fall asleep once your head hit the pillow instead of spiraling on about your failures until the birds started chirping. 

The next few days gave you a jump start into the rural routine. In bed early, up before the sun. Hot showers before dinner to wash away the layer of sweat and sweet-smelling dust from the pine shavings and hay. You found yourself looking forward to the strong coffee and the cool morning air before you started with your day. 

Your dad, and Joel, learned quickly to let you wake up rather than ask questions as they caught up on their plans before heading out together or splitting up. You didn’t mind listening, but you could feel Joel’s eyes lingering on you now and then. It made your spine straighten, determined to hide the sore muscles in your shoulders from him. If he was waiting to hear a complaint from you it was never gonna come. 

Despite getting more rest and having an endless list of labor to keep you moving–you often found yourself working solo and in silence during the day. A silence that your mind was more than happy to fill. You rehashed memories and dissected those little moments from your relationship with your ex-fiance that you wish you had seen more clearly at the time. 

You’re deep in one of those memories, mindlessly stacking bales of hay onto the trailer for a delivery your dad is making tomorrow when Joel enters the other end of the barn. He leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you work. The warm scent of hay fills the air, grounding and everpresent in his life. 

It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a common chore he’d do without thinking twice. But watching you was a whole different story. Your shirt was damp with sweat as you leaned into the work like you’d done it your whole life. You climb up a stack of bales and toss down some from the top of the next row, unaware of his presence. 

He is mesmerized by you. The sharp look on your face like you were mulling over an argument, the fluid movements as you worked, and the determination radiating off of you as you worked at an urgent pace. 

His gaze drifts lower as you climb down and bend to heave another bale onto the flatbed trailer. The muscles in his jaw tense as he lingers on the curve of your back as you bend to grab another. The way your legs shift as you work. The outline of your body in that shirt, the soft grunt you let out as you hoist another bale had him thinking indecent thoughts before he could stop himself. 

Joel drags his hand over his face, fingers brushing his scruffy jaw. Heat burning within him that has nothing to do with the Texas sun transforms into irritation. He was considering copping out and disappearing before you even noticed him when he was outed by the damn barn cats. 

The orange cat comes sprinting towards him, but it’s the black and white one meow-yelling at him down the aisle that catches your attention. A dull thud echoes through the barn as you drop another bale and watch as Joel squats down to give the cats the attention they demand. You watch, catching your breath. He’s gentle with them, murmuring something you can’t hear before he stands and strolls toward you. 

“Afternoon,” he greets you in his deep baritone voice. Joel grabs the two-string bale of hay in front of you and drops it on the trailer with ease, grabbing another before you can interject. 

“I can handle it.” You huff as you resume your task. 

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies smoothly, setting another down. “Thought it’d go faster with two sets of hands.” 

“I wasn’t in a hurry.” You eye him warily for a moment before slipping into a coordinated dance like it was natural. Tossing the rest that needed to be loaded up into the aisle for him to grab. You work in silence, just the sounds of hay shifting and boots scuffing against the barn floor. 

You break the silence first. “Dad says you and your brother hit the rodeo circuit in the summer. That true?” 

Joel huffs a soft laugh. “True.”

“You compete?”

“Team roping,” he says, his voice warming slightly. “Me and Tommy hit most of the circuits within a day's drive from here. Keeps us outta trouble.”

You roll your eyes. “Hard to picture you in trouble, cowboy.”

Joel’s smirk returned, faint but there. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” He matches your playful tone. 

His words linger as you work, stirring something you don’t quite know what to do with. Your mind drifts to the idea of rodeoing, the adrenaline of it, the discipline it demands. You forgot how much you missed it, how much you gave up chasing a life that didn’t pan out the way you hoped. 

Joel shifts beside you, the faint scrape of his boots pulling you back to the present. You glance at him, catching the way his shirt clung slightly to his back, the easy strength in the way he moves.

For a moment, the quiet feels comfortable. Easy. The steady rhythm fills the space. But eventually, Joel speaks again. 

“Your dad said you used to spend summers out here,” he says, in a low and easy tone. 

“Yeah,” you say, a little out of breath from the exertion. “When I was a kid.”

Joel brushes some loose hay off of his shirt. “Guessin’ it’s different now.” 

“Everything’s different now,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. 

His brow furrows slightly. “What brought you back?” 

You hesitate, not looking him in the eye. You’re searching for an answer in the dust particles caught in a beam of sunlight. “Just needed time to…rebuild.” It’s still vague. 

“You runnin’ from something?” 

You tense at that, before covering it in sarcasm. “I’m not an outlaw,” you jest, earning you a small smile. He doesn’t press further, but you feel his eyes on you, steady, and patient like he’s waiting in case you offer more. 

“It’s not as simple as people make it sound,” you say finally, the words slipping out before can stop them. “Starting over, that is.” You sit on a bale and pull your work gloves off, running the back of your hand over your forehead smearing sweat and dust in a most unsatisfying way. 

“No, it ain’t,” he adds quietly. 

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you ignore the sensation. “What about you? How’d you end up here?” 

“Had to start over myself, I reckon,” he muses, dusting off his hands before sitting down next to you. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. He doesn’t look at you, instead, he watches the cats play with a piece of baling twine. “This place made it easier—focusing on getting the house built and getting the business running. Your dad helped too.” 

That catches you off guard. “My dad?” 

Joel nods, finally meeting your eyes. “Just seemed to understand, I guess.” 

You stare at him. You’re disarmed by the softness in his tone. Like there’s more beneath the surface if you ask for it. 

Joel feels the air thicken. He takes in the way your sweat-damp shirt clings to you, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. For a split second, an image flashes in his mind—your chest heaving for a very different reason, your skin flushed and shining. His throat tightens, and he looks away quickly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip. 

The cats weave between your legs, easing the silence. But the air between you still feels charged. Your thighs are nearly touching. The proximity feels overwhelming for some reason and you're suddenly caught up in the details of his profile as he stares down at the floor. The lines at the corner of his eye, his nose, his lips.

He clears his throat and slaps a palm on his thigh. “Well,” he starts, standing up rather abruptly. “Just came by to check-in. See how you’re settling in.” 

“What?” You frown. You miss the grimace that flashes on his face, your eyes drawn to the cats darting away from the two of you. “How I’m settling in?” 

“Yeah, you know…” he gestures vaguely around the barn and your brows furrow and your eyes sharpen at him. Irritation flickers behind your eyes. 

“I told you I’m not afraid of hard work,” you snap, jumping to your feet in front of him. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, like you’re misunderstanding him. 

“Did my dad send you to ‘check in’ on me? Or did you want to see if I could keep up?” 

“It ain’t like that.” He says lowly. 

“Right.” You cut, crossing your arms. You’re over this rollercoaster of a conversation. Your eyes catch on the deep crease between his brows and the glint in his dark eyes. Something flares in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s indignation or something else entirely. “Then what is it?”

His jaw tightens, gaze locked with yours. Something unspoken flickers in his expression. But instead of answering, he straightens, stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says curtly. 

Your stomach twists at the coolness of his tone, the connection you just felt snapping like a wire. 

“This was a mistake,” Joel mutters to himself. 

“What was?” you asked, your voice deadly quiet. 

Joel only shakes his head before striding toward the far door. His boots echo on the floor and the cats follow after him like shadows, their tails swishing as they dart out into the sun. Joel pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a look you don’t understand. 

“Don’t work too hard now.” His voice carries easily before he stalks off.

Your thoughts have you spinning. “The fuck is his problem?” you wonder out loud, sharp in the warm air. In the space he left. 

But deep down, you can feel the edge of something else. Something more than frustration, curling low and unwelcome in your chest. The weight of his gaze was still lingering, and try as you might, you can’t ignore the way his presence had pressed into every corner of the barn, or the faint scent of leather and bourbon that still hangs in the air. 

Your routine locks into place, and the days begin to pass in a blur. Joel stops by for coffee and acts like the conversation you had in the barn never happened. The stoic, gruff cowboy thing works just fine with you.

Except for the moments you catch him staring at you like he’s trying to find an answer to something he never asked.

If you’re honest, though, despite your hostility, you seem to catch yourself studying him with the same frequency and intensity. You’re loath to admit you catch yourself hung up on his obnoxiously broad shoulders, his arms sculpted from the physically demanding work, and that gravelly morning voice he has before he finishes his coffee.

Aside from whatever Joel’s problem with you is, everything else seems to be falling into place. You catch up on your dad’s list of projects. You pick up a part-time job at the feed store in town, keeping yourself too busy to have idle time and too tired to dwell on the past or the future. You get to know folks in the town while you work at the register.

The town seems smaller than it was when you were a kid, but there’s also a charm in the simplicity that you find comfort in. The regulars keep you up to date on the town gossip, and you’re laughing loudly with your boss, Linda, one day over a joke she’d never admit to teaching you when your neighbor struts up to you with a list in hand for a bulk feed order.

You’re cordial to him and the man at his side who gives you a flirty wink that has you raising your eyebrows in disbelief for a moment before you put it together. “You must be Tommy?”

He grins brightly and offers his hand. “And you must be the neighbor?” You give him your name and a polite smile. Your eyes flick to Joel, taking in his neutral expression. His hands rest in his pockets, but his posture is loose, his broad shoulders back in a way that draws your eye before you can stop yourself.

As you enter the details of their order into the prehistoric computer, Linda chats both of the men up, asking them about their horses and when their next rodeo is.

You give Joel his total and take his payment, trying not to roll your eyes when he doesn’t make eye contact with you. You’re ready for the interaction with him to be over when Linda puts you on the spot.

“This one’s been talking about looking for a project horse of her own.” She nods her head toward you. “You boys have any leads for her?”

You can feel your face heating up as they both look at you. It’s not like it was a secret, but you weren’t planning on making Joel privy to your plans. You still haven’t forgotten the way he said this was a mistake after having one conversation with you. Or the way he is always looking at you. Like you don’t belong here or something.

“I’ll do you one better,” Tommy says. “We’ve got a couple of colts just getting started under saddle. They could use the miles, and they’re real sweet-tempered if you wanna come by during the week.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” You give him a genuine smile. “I’m actually going to take a look at one that’s got potential this weekend. Marilyn from the post office said her cousin’s got a six-year-old quarter horse she’d sell for a steal.”

Joel lets out a dismissive laugh under his breath. “You mean that Hancock gelding? The blue roan?”

“Yeah.” You confirm, slowly growing more confused by the reactions on all of their faces. “Why?”

Linda’s mouth is hanging open like you said the devil was gonna sell you his horse. Tommy gives you a modest smile like you’ve told him two plus two equals eight, but he’s too polite to correct you. Joel’s expression remains unreadable, but the crease between his brows deepens.

“Am I missing something?” you ask, hoping for an explanation. You do not like feeling like you’re being played for a fool. 

“She’d sell that horse for a dime and a handshake,” Linda says. “Her cousin broke her jaw getting bucked off that horse. That’s why he’s been out to pasture ever since.”

You’re quiet for a beat before the familiar challenge and determination wrap around your heart. “Can’t hurt to look,” you say with a shrug.

“Hancocks are notoriously stubborn and broncy,” Joel adds, his tone low and edged with warning.

“They’re also incredibly smart, loyal, and full of try if you earn their trust and ask ‘em the right way,” you shoot back, meeting his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does it always feel like he thinks you’re out of your element? Does he think you’re incompetent? It only strengthens your desire to prove him wrong.

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his gaze doesn’t waver, and it stirs something uncomfortable low in your chest.

“So I’ve heard,” Tommy cuts the tension simmering between you and Joel. “Offer still stands if he doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks.” You pointedly direct your appreciation to Tommy, not looking back at Joel. “We’ll give you a call when the order’s in.”

They take that as their signal to move along. You think that would be the end of the drama for the day, but Linda’s got one more tidbit in store after the door closes behind the two men.

“God, those two are so hot it’s unbearable,” she sighs. It catches you off guard, and you blink at her. “Too bad they’re cowboy Casanovas.”

“What?” You give her a scrupulous look, shifting on your feet as she leans against the counter.

“Oh, yeah,” Linda says with a knowing smirk. “Every buckle bunny in a three-county radius knows those two. I hear they have a sign-up sheet at the trailer.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head, but the image comes unbidden—Joel, shirtless and panting, sweat glistening on his chest, his jeans slung low on his hips, every muscle taut as he leans over some woman. His gravelly drawl slides through your mind like warm honey as he murmurs something low and dirty, but you can’t make out the words. Your thought derails violently, and you scowl at yourself, heat rushing up your neck, but Linda’s still talking. 

“I’d stand in line for either of ‘em if I were single,” she adds with a shrug.

The image morphs into smug Joel tipping his hat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as some random woman climbs out of his bed. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and you shove the thought away, scowling at the knot of irritation it leaves behind.

The trailer rocks faintly as you haul it slowly down the driveway toward the barn. Blue shifts inside, and the loud thud of him pawing at the floor, anxious to get out of the small space, echoes loudly in the driveway as you ease to a stop. You cut the engine and hop out of the cab, you can hear your dad’s boots on the porch steps before he’s striding toward you. “You actually brought him home, huh?” 

“You knew I would.” You grin. Your dad unlatches the trailer door and you slip past the divider to untie your new gelding and back him out of the trailer. Blue’s ears flick rapidly and he snorts like a dragon, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings, but you steady him with a calm voice and wait for him to drop his head before coaxing him backward. 

His hooves hit the solid ground and he blows out a sharp breath, shaking his neck to de-stress. “He’s gonna be perfect,” you say, running a hand along his neck. “Just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” 

Your dad gives you a look that says he knows he couldn’t change your mind if he tried. His gaze flicks over Blue’s body, taking in his confirmation and conditioning, the scar on his back leg, the brand on his flank, and the stocky ranch horse build. “Linda said he’s got a bad reputation.” 

“Linda says a lot of things,” you shoot back, leading Blue toward the barn. “He was misunderstood. Had a rough start, that’s all. That girl who got bucked off never shoulda had him to begin with—not after he’d been out to pasture for so long. She was scared, and he felt it.” 

Your dad hums, the kind of sound that tells you he’s skeptical but not enough to argue. “Well, he’s in good hands now.” 

“And we both know I like a challenge,” you say with a steady voice, edged with something sharper. 

The sound of boots on gravel draws your attention and you glance back to see Joel strolling over from the direction of his property. His hat tipped low as his dark eyes flick between you and Blue. 

“Afternoon,” he calls, steady and smooth. 

Your dad turns and gives him a nod. “Joel.” 

“That the Hancock gelding?” 

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, adjusting Blue’s halter. 

Joel steps closer, his expression unreadable as he studies the gelding. Blue swishes his tail before shifting his weight, resting one back leg like he’s already starting to relax. Joel walks a circle around Blue, before pausing next to your dad. “Well-built,” he comments. “Is he sound?” 

You can barely hold back your eye-roll. “I had Barb meet me at the farm for a pre-purchase exam. Passed with flying colors.” You swallow down your irritation. Once again Joel thinks you’re a fool? That you’d go off and pick up a horse without a vet inspection?

Before you give Joel a piece of your mind you take a steadying breath, grounding yourself and whispering into Blue’s ear. “He might doubt both of us but he’ll be eating his fuckin’ words real quick once you and I get started.” With that, you turn away and lead Blue to the barn. 

Joel watches the two of you walk off, resting his hand on his hip. “She got a death wish or somethin’?” he grumbles.

Your dad crosses his arms, both men still watching the barn door where the two of you disappeared. “She’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got more patience than the two of us combined—for animals that is. Lord knows she’ll let us have it just for looking at her sideways.” 

Joel grunts, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck at the thought of you telling him off. “Hope you’re right.” 

“It’ll be good for her to have her own project. Haven’t seen that light in her eyes since she got here. S’about time she started moving on.” Your dad’s words eat at Joel. He still wants to know what you’re trying to rebuild from, but he doesn’t ask. Letting the silence stretch before your dad continues. 

“Plus, she’s got the right touch for it,” your dad drawls, tone laced with pride. “Always drawn to the ones that seem a little rough around the edges.” 

Joel doesn’t respond right away. His eyes narrow on the horizon, but his gaze flicks back to where you walked off, the sway of your hips lingering longer than it should. The deeply twisted interpretation of your dad’s words messing with his mind. 

In the barn, Blue seems less concerned about getting the lay of the land now that there’s food in front of him. He munches greedily, tearing hay out of the net tied in the stall. You’re buzzing with a mix of emotions, already imagining the next steps for the two of you. 

Your thoughts fall back on Joel and your dad, their low voices carrying faintly in the warm air. You can picture Joel still standing there, one hand on his hip, eyes fixed on you, that infuriatingly unreadable look expression he always has. 

Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks as you lean against the stall door. You hate how Joel looks at you like that. Like he’s waiting for you to fuck up. To prove him right. Like he’s already decided you’re in over your head. 

“He doesn’t know me,” you mutter under your breath, “doesn’t know you,” you tell Blue, “doesn’t know shit.” 

Blue snorts softly, and you take that as his agreement, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Days blur into a steady rhythm—early mornings with Blue, afternoons at the feed store, and long evenings under the arena lights. Each ride sharpens your connection with him, his turns growing tighter, his strides more confident. Progress comes in small, steady victories, each one lighting a spark of hope in your chest.

One afternoon, when the sun hangs low in the sky, painting the fields with warm hues of orange and gold. From his spot near the fence of his own property, Joel leans one arm against the top rail, his black felt Stetson shading his eyes. Across the way, you’re working with Blue in the makeshift round pen. 

Joel can tell from the way you hold yourself that you’re tired. Your shoulders seem stiff and your jaw tense. But you don’t stop. Your voice carries in the breeze, warm and steady as you encourage Blue to make another pass. 

The horse resists, throwing his head and stomping at the ground, but you don’t flinch. You give him the space to settle before asking again. Joel’s lips twitch, with a hint of a smile. You’ve got grit. 

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re working off more than just the horse’s rough edges. You move with purpose and focus, but with a weight that doesn’t seem entirely about Blue. 

From where Joel stands, he can’t make out every detail, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from lingering. You draw his attention with a pull that he can’t resist.

Against his better judgment. He traces the line of your spine as you step forward, the way your hips shift when you pivot. He knows better than to look, knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop himself. 

Blue gives in, his steps evening out as he settles into a steady rhythm circling you. Joel watches as you slow him to a halt. The tension in your posture releases and you reach out with ease and satisfaction to stroke Blue’s neck. 

That invisible pull between you draws your eyes to where Joel is standing. Your face hardens when you catch him observing your training session. He gives you a nod before pushing off the rail and heading into the barn. 

He catches glimpses of you working together in the mornings and evenings. He tries to stop himself from watching, but it’s useless. He catches himself inadvertently timing out his schedule to be able to keep an eye on you. Tells himself he wants to be sure someone’s keeping an eye on you in case something goes wrong. Or that he’s curious about your progress. 

He can admit he admires your perseverance and the skill you have. He would never admit the way he finds himself waking up hard and aching thinking about you and what it’d feel like to have your hips rocking on his lap instead of a saddle, your tits bouncing in his face, and your sweet blissed out smile. And when trudges up the steps of your porch in the mornings to see if your dad needs anything from town—he prays neither of you can see the remnants of his sins in his eyes. 

He can’t stop himself from trying to talk to you, though. One morning he asks straight up, “How’s the project horse coming along?” He tries to sound casual, averting his eyes as he sips his coffee. 

Your smile flickers, equal parts excitement and hesitation flashing across your face. “Good,” you say after a beat, sitting on the wooden bench. “He learns quick, got good stamina and drive.” 

Joel hums, tilting his head slightly. “He give you any trouble?” 

Your jaw tenses, though you try to hide it. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, tightly. 

Joel nods. “Good,” he says simply, but he still looks at you, like there’s something else weighing on his mind. 

Your dad clears his throat, breaking the tension. “She’s got him started on the pattern already.” 

“You gonna run barrels?” Joel asks, curiosity sneaking into his eyes. 

“That’s the plan.” 

Joel hums, taking a long pause. “You wanna run him in a real arena? Bring him over to get some practice in with the right kind of footing and see what he’s really got for a motor?” 

Your eyes narrow and your shoulders tighten, straining with disbelief. A real arena? It’s like nothing you do is ever good enough for him. “We’re getting along just fine as is, thanks.” The words are dripping with venom as you slip back into the house letting the screendoor slam shut behind you. 

Joel’s brows furrow. “Didn’t mean no harm, by it,” he says to your dad. “My mistake,” he adds gruffly. 

Your dad looks a bit miffed at the sharpness of your rejection but gives Joel a shrug back. “She’s always gotta do it her own way.” 

The conversation with Joel sticks in your mind. You’re still chewing it over that evening as you run Blue through some drills, working on his lead changes and corners. When you finally bring him down to walk to cool down you hear the sound of hooves hitting the dirt across the field. Sharp and rhythmic. You walk Blue along the fence line. Pausing when you catch sight of Joel and Tommy in their outdoor arena. 

Their horses move like extensions of their bodies. You loosen the reins, letting Blue’s head sway with every step as you stay transfixed on the two men. Tommy’s bay gelding moves with a quick, snappy stride. His hindquarters tucked under him as he spins on a dime at Tommy’s commend. You can feel the thrill and see Tommy’s grin from where you sit. It’s infectious. You roll your eyes as he tosses his rope catching the dummy steer in a single fluid motion. 

You make another lap before you let yourself study Joel. 

He’s riding his big red mare, her muscles rippling in the sun as she powers forward at a lope. Joel’s hand is steady on the reins, his posture relaxed but exact. Every movement he makes is calculated, and deliberate, yet to an untrained eye seems completely natural and fluid. Like he and his horse were born to do it. He barely shifts to ask the mare to pivot. Her body arcs beautifully, bending around his leg as they make a sharp turn toward the roping dummy. 

You’ve seen good riders before, but there’s something different about the way works. He doesn’t just ride—he leads. Every muscle he moves is a quiet conversation between him and his horse. It’s seamless and controlled. And damn if it isn’t mesmerizing. 

He leans forward slightly, and your mouth goes dry watching his arm flexing as he tosses the rope with precision. His red mare halts instantly, kicking up dirt around her hooves. Joel adjusts his hat with a smooth motion, you can see the focus on his face. Serious and competitive.

You swallow hard as you change directions, still walking on a loose rein very aware that Blue’s sweat is long dried by now. You feel warmth burning in your core that has nothing to do with your tired muscles. He looks good out there. Too good. The kind of good that makes you think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. Your eyes drift, taking in the way his jeans hug his thighs, the line of his back as he shifts in the saddle. You imagine his hands, thick, precise fingers. Something coils hot and tight within you. You shake your head at yourself. You are not having those thoughts about Joel Miller who thinks you don’t know your ass from your elbow. You swing your leg over the back of the saddle dropping to your feet. Loosening your cinch and still trying to shake your thoughts out of your mind when you hear Tommy hollering at you. 

“Watch and learn, neighbor!” Tommy calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You glance up, cheeks burning as Tommy tips his hat your way with his charismatic grin. Joel follows his gaze, dark eyes locking on you for a moment. Tommy gives you a demonstration of his prowess with the rope–as if you hadn’t been watching–but, Joel says nothing before turning his mare and heading in the opposite direction. 

His cool look sends a shiver down your spine. 

You walk back to the barn, and the sound of their horses fades behind you, but that image of Joel sears into your mind. His commanding and maddeningly attractive exhibition just stoked a fire you’re desperate to ignore. 

You have the same stubborn streak as your father and you’d be damned if you’re gonna cave and ask Joel to use his facility. You find a summer barrel series in a nearby town with low entry fees.

You start hauling Blue out to get some experience. At first, his runs are clumsy, but as you get your miles in, his turns get tighter, his confidence grows, and your times get quicker. And you quickly feel like the two of you are ready to enter your first rodeo.

The air smells like dirt and livestock, as you unload your horse and tie him to the side of your trailer. There’s a hum from the generators, buzzing conversations, and the occasional whinny of a horse or thud as one paws at the dirt.

You had made a point not to ask if Joel and Tommy would be attending, but you catch his familiar shoulders tapering to his slim waist, with one boot on the lowest rung of the fence a few yards ahead when you head toward the warmup pen before your division gets called. He isn’t even facing your direction but you instinctively square your shoulders and raise your chin. You wonder if he’s just here to see if you’re going to fail. Or maybe he’s just watching to earn some other woman’s favor. 

Something ugly simmers in your blood and your chest feels tight. You attribute it to irritation, refusing to acknowledge any alternate reasons. You’re going to prove him wrong. 

You’re still staring at him when he turns to say something to the man standing next to him. You grit your teeth. Superstitious–as every cowboy is–his usual salt and pepper scruff is neatly trimmed, he’s got on a pair of deep blue Wranglers–nicer than you figure he owned, and a crisp long-sleeve pearl snap. Dressed to earn Lady Luck’s favor. 

The devil on your shoulder whispers a thought in Linda’s teasing voice. He doesn’t need to do all that to get lucky. You take a deep breath and peel yourself away from the sight. You’re here to focus on Blue, not your asshole neighbor and his conquests.

Despite trying to let go of your issues with Joel, a scowl stays plastered on your face throughout your warmup. Blue picks up on your distraction and he’s a little hot, as you head him toward the alleyway when it’s time for your run. Against your will, your eyes search for Joel. A wash of heat floods your veins when you find him already watching you. He mouths good luck at you and you can only manage a curt smile before you’re pushing Blue to a lope, making one tight circle before you cross the start. The sound of his hooves pounding into the dirt matches the blood pounding in your ears. The burst of adrenaline is instant. The run isn’t perfect. He breaks his stride around the second barrel and you lose time nudging him back into rhythm, but you finish the pattern without knocking anything over. The announcer calls your time as you slow to a trot, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It’s such a blur you don’t think to look for Joel. You don’t think about him at all until you’re untacking Blue at your trailer, brushing sweat marks from his coat when movement near another horse trailer catches your eye.

Joel stands close to a woman with long, shiny dark hair. She flashes a wide smile, leaning toward him and resting a hand lightly on his arm. The sight makes you grimace. You shove down the feeling. “None of our business,” you mutter to Blue as you keep brushing. But, your eyes flick back despite yourself. She tilts her head, laughing at something he says, or doesn’t say, you can’t tell. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets. You can’t see his face from your angle.

The woman reaches to touch him again, and you feel a headache brewing in the back of your skull. Joel glances away from her, landing in your direction for the shortest moment, before his weight shifts and he takes a small step back. You scowl again, tossing your brush back into the tack room shelf with more force than necessary making Blue toss his head. Your heart thuds louder than it should and you run a hand over Blue’s cheek, murmuring softly to calm both him and yourself. When you glance back, the woman is still talking, but Joel’s looking at you again. His dark eyes are sharp under the brim of his hat. He nods, barely noticeable, before turning away from the woman entirely. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before loading Blue back into the trailer to head out. You weren’t sticking around to watch any of the other events. Especially not the team roping. 

You smile when you pull onto the highway. You count the day as a success and feel ready to enter a bigger rodeo. The idea makes you glow. Finally feeling like you’re getting back to your true self. You feel like a new woman compared to the version of you that showed packed up her truck desperate to put miles between your ex-fiance and your corporate nightmare.

“It’s not that bad,” you argue, crossing your arms as your dad leans against the truck with a skeptical look. “The hell it’s not,” he replies, gesturing toward the trailer. “That’s floor is one step away from dropping your horse onto the damn highway.” You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “I know,” you grumble lowly, disappointment sinking in your stomach. “I was just hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” “Sorry kid,” your dad says. “S’fine. I’ll figure something out. Or just eat the entry fees I paid.” “Or,” he says pointedly, “you could ask Joel.” You glare at him, fire burning in your chest. “I don’t need his charity.” “Ain’t charity,” he interrupts your sour attitude with a gruff tone. “He’s practically family. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals.” The words stick, heavy and uncomfortable. You’ve got half a mind to keep arguing. Joel might be your dad’s best friend, but he’s nothing like family to you. But before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re dragging yourself up the steps of Joel’s front porch. 

You realize as your boot hits the last step that you’ve never been to his place. He always offers to have you and your dad over for a whiskey or for a fire out back, but you always brush him off. You see why your dad takes him up on it though.

It’s beautifully made with stunning wooden chairs and a bench for seating on the porch. You’d consider complimenting him on his craftsmanship if you weren’t already dreading what you’re about to say. Joel opens the door, his hat already in hand like he’d been expecting you. “Somethin’ wrong?” “Yeah,” you admit, trying not to hesitate. “Uh, trailer’s shot,” you point your thumb in the direction of your dad’s place. “Was wondering if you’d have room in your trailer to haul Blue with your horses.” 

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. The gleam in his eye makes you want to say never mind. You brace for a smart-ass remark. “‘Course,” he replies. You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Of course?” 

He leans back into the house to grab something, then he’s handing you his keys. “Load your tack up tonight, and get your bags in the living quarters.” “No need,” you shake your head, leaving him holding the keys between you. “I’ve got the truck. And a tent.” 

Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You pointedly avoid how his sleeves strain around his biceps. “You’re ridin’ with us. Not riskin’ that truck dyin’ on the highway.” You glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, you’ve got a trailer with a busted floor and a truck with more miles than you’d like to admit on it—while Joel has a shiny truck from this decade and a horse trailer with a tack room and living quarters. Probably has AC and everything.

You catch the glint in his eye, realizing you’re the one asking for a favor and you steel yourself, reminding yourself to bite your tongue.

“Fine,” you grit out, holding your hand out for the keys.

The truck hums beneath you, the steady vibration doing nothing to ease the thick tension in the cab. Tommy’s passed out in the back seat, his hat tipped low over his face, leaving you alone with Joel and the steady drone of the country ballad playing through the speakers.

“You always listen to this?” you ask, breaking the silence as you reach toward the radio.

Joel glances at you, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”

“Didn’t know you were a ‘sad songs for sad cowboys’ kind of guy,” you mutter, flicking through stations before he can answer.

Joel doesn’t stop you, but when you pause on something irritatingly upbeat, his hand moves toward the knob just as yours does.

Your fingers brush his, and the contact jolts through you like a live wire.

You pull back instinctively, your breath catching as your heart slams against your ribs. Joel pauses for half a second before retreating, his knuckles tightening faintly on the wheel.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Joel stares ahead, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiral. He knew telling you to ride with him was playing with fire. But he can’t stay away from the heat. You glance out the window, pretending the spark you felt wasn’t real. It’s just Joel, always better than you, always an ass. The charged silence stretches on though, every shift of his hand on the wheel drawing your attention. Every shallow breath reminds you of his proximity. 

“This’ll do,” you say tightly. Joel huffs softly, but says nothing, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. Neither of you speaks again for the rest of the drive, but the weight of the accidental touch remains, thick and suffocating. The rodeo grounds are already alive with motion by the time you’re parked and unloading the horses. The evening sun casts an amber glow over the circus of trucks, tents, and trailers. You help get the portable fence set up and the horses settled before the three of you head off to check in at the visitor's tent and get your meal tickets. 

The smell of barbecue wafts through the air and you get in line to fill your plate. Folks chat eagerly. Tommy strikes up an easy conversation with a group of riders near the picnic tables.

You watch as some folks head back to their campsites, hesitating on whether you want to do the same or find a table. Joel passes you and sits at a nearby table and before you can debate any longer a voice interrupts your thoughts. “Long travel day?” the wiry cowboy drawls, tipping his hat and gesturing to the bench next to him. “Take a seat.” 

You give him a quizzical look, but you’re hungry enough to take the opportunity to sit and eat. 

“Name’s Cody.” He introduces himself while you eat. He tells you he’s a bull rider. Asks if you’re runnin’ barrels tomorrow. He’s chatty with a smooth and easy voice and a playful look on his youthful face. You answer his questions, politely, suddenly keenly aware of Joel’s gaze boring into the back of your head. It makes your spine prickle with something you can’t name. The heat of his stare burns into you, fierce and unwavering, making every laugh at Cody’s jokes feel like defiance. Cody continues on and you find it easy to listen to his stories, but you can’t help feeling compelled to glance over your shoulder betraying the distraction you’re trying to ignore. Cody points out some of the other riders he knows and invites you to come hang out at their campsite and have a drink. You’re still searching for the right words when you catch sight of Joel walking swiftly past your table. He mutters something to Tommy–who seems to be proving Linda’s rumors true with a woman wrapped around his arm and batting her lashes at him–and stalks off. Your stomach twists as you watch him go, irritation flaring hot and fast. “The fuck is his problem?” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your plate. Cody shrugs, clearly oblivious. “Who knows? Anyway—” But you’ve already tuned him out, your eyes following the path Joel struts down before he disappears.

You joined Cody and his friend for one drink, hoping it would ease your nerves. He had a kind group, a little rough around the edges, but tough as nails like you’d expect bull riders to be. They kept your mind distracted with their wild stories, but you decided to head back to the trailer before anyone got drunk and stupid. The walk back to the trailer feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by something stirring within you, something that has you on edge. You check on the horses before pulling the door open and climbing into the living quarters. The cool night air hasn’t soothed the heat that’s been simmering within you since dinner—or since that moment in the truck if you’re honest. You toe off your boots before looking up to see Joel, leaning against the wall, his jaw set tight, and his eyes sharp as they snap to yours.

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, realizing it’s just the two of you in the small space. “Reckon he’ll be out til the sun's up,” Joel says in a quiet, low tone. “Alright,” you nod. Another point goes to Linda for that one, you figure. Joel’s jaw remains set in that infuriatingly unreadable way that seems to be his signature look. The dim light in the trailer casts sharp shadows across his face that darken his gaze. “You enjoy yourself? With your new friend?” he asks, his voice raw, edged with something you can’t place. You stop short, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” He steps closer, reaching past you to hang his hat on the hook by the door. “Took your time gettin’ back.” He says, his eyes flick over you, dark and assessing.

You’re acutely aware of the scent of the campfire on your shirt and beer on your lips. It swirls with his leather and bourbon musk like they were designed to enhance each other. His words sink in, cutting and daring. “What’s your point?” “Did you fuck him?” The bluntness of it knocks the breath out of you. Your mouth falls open. Shock and fury battling for control as you glare at him. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me, sweetheart,” Joel says, his voice calm but razor-sharp. “Just wondering if that cowboy got what he was after.” It takes everything in you not to slap him across the face. “What the fuck,” you hiss, stepping closer, your fists clenched at your sides, “makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Joel?” 

He shrugs his shoulders, but his expression remains cold. “Lookin’ out for you. Your dad’d kill me if I didn’t.” You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Silence fanning the flames within you. “You aren’t my dad,” you snap, voice trembling with rage. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t fuck.” Joel’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiffening as he steps even closer. “That’s not what I—” “Save it,” you cut him off, word sharp as a whip. “I don’t know why you think I’m so weak or clueless all the time. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid you’ve gotta babysit.” 

Joel’s expression hardens, his dark eyes flash with something that looks like hurt beneath his anger. “That’s what you think I see?” his words come out like a dangerous growl. “That’s how you’ve acted toward me since day one,” you fire back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “If you don’t respect me, Joel, just stay out of my business.” His chest rises and falls sharply, his breath warm against your skin as the air between you thickens. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he grits, voice tight with frustration. “Explain it to me then,” you challenge. Shaking with the force of everything you’ve been holding back. “Or stay away from me if I’m such a thorn in your side.” He works his jaw, and for a moment you’re glued to the corded muscle in his neck and the exposed golden brown skin of his chest. He glares at you, making no move to back off. His voice drops sinfully low and quiet. “You really wanna know?” “Yeah,” you breathe, heart pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage. “I do.” His hand moves fast, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he accuses in a rough and uneven voice. You blink. “What?” “You heard me,” he rumbles, dark eyes locked on yours. “From the first day, you showed up here, lookin’ at me like you had somethin’ to prove.” Anger burns in your veins. “How does that make me your problem?” His grip tightens, his body presses closer. “You ain’t my problem,” he mutters. Guilt twists into his words, “Shouldn’t even be lookin’ at you like this. S’wrong.” He swallows thickly, only sharpening the edge in his voice. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, and it’s pissin’ me off.” His confession hits you like a brick over the head. The trailer is silent, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, and your ragged exhale seems deafening. 

“Then stop,” you challenge, voice trembling with defiance. “If it’s so wrong, just leave me alone.” Joel’s eyes darken, his other hand settles on your hip, fingers digging into you. “Can’t,” he says,  voice so thick with frustration, it sounds like it hurts. “Don’t think I want to.” 

Silence stretches and time feels thick and warped. Your ragged breaths fill the space. His eyes search for a reason to stop, but he finds none. 

You don’t get a chance to reply before he drops your wrist to wrap a large hand around your jaw, pulling you into a feverish kiss. Nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and desperate, equal parts frustration and hunger. Your fingers curl into his shirt as if you could pull him any closer as your teeth scrape over his bottom lip, in a sharp, biting challenge that makes him groan low in his throat. He angles your face so he can kiss you deeper, harder, until your knees feel like they might give out. Your mind goes blank, flashing white with anger and need. All you can process is the hot slip of his tongue against yours and the sharp bristle of his facial hair against your tender lips. Your back hits the cool metal wall of the trailer before you realize your feet had even moved. Joel’s hips press into yours, pinning you against his body–solid and unrelenting. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck, the edge of his teeth scraping at your skin. The rasp of his stubble sends sparks to your core, and you dig your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Pulling him toward you, needing him in a way that verges on painful. He lifts his mouth, breathing hotly against your damp neck. “This what you want?” he says, his tone matching the burning desperation coursing through you. “You want me to fuck it outta you? Til you can’t keep runnin’ your mouth at me?” “Shut up,” you snap, but the way your body arches into him betrays the hostility in your voice and the subtle stretch makes you keenly aware of how wet and needy you are already. He makes a low, guttural noise in his throat that makes your cunt throb. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it around his waist as he grinds into you. The hard ridge of his cock pressing into you makes you gasp. The sound you make sends heat ripping through him like wildfire. We can’t, he thinks, but the words die on his tongue. The thought of how wrong this is flashes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by the way you’re looking at him. The way your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, your breath hot and shaky against his cheek. He can’t think. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Not when you’re so soft and warm and furious beneath him. He’s helpless. His hand slips under your shirt, rough fingers brushing over soft skin, leaving a searing trail that grounds you as your mind spins. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to the dim light of the trailer. Time slips back into the warped, syrupy dimension as you absorb the unbidden lust and awe in his eyes. You’re the one exposed, but you feel like you’re seeing something just as naked in his face. Time catches up and you pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, committing to sin wordlessly. You shiver at the sudden contrast between the heat radiating off of his body and the cool air hitting your flesh. “Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth closes over your nipple like a wet furnace. His teeth graze the sensitive skin causing you to spew breathy curses over the top of his head. They only spur him on. He sucks hard enough that you tug him off you by his hair, but he only switches to your breast, delivering the same delicious punishment as his fingers roll and pinch at the wet, puffy, flesh he abandons. 

It’s like he can predict your needs before your mind can, biting down harshly enough to pull you away from the angry, hissing thoughts and keep you desperate to stay lost in the physical sensations. He palms the full weight of your tits, gliding his thumbs over both, slick and shining with his saliva. He presses them together before releasing them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, taken by the way they bounce more perfectly than he could’ve imagined. It’s wrong to have you topless and panting beneath him, but his name falls so sweetly from your lips that it doesn’t matter. The heavy-lidded look you have makes him feel confirmed. When you moan lowly as the pain melts into pleasure when he kneads your soft, slippery skin, his cock aches and weeps for you. He needs more. He needs everything. Needs to wreck you, to see you so fucked out the only thing you can say is his name. 

It’s an exquisite brand of torture. 

You hate how good this feels, how badly you want him to keep going. To show you every move he knows. To break you down with his hands and mouth. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off. But your body doesn’t want that. You don’t want that. You roll your hips against his, begging wordlessly for more, as you tug at his hair hard enough to pull a throaty groan from deep within him. The sound he makes nearly has you short-circuiting, but he doesn’t give you the respite to fall apart. His hands are everywhere, frenzied like he’s losing control. Hasn’t he already lost it? You wonder distantly. Slowly, you realize he’s littering dirty little threats and filthy promises into your warm flesh. You hate the way his words make you shiver, how much you crave every pledge he makes. “You’re gonna feel me for days, sweetheart,” he husks hotly, just behind your ear. It’s a commitment you unwittingly pray he keeps. Some part buried deep within you blooms at the idea of feeling every memory of his touch as you go about your day tomorrow. “Get to it then,” you snap, hands reaching for his belt with urgency. Joel doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slips between your legs, teasing you through the soaked fabric of your underwear, and the sound you make at the pressure—the breathless, needy, whimper—makes him forget how to breathe. All he knows is that he needs to hear it again while he fucks into your soft, warm cunt. 

He wrenches your jeans open and works them down your thighs as you tear at his shirt buttons. He’s barely able to let you go long enough to pull his shirt off; watching you kick your pants off the rest of the way makes him nearly trip over himself. 

The air between your naked chests is sticky and warm. He dips his hand beneath the hem of your underwear, fingertips gliding over the soft hair on your mound making his eyes roll back. 

The edges of your vision blurs when he prods two big fingers between your slick lips, but you’re glued to the way his dark eyes are nearly black now. He looks every bit possessed by a beast, and fuck if you aren’t driven by the sick desire to make him snap. 

“You like having me touch you like this, don’t you?” His voice drips with need underscored by the slick sounds coming from between your legs. 

“No.” You rasp, as you grind your clit against his palm. He pumps two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to make you moan. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawls, thick like honey. You grip the muscle flexing in his arm to steady yourself. His concentration and competence makes your walls flutter around his fingers. 

“You’re gonna come for me, right here.” He declares. 

You shake your head. “I’m not—fuck—I won’t.” 

“You will,” he interrupts. Dark and calm. His pace quickens, fingers focused on the spot inside you that makes you a mindless wreck. His thumb draws circles around your clit. 

“Can feel how close you are.” Your hips rock and your muscles all pull taut. “If you’d quit fuckin’ fighting me.” He somehow crowds even closer to you. You feel like you’re about to snap when he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty and ragged. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, ain’t you?” 

“Joel,” you whine, angry and devastated. “I hate you.” 

You grip the back of his neck with one hand, and both of you watch as he finally takes himself out of his jeans. 

The view makes you salivate. 

Everything about Joel is rugged and masculine. The muscles carved into his arms and chest. The trail of dark hair leading down his stomach that thickens around his base. The deep flushed color of his thick cock. The ragged inhale he makes when he presses the blunt tip against the drenched fabric that clings to your swollen folds. 

“Say it,” he growls, rubbing along your barely clothed seam. 

“I hate you,” you whisper unconvincingly, digging your nails into the back of his neck and arching off of the wall. 

“Tell me you want it.” You can’t tell if it’s a demand or a plea. This strain in his voice and the muscles tensing across his broad frame make you tremble.

“I don’t.” You lie. You snake one hand down your body, peeling your ruined panties to the side so he can slot his tip at your dripping entrance. You tilt forward, impatiently, stretching around him just enough to override your filter. 

“Oh, fuck,” you start. Unable to stop the stream of whispered curses from rolling off your tongue. 

“Yeah,” Joel rasps, inching deeper inside of your tight, warm walls. He feeds himself into you slowly, the overwhelming fullness as you adjust makes your thighs shake. He pulls out and you whine, unable to say a word before he’s moving, dipping you onto the thin trailer mattress and slipping your underwear down your legs. 

“Gonna fuck you full,” he mutters. You spread your legs, making room for him to settle above you. He draws his cock back through your lips, coating himself in your arousal before driving into you with a powerful stroke. 

Your lips part, sucking in air as he sets a pace. He fills you deeper than you’ve ever felt, relentlessly making room for himself as he saws in and out of you. It’s powerful and primal, but refined by his athleticism. Fluid rolling hips and his strong core make you see stars as he fucks into you.

“That’s right,” he rasps above you, and you realize he’s responding to you. 

“So good,” you’re murmuring, “so full.” 

“Taking it like you were made for it,” he says to himself. The intensity of your tight, warm pussy coaxing him deeper makes him spill his thoughts. Unfiltered. 

He sets a pace, slow and deliberate at first, each stroke filling you completely before pulling back, leaving you desperate for more. The friction is maddening, plunging his length into your sensitive walls as he pins you beneath his hard body.   

“You feel that?” His breath is hot against your neck. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m splittin’ you open?”  

You nod frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whimper his name.  

Joel’s control falters at the sound of it, his hips snapping harder, faster, as his desperation takes over. “Thought about this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ hell, I’ve thought about this too damn much. But you’re better than I ever imagined.”  

His confession sends a jolt through you, but you’re too far gone to process it, your body tightening around him as pleasure builds again, sharper and hotter than before.  

“Joel, please.”  

“Fuck,” he chokes the word out, his pace faltering for a split second before he slams into you harder, deeper. “Say that again.”  

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as your release breaks through you, leaving you gasping and cursing.  

Joel’s hips snap erratically, pinning you into the mattress with a tight grip, as he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters, his voice ragged. “Every drop, sweetheart.” Make you mine, he barely keeps the last thought in his head. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chant as your body jolts with each collision with his. 

“Fuck,” Joel mutters, cock driving deeper and swelling at your words. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart.”  

Your release hits again, your body trembling violently. Or maybe it never stopped—he only drew it out of you in waves. 

Joel curses low, his hips slamming into yours one last time before you feel him pulsing inside of you, hot and thick. 

When he pulls back, his eyes linger on the mess between your thighs. “Look at that,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent. His wide hands slide up the back of your thighs, bending your knees to your chest so he can watch the mix of your releases glistening and dripping from you. 

He takes one hand and drags it through the mess, pushing it back up inside of you. You squirm, sensitive to the touch, but fixated on whatever is burning behind his eyes. 

You wait for him to say something characteristically Joel.

To dismiss you as naive, to rub it in that he broke you down. That he had you crying his name. That you shouldn’t have done that. 

But it never comes.

You’re convinced he was trying to put you in your place. To give you another reminder that he thinks you’re useless and clueless. You’re too wrapped up in the thoughts to speak or move. 

He doesn’t say anything at all which nearly makes it worse.

Instead, he pins you under a heavy arm, holding you against him until you both doze off. Succumbing to exhaustion.

-> PART TWO

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤠🤎

tagging the usual babes in case you want some cowboy!joel for christmas too:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @magneticecstasy

@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 8 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Y/n discovers a few things and a few more are revealed.

Warnings: sex, minors please stay away.

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

Y/n was upset. Her semester was ending. The exchange programme had come to a close. Now, she’d have to leave for her internship and then go back to her university for the remainder of her studies. She’d miss her friends. She’d miss this new country. 

And who knew how long Azriel was posted here in this city? 

It was a coincidence that they met and they had a good few months together but Y/n really did not want to go back to a life where he was not a constant. 

The idea of it didn’t sit well with her. 

After her last exam today, she’d taken some time for her friends here. On her way back to the apartment, she’d started feeling upset but then she wore a smile and rang Azriel’s doorbell.       

He’d opened the door, took one look at her, and fucked her wildly like he wanted to reinforce something. And then, they made love to each other with Y/n slowly riding him. 

Y/n let herself rise and fall, eyes closed. Her hands were on his chest, tattooed and perfect for her. His large hands nearly covered all of her ass. 

Fuck. 

He was such a large man and the most convincing evidence of it was deep inside her, thick and throbbing as she rode him at her own pace. 

She could feel the air on her body. Her nipples were already hard and were even more sensitive after Azriel had sucked on them and smeared his saliva, and then left them exposed. 

Her breasts ached and all she wanted was his large hands to pinch and grab them roughly as if he selfishly owned her. 

His hands. Gods, they were so perfect. 

The tattoos on his fingers was an arousing sight. 

Especially after she’d once seen herself suck them. 

The way those hands groped every part of her and were still on her ass. 

She was in bed, tired after exams and sex. Azriel had woken up after a nice cuddling session for a meeting. It was an urgent one and he’d promised to return soon but Y/n was not going to pester him even if he didn’t. 

The man had a job. That too, at Umbra got fuck’s sake. That was an empire on its own managed by some young fellow Y/n hadn’t bothered about since that was not her field. 

Sex with Azriel always made her sleepy and she always woke up feeling refreshed. 

Her eyes were closed. The furry blanket was so cosy and she was just there. 

Her phone rang and interrupted her peace. 

Y/n groaned in frustration. She grabbed it and softened when she saw Azriel’s name. She swiped on the screen and accepted the call. “Hey.”

“Hello, sweetheart. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

“No, no. Tell me.” She wouldn’t tell him that she wanted to sleep even more. 

“Could you bring me my iPad? It’s on the nightstand.” Y/n rose and looked around for the device. 

“Where. . Got it.” She removed herself from the sheets, ended the call, took the iPad, and was about to walk out of the room when a message popped up. 

Miss Y/n’s mother has sent a parcel to the apartment she shared with Nesta Archeron. We believe her mother has no knowledge of her current whereabouts and her exchange program. 

What? 

Y/n tapped on the notification and the chat opened. It was a group chat with Azriel and a bunch of people. She scrolled and read the messages.

Other members of the group chat were constantly updating on her location and activities while Azriel had sent the occasional ‘okay’.

She also found photographs of her taken from her outings with friends. Taken from a distance and clearly not with her consent. 

The more she saw, the more she wanted to smash her head against something. 

Why? 

Why did Azriel have her followed? 

He’d always known where she was, at what time, who she was with. She hadn’t bothered hiding much from him. 

Then why was this. . ?

Y/n walked over to the room with the iPad, the group chat open on it.

She saw Azriel’s eyes widen as she entered the room. She placed the iPad on his table. “What’s this?”

He looked at the chat quietly and then looked up at her. 

Y/n felt hot with fury coursing through every part of her. And yet, for some strange reason, she felt cold. 

It wasn’t until Azriel walked over and wrapped a jacket around her that she realised that she hadn’t dressed after leaving bed. 

She’d been naked and angry. 

“I’ve had you followed, Y/n.” 

And she couldn’t control it. 

She was barely restraining herself until then but to hear him say that he had her followed broke the dam. 

“Why? Didn’t you trust me enough to go out and not cheat on you?” 

This time, Azriel sounded confused. “It wasn’t because I thought you were cheating on me.” 

The audacity of this man to say such a thing. He had her watched and followed and photographed and so much more. 

“Scroll up, Y/n. This started the night I met you in that club before we ever spoke to each other properly.” He extended the iPad to her. 

She hesitantly took it and scrolled up furiously. When she reached the first message, she saw the date the group had been created. Feyre’s birthday. There was a photo of her dancing in that club with Nesta. 

Somebody had sent a few documents. She opened them—her CV, biodata, details of people close to her. 

“You’ve known all this about me?” He silently nodded. She felt like such a fool. 

Y/n couldn’t even think. She couldn’t process it like this. So she simply kept the iPad on his desk and walked away. 

“Y/n. Y/n, listen to me, sweetheart.” He was following. She increased her pace and entered his room. Her clothes were on the chair and she began dressing. “Y/n, please. I only wanted to know about you.”

She looked at him and it hurt. 

It hurt to know that this man didn’t trust her. 

Didn’t trust time. 

Didn’t trust their connection. 

“I would’ve told you everything with time.”  She wanted to cry. “Whenever I was ready to revisit my past and speak about it, I would’ve told you. About my childhood. My ex. My mother.”

“I only wanted to know about you.” He was pleading but she was so tired. 

“You did not trust that our relationship would reach to the point where I would ever confide in you. You thought yourself entitled to find everything about me. .” She choked back a sob. Azriel moved to hold her but she took a step behind and he halted. 

“You did not trust me.” It was a whisper and it broke everything. “And therefore, you violated my privacy.”

“I did not get that information because I didn’t trust you.” Azriel moved. When he reached her, he kneeled. 

“I was impatient. I wanted to know everything about you immediately. I’m desperate for anything you’ll give me. You heart, your body—I cannot have them unless you give them to me. But information—that I can take from any place. And I’ll take any scrap of it you leave behind.”

What was this feeling? She was being broken but also healed at the same time. And even then, everything hurt. 

“And as for being followed, I had to know that you were safe.” He was still kneeling. The world was blurry.

Y/n was still cold as she hadn't dressed completely. 

She didn’t know anymore. 

She didn’t want him to know that she had a troubled past at least until she could help it. 

She knew it would’ve come out soon but this soon? It wasn’t at her own pace. 

What was she supposed to do? 

Should she explain it to Azriel?

Should she be angry at him? 

Should she end this relationship? 

It was dizzying now. Her breathing was becoming difficult. 

She could hear her sniffles, Azriel calling her name. “. . breathe, sweetheart. Inhale. . . Exhale. . .” 

He kept telling her to inhale and exhale until she could focus on those words and force her breathing into a pattern. 

She was sitting now. Azriel was wiping her nose with something. A blanket was draped over her. He was right there, holding her hand. 

Her eyes fluttered close and Y/n faded into the dark. 

****

Whispers.

Somebody was talking. 

Somebody was responding. 

It ached. 

Something more than her body ached. 

“. . rest and she’ll be. . medicines. . . care.” 

Y/n faded away again. 

****

Y/n was warm. In a room. It was dark. And a hand held her own. 

Azriel was right there, sitting on the floor, one hand holding hers and the other arm folded on the bed to rest his head. 

He must’ve fallen asleep. 

She tried to rise and felt too weak. But the shuffling of the blankets was enough to wake him up. 

“How are you feeling?” His deep voice asked. 

“Fine.” She didn’t want to say anything more. Absolutely nothing. 

She’d sweat a lot. The greasy feeling of it remained on her body. “You have a fever.” 

Oh. 

“Have some medicine.” And he rose to leave her side, to get a strip of tablets and water from the nightstand but she did not let go of his hand in the first instance. 

“Y/n.” And then she immediately let go and looked away. What was she supposed to do? 

Was their bond supposed to be overlooked by this? 

Could it be so easily sidelined? 

She saw his hand with the medicine come in her line of sight. “Medicine.” 

His voice was only deep whispers ever since she woke up. As if he was afraid his normal pitch would shatter something.

Y/n quietly took the medicine and water and consumed them. Azriel was there to take the glass away from her and he kneeled by the bedside. 

“You had a panic attack and then you fainted.” 

“And the fever?”

“You came to me with the iPad unclothed, leaving your body exposed to the cold. And you didn’t fully dress when you came to the bedroom.” And she was now wearing one of his sweatshirts which was too big for her.

Y/n could tell that he was being careful with his choice of words. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He clutched her hand as though in prayer. “It’s my fault you had a panic attack.” 

Damn straight. 

Was there any point? 

“I need to go.” She knew she sounded weak and pathetic and even if she did go back to her apartment, there was no way she’d be able to take care of herself.

“Please. Rest here until you recover. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” 

“Don’t you understand?” Oh gods, she was going to sob any moment now. Or scream. “If I stay here, even for a single second, I will not get any clarity.” 

“As you wish.” Azriel retreated to a distance. Y/n slowly stood up under his gaze. 

She remembered that she had only worn her panties and jeans when Azriel had followed her to apologise. So she removed his sweatshirt he had dressed her in. 

When the sweatshirt was over her head, leaving her bare, Y/n saw that Azriel had turned away, as if he knew his permit to see her naked had been revoked.

She wore her own clothes and looked around. She grabbed her phone and walked towards the door where he stood with his back towards her.

Upon hearing her footsteps, he moved away, clearing the way for her. Once she began walking, she heard him follow her. She looked behind and saw his imposing figure behind her.

He was in pain. 

So much pain. 

She could see it. 

But so was she. 

And Y/n had had enough of ignoring her own pain for others. 

But Azriel standing there and following her from behind was a realisation. 

That he’d always be there. Behind her if not beside her. 

“Call me.” He suddenly said. “If you need anything—medicines, food, anything—just call.”

She wanted to kiss him. So she turned away and left his apartment.

Y/n climbed into her bed, her fluffy blanket, and fell asleep without changing her clothes. 

****

Azriel had a mission. 

Scratch that, he had two missions. 

One, Y/n’s recovery. 

Two, Y/n’s forgiveness.

He honestly didn’t understand where she’d gotten the idea that he had her followed to monitor her in case she cheated. 

If she did cheat on him, it would be the fault of the fuckwit who thought he could drive a wedge between them. 

Azriel would simply dispose of any such menaces and Y/n wouldn’t even know anything.

He sighed.

Her not knowing had not turned out well for him. 

He’d flown in his personal doctor in the middle of the night. And while she’d been resting in his apartment, he’d gotten a doctor in the city to check on her. 

His doctor was situated in one of the apartments, ready at a moment’s notice. 

Azriel kept stock of medicines and food ingredients, just in case she wanted something. 

And he waited like a dutiful husband. 

And while he waited, he googled up on how he could earn her forgiveness. 

The bugs in her apartment began transmitting her sound. She was crying and talking. He heard the name Nesta. And more crying. 

She was worried about how this would pan out. 

How she’d been an excellent fool by falling for him. 

Wait. 

Y/n had fallen for him? 

Oh. 

He shouldn’t be happy considering what happened but he couldn’t help it. 

And it was then that Azriel decided that he should probably get rid of those bugs before she saw one or saw something else on his iPad. 

He wasn’t going to hide the iPad. 

He didn’t like hiding things from Y/n but there were certain things he simply hoped she’d never find. 

It was poor thinking but what else could he do? 

He was obsessed and his morals clashed and crashed far too often for it to make sense. 

As as for how to earn her forgiveness, Y/n’s favourite books had a lot of fictional men grovelling after fucking up. 

He needed to analyse everything. 

What exactly was she hurt about. 

What could he do to stop her hurt? 

How to make amends. 

How to convince her that he was not a complete piece of shit and was worth some consideration of forgiveness. 

Her safety had been an important concern. 

If Y/n knew the number of people that had started following her while she went out on her own. 

The number of people that had been beaten up so that she could roam around outside without anything to fear.

The number of phone numbers he’d looked into after any call that made her uncomfortable. He had them all deactivated.

No. 

Her safety was an important matter that needed his attention. 

It was not a bargaining chip to win an argument or to prove a point. 

It was simply his duty. 

But how was he going to convince her that he hadn’t worried about her cheating? 

That he was only endlessly and ravenously curious about her ever since he first saw her? 

Azriel sighed. He needed advice. He picked up his phone and called the one person he trusted enough with such a matter. When the call was answered, he began. “Hello, mum.”

****

Taglist:

@fantanbietsson @angstylittleb1tch @fhgsvbnh @olive-main @cherryjain17 @halo-mystic @starofanotherworld @latinxbipride @viatorem-maris @acotarbestie @sevikas-whore @anthonys-viscountess @randomgurl2326 @thelov3lybookworm @cat-or-kitten @mortqlprojections @tele86 @rorel1a @red0202 @atomictyphoonkitten @colorfulgardenerduck @scarsandallaz @anonymousdisco @rcarbo1 @workof-a-rr-t @fuckingsimp4azriel @isabella13dusk @donnadiddadog @yannnnooooxoxox-blog @nxgh1 @thedeviltohisangel @katherinebright @fandomtrash5092 @epicsweetness712 @anik-4 @hitsxbikbv @julesvanslutta @fae-dreamer-99 @cartonkid1200 @anainkandpaper @yourwonderbelle @stefbroo @imjustagirl713 @bbykaixx @lilah-asteria

[212-apricity]

siren songs and stolen kisses - jj maybank masterlist

🌊new series alert!!🌊

im beyond exicted to finally share my brand new jj maybank x reader fic series with you guys<33

its called "siren songs and stolen ksses" so expect all the drama, thrill, and romance we love in the original show, but with a twist — you’re a Cameron.

synopsis: Growing up as a Cameron means power, prestige, and tension with the Pogues. But for you, there's something (or maybe someone) drawing you closer to the chaos on the other side. Following the series' events, "siren songs and stolen kisses" will put you right at the centre of the action — from high-speed chases to summer nights by the bonfire — but now with a Pogue who’s ready to risk it all for you.

episodes are dropping irregularly but frequently, so stay tuned and don’t forget to bring a life jacket — this journey’s going to be wild.

started: 11th november 2024

last updated: 26th december 2024

status: ongoing

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*

intro

1. pilot

2. the lucky compass

3. the forbidden zone

4. spy games

5. midsummers

6. parcel 9

7. dead calm

8. the runaway

9. the bell tower

10. the phantom (tbd!!)

[gilverrwrites]

Meet Cute Uglies [Bruce]

AN: Shout out to @luckyarchaeologist whose comments inspired me to go a completely different direction to what I had envisioned.🩷 And everyone else who reblogged/comments/voted for a part 2! I hope it lives up 🩷

GN!Reader/Bruce Wayne, 1.6K Words [2/?]

Part One >[Here]<

CWs: Mild/nonexplicit threats of violence, teasing

His hands are soft, and warm, soothing the tension from your body as he uses them to cup your face and hold you steady as he pushes closer, pressing your body deeper into the wall with his broad chest. Up close you can see a smattering of his five o’clock stubble coming through, even under the dim slivers of moonlight breaking through the gloomy alley. You note a hint of coffee on his breath before his lips brush against-

Loud banging at your apartment door startles you awake. Tired eyes sluggishly take in the time on the nearest clock, you’re barely able to process the numbers before the knocks come again. It’s too early. It’s your day of for goodness’ sake and it sounds like someone is trying to break down your door with their fists. When you answer it’s an equally disgruntled delivery driver. They ask your name before bombarding you with a large box and snapping a proof of delivery photo. You ponder your unkempt morning appearance and pray the sender of this parcel doesn’t ever check that photo.

It was almost certainly not from you because you hadn’t ordered anything, especially not anything this big. You don’t recognise the logo, but it, the matte black tape, and the distinct florally smell permeating from the smooth white container tells you that whatever is inside is expensive. That or it’s a trap, designed to lure you in with its unsuspecting exterior, then BAM Ivy toxin or Joker gas. You’re not dumb, you’ve seen the PSAs.

30 minutes, one morning brew, one disposable mask, one sharp knife, 2 gloves, and a whole lot of nerve later you gently remove the contents from its packaging. It’s wrapped in a layer of security card and glittery tissue paper but it’s pretty evident what it is. It’s a very nice bouquet of flowers. A mix of carnations, hyacinths, and baby’s-breath, already sitting in a pretty crystal vase that probably cost more than your rent.  A gold envelope stands out amongst the colourful petals, and you fork it out to read despite being certain you already know who it's from. Nobody else in your life would spend this much money on flowers for you, even if it were a special occasion. The repercussions of telling your name to a stranger, even a famous stranger, who you’d known of all your life, but never known hadn’t occurred to you until you see it printed in foil against the high-quality textured card.

“As you understandably didn’t allow me the chance to apologise last night, please accept these as a token of my penitence. Regards, B.W.”

You’re not sure which irks you most, him cornering you in a dark alley in the first place, his seeking you out to apologise in an unsettlingly short amount of time, the absurd display of wealth, his pretentiously unironic use of the word ‘Penitence’, or the fact that you kinda liked it. The fact that you’d spend the night dreaming about slivers of moonlight and soft hands that didn’t exist. In actual fact, the remainder of the scene had been clumsy and anticlimactic.

“Who are you?” He demands. “And why are you following me?” You squint to read his expressions, barely able to make him out under the faint light of apartment windows high above your figures. There's a disconnect between the upper and lower halves of his face that adds to your already heightened nerves. His jaw and lips remain in an ever-present scowl, but steely blue eyes seem to soften as you tell him your name. “I'm not following you.” Your voice is stunted, weak due to the unrelenting pressure actual billionaire Bruce Wayne is applying to it. “I swear! It’s a coincidence.” He seems to believe you, or at least, he doesn’t consider you much of a threat because his grip loosens enough for you to find your footing again. Before he can change his mind, you scramble out of there, almost tripping on your accidentally discarded bag on the way. Whatever is up with him is not your problem. “I-“ “Save it.” Creep. You’re not interested in his apologies or excuses. You’re just an average person trying to make their way in the crime capital of the world, probably. It’s a miracle he didn’t put you in an early grave due to a heart attack. You could see the headlines now: ‘Playboy Billionaire Charged with Manslaughter: Officials unsure why he corned innocent Gothamite’ which is to presume a man with as much wealth as Bruce Wayne would ever be charged with a crime. Rich, ill-mannered, paranoid, handsome, creep. “Just stay away from me.”

As you stand motionless, relaying the events of the previous night in your head, it occurs to you that there's still something in the envelope, something slightly smaller and thicker than the apology card. You slip it out and flip it between your fingers, a gift card to the coffee shop you’d first seen him in, with a pre-paid value high enough to keep you and all your colleagues caffeinated for the rest of the year, if not longer.

The remainder of your day is spent relocating the two gifts between errands and relaxation time. The gift card is inserted and removed from the card section of your wallet so many times you’ve probably incidentally rubbed off its magnetic strip. Accepting it, and using it wasn’t bad, not really. He wasn’t buying you or your forgiveness it's just a show good intent, not to mention it was basically pocket change to a man with that much money.

But it did feel a little bit like being bought.

And the flowers reminded you of that conflict every time you looked at them, so they made their way onto every feasible surface and counter until you found a spot with enough light to keep them alive that wasn’t in plain sight 90% of the time. Maybe you could sell or donate the vase once the flowers are dead. It really did make the rest of your living space look shabby-er in comparison.  Or maybe you could paint it to match the rest of its new home, cover it in acrylic paint and use it to hold anything else. If you ever see Bruce again you could show him a photo, see if he really did give it in good faith to be used however you pleased, or if it makes him uncomfortable.

In fact, on your next day back at work you’re scrolling through Pinterest for design inspiration as you queue up for the first of many Wayne-funded drinks when you sense it. Him. The enticing scent of his cologne clueing you into his presence. You cast a look over your shoulder and there he is, smiling at you with perfect white teeth. He seems more casual today, his hair still perfectly styled but appearing free of any products, his suit traded in for just the slacks and button-up. Once again, you’re reminded of his player image, it’s not hard to tell why so many people swoon all over him.

“Oh, hello.” He greets, raising his hand as though to wave at you. His fingers don’t look nearly as soft as you’d imagined. They look sturdy and calloused, strange for a man who guzzles champagne and stands behind a podium, smiling for photographers more days than not. Paperwork does not account for skin that thick. “I was hoping to run into you here.”

“Really?” Internally you’re suspicious, but your voice comes out an octave higher than usual, your skin growing warm under his gaze. It’s stupid to think that he’s pursuing you, flirting with you. He’s probably just looking for closure on his apology, ensuring you don’t slander his image by selling the story to the papers. He really is buying you. Your silence. “Why?”

“I was hoping I could buy you a drink.” And without your confirmation he sides steps around you, joining you in your spot amongst everybody else waiting to be served.

“You’re already buying me coffee.” You flash him the gift card he’d paid for. “Or did you forget casually dropping this much cash?”

He laughs at that, like you’ve made a joke. He’s deflecting? Maybe. But he sounds so genuine, so hearty it’s contagious. Your laugh isn’t as cheery as his, but it slips past your lips regardless.

“No, no. I didn’t forget. I couldn’t forget anything about you. Especially not after seeing you in that delivery photo.” He finishes with a wink. That was flirting, definitely flirting. Or maybe an insult. Either way, you’re feeling just as nervous, if not more than you had been that night in the alley. This is just a different kind of nerves, it’s the butterflies in your belly instead of the pit in your stomach kind. “What’s one more between new friends, huh?”

“Friends?” You raise your brows. He does not have the decency to look sheepish under your dubious stare, he just looks back at you calm and collected, just like he is on the TV. A few days ago, you might have bought it, but you’ve seen him lose his cool in person. Something feels off.

“I’d like to be friends, or I’d at least like to apologise in person. If you’ll let me.” For a man so bent on making amends with you, there isn’t a hint of sorrow in his tone or posture.

It’s almost your turn at the counter, you have seconds to make your decision.

The barista gestures for the next customer, as you answer. “Okay fine, let’s be friends.”

“Excellent. You just made my day.” And then his hand cups the small of your back as the two of you step up to order. He does it so casually that you almost don’t notice, you’re not sure if you’re just susceptible to his moves, or if he’s practised them to perfection. Maybe you’re reading too much into it, maybe all pretty boy billionaires act like this, maybe it’s all strategy to keep his image clean, or maybe there’s something shady about Bruce Wayne and his weirdly hard, slick hands. Maybe he's hiding something, and whatever it is, you intend to figure it out.

If you should enjoy the view along the way, well, who could blame you?

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: if you have stuck around and waited u are INCREDIBLE thank u so much for ur patience <3 esp cos i'm still testing it with my slowburn lmao + tell me what u think lovelies and as always, enjoy

word count: 4.1k

synopsis: Azriel's shadows find a new way to torment their master. The question of forgiveness follows you. Cassian gets you in the ring, testing out newly learnt skills.

CHAPTER TEN :: SHADOWS

Azriel is a spy by his very nature.

It makes sense; the gift of Shadowsinger is never bestowed so lightly so that it could ever leave any doubt of the user. Shadowsingers are spies, even well before their gifts revealed themselves. Always watching. Always listening.

It was, then, a tad against his disposition to keep his nose out business that wasn't his — as that was precisely what Azriel did best.

But his decision was resolute. Azriel had promised himself he would not be the first to break the distance between you two.

However, for a fae over five-hundred years old, it's quite unsettling to yet again feel the pangs of impatience. Years of practicing restraint and then, in a mere few months, his hard earned patent for patience begins to fray at the ends. You'll be his undoing, he's sure of it.

Like a young and fresh-faced warrior itching for battle, it's almost embarrassing how Azriel can't seem to stay away from you. His feet wander and all paths lead to you.

His shadows are not helping.

Azriel thinks they've managed to get more insistent, which he hadn't really believe was possible. They've proven him oh-so wrong. When he walks the halls of the House of Wind, the dark wisps dart out, as though trying to tug him along.

He had trusted them all of two times before, face flushed and with an ungraceful but thankfully unnoticed exit, he learned just where they were leading him.

They were following the invisible thread between you, taking him to see his mate.

When it became clear he wasn't going to be coerced along, his shadows had only got more devious.

It's a particular brand of torture, Azriel thinks, to be delivered little parcels of knowledge of the person he's not allowing himself to see.

And they're ruthless about it. Whispers about how you're healing and the growing steadiness of your feet, the way you stand a little taller each day, about the tentative trust extended to Cassian.

Gods, that one had made his hand jerk across the paper in surprise, spilling a patch of ink onto the report he was in the middle of.

You were talking to Cassian— no, you were nearly friends with Cassian. The magnanimous hope had ballooned within him before Azriel remembered to stomp it back down.

Mor had teased him for the black stains on his hands during dinner.

He studies them now, nearly washed away completely, before he lifts his head. In the cool air of dusk, Azriel surveils the training ring from the shadows of the door, eyes scanning across the balcony.

It's empty, as expected. The rising moon is his only company.

You've stuck to training in the mornings, of course.

He's relieved and disappointed all at once—then Azriel forces that disappointment out of his system with a frustrated huff.

He is not allowed to be disappointed. Your trust is something he still needs to claw his way back to, to earn, and that required waiting and accepting that.

Azriel would see you... when you wanted to see him.

Despite his resolve, the thread between you still gives a futile tug before he can stop it. Scowling at himself, he rubs at his chest meanly, banishing the feeling. He steps down onto the balcony and heads towards the equipment.

As his scarred hands reach out and pluck one of the training staffs off the rack, his shadows twirls and trill, an almost teasing motion. It takes one pointed whisper, one tug on his heartstrings —they used that one just earlier today— before his hands are glowing warm from the second-hand touch.

His fingers spring apart and the staff hits the tiles with a loud clatter. Even though it's just him out on the balcony, he still casts an awkward glance around him. Gods

If his brothers could see him now, Azriel thinks dryly.

He swats at the shadow that had unhelpfully fed him the information. It dances away from him, swooping down to circle the staff on the ground with its others, a mass of black surrounding it.

Azriel bends down and gingerly picks up the staff, his hazel eyes staring at it for a long moment. Where your hands have been.

After a moment, his fingers curl around it. His marred hands feel like they're glowing again, warm and tingling, even if he knows it's all in his mind. Even so, he swears the golden thread between you hums, just ever so slightly.

He'll allow himself this, just this once, Azriel decides. His grip tightens and he heads to the ring, preparing to train, his hands where yours were just mere hours before.

—

The day after you had met Cassian, as the dawn breaks over sky, you find him on the training balcony before you.

You're a little later than you'd normally be, the sun actually rising before you do. You're moving a little more sluggishly too, but for once it's for a better reason.

Sleep, normally light and fitful for you, had actually been a reprieve last night. You slept deeply, falling into dreamless slumber and resting properly.

When morning crept in, dragging your eyelids up had felt like a mountainous amount of effort. Part of you wonders if it's because of the male across the balcony from you.

Allies, you had agreed upon.

It's a little easier to rest when you've made one less enemy.

Watching him now, stretching his supple and bulging arms, you have to force down the instilled anxiety that festers up, a force of habit that's kept you safe all these years.

You're not in Exordor anymore. You're not keeping any secrets.

Cassian clocks your hesitant stance in the doorway as he turns, a wide grin breaking across his face. His wings perk up, a genuine sign of his excitement. He stops his stretching momentarily to wave.

"Morning!" He calls out, despite the fact the distance between you doesn't require him to do so.

"Ally." He adds pointedly, leaning over to give an over the top wink.

Somewhere buried deep inside you, a laugh almost wants to wriggle free, but it's smothered before you can think too hard. You give him a wry smile instead, the best you can manage, and take a tentative step down onto the balcony. Your wings give a tiny shiver in the passing breeze.

"Good morning," You manage to return, the words sticking in your throat on the way up. It's awkward but nothing in Cassian's friendly demeanor changes to indicate he's noticed. Your feet lead you over towards the weapons rack.

It's as you reach them do you realise your heart is rabbiting wildly, pounding in your chest, stewing you in discomfort. The hair on the back of your neck rises, prickling with unease. Your back is turned to a fierce warrior, one that could very well attack you.

And worse, you'll be training next to him, still not healed, still stumbling on your feet—revealing all the ways to strike you down.

You—you haven't done this, ever. You haven't trained with someone completely as yourself, with no facade to hide beneath. It suddenly becomes incredibly vulnerable.

Your hand trembles as you reach out for the training staff and you try your best to swallow down your nerves.

Cassian has kept his distance, resuming his stretches, but you don't miss how his eyes dance over to you every couple of seconds. For a moment, it alarms you but as you find a place and settle into your stance, you steal another glimpse.

It's more like... a dog wagging its tail, you think faintly.

You press down the urge to smile and begin your exercises.

There's all of ten minutes of silence before it gets broken.

"How do you like Velaris?"

You pause in your motions, huffing to catch your breath as your grip the training staff loosens. You cast a glance over at Cassian who's now picked up one of the broadswords, beginning to throw its weight around easily.

You blink and for a moment, your eyes dart out over the edge of the balcony, to the city teeming with life, so close and yet so far from you. A part of you aches fiercely to see it.

"I... haven't been into the city." You answer honestly. It comes out curt and doesn't exactly answer his question.

Eyeing his sword nervously, your force your aching muscles through another series of exercises. You're a sliver better than the day before but when your ear twinges loudly, you still stumble, a minuscule motion. Your heart lurches up your throat, frustration welling like a tidal wave within you.

"Okay, then how do you like the House of Wind?"

You pause again, looking over to Cassian tentatively, the pain in your ear momentarily forgotten. The rising frustration in you dissipates at the distraction. He waves a casual hand over to the house you've been residing in since you arrived in Velaris and smiles once more.

You swallow thickly. What is his angle here?

"I haven't..." You struggle to put your thoughts into words. It's... different. New. Unsettling. You don't want to say the wrong thing. For all you know, this may well be his home.

Eventually, you find your voice. "I like my room. It's—" Several words ping to the front of your mind. "—big."

You cringe. Some compliment that is. You're too honest even if it is true; you're far too used to the familiar cramped space of your own cabin. Even sharing walls with others is foreign to you and you're incredibly thankful you haven't run into anyone unexpectedly in any corridors yet.

It doesn't occur to you that it might entirely be by design, thanks to Rhys' strict instruction.

Cassian grins. "Yes, I recall Illyria being hardly known for it's roomy cabins."

He swings the sword around with a flick of his wrist, more like an idle motion than anything. Your eyes still flicker down keenly, watching for any threat, just in case.

"So, you haven't explored the house much then?" Cassian continues, feigning a stab forward with the sword, his eyes on his motions but his attention still focused primarily on you.

You follow his lead and swing the training staff again, in an arching whoosh. You shake your head in answer to his question.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you always talk this much during training?"

The words come out before you can think to check them, sucking in a sharp breath as you realise how snappy that sounded. Like you're looking for a fight.

You ready yourself to sink into a defensive stance, before you realise that Cassian has only laughed in response. A curl of his tied back hair comes loose as he shakes his head, the action almost... fond.

"Only when I'm trying to make friends." He grins warmly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Sorry, I'll stop prying."

You swallow and nod slightly, hoping it won't be read as rude. Though you'd had a hard time believing it, Cassian had been true to his word; no fighting unless it was in the ring. You hadn't dared to go near it yet.

Readjusting your stance, you prepared to go through the motions once more. It's still a bit more of the juvenile exercises than you're used to—forced back to the basics as you retrain your body—but also because you're solitary training. You're used to sparring with others.

Stealing a glimpse at Cassian, you ponder if—if you might, eventually that is, train alongside him as you had done with Azriel.

Moving the training staff deftly, you thrust it forward and twist your lithe body to dart forward again, a small patter of your feet on the stone.

It's maneuver used for rushing opponents, throwing them off their balance and driving them backwards. It works for you, mostly, but the way your wings cut through the air, the slightest whistle through the holey scars, makes you a little unsteady.

"You fight like you're bigger than you are."

Straightening up, you breathe heavily and peer around the edges of your wings back at Cassian—who apparently isn't done talking at all.

He nods to you, in reference the maneuver you've just performed. "That is a move usually far better suited for someone of a larger stature."

You clear your throat, wings curling in a bit closer around you. "Yes. Azriel, he- he was trying to rectify that. There's only one way to train Illyrians, as I'm sure you know."

Cassian nods again, lowering the sword to hang at his side. "That I do. However, I feel Azriel may have been taking the wrong approach given... the information he was not privy to at the time."

Your brows knit together, something wrong twisting tightly in your chest.

"Because I'm..."

Female.

"Not a male?"

The words come out sharp without meaning to.

Cassian's picks up on your defensiveness, his expression softening. He gives a little so-so motion with his free hand, his wings rustling behind him. "A bit, but not for reasons you may think."

When you don't speak, he continues, his explanation unfurling.

"Your centre of gravity is different to ours. That actually changes the best way for you to fight. More of your strength comes from these—"

He slaps his hands down onto his thighs with a grin.

"—than from your arms. For that reason, there are moves you will be better at than what you've been taught."

Cassian cocks his head, his dark eyes squinting for a moment, deep in thought. "Azriel likely switched your training to agility based, didn't he?"

You nod gingerly. You had no idea if what he was said was true. If there was a fighting style suited to females. That would require... female warriors which, for all you've ever known, is a highly unlikely thing to exist.

Though, being he is the General of the Night Court's armies, you'd likely assume Cassian knows what he's talking about.

He nods, that same easy smile. "He was right to do so. Most camps focus on brute strength and stamina. Makes for good warriors that can take hits and keep going. You can train that way if you still wish but you might find you excel when your efforts are put elsewhere."

It takes a long moment before you realise exactly what his words mean.

An offer. He's offering to train you, to teach you.

Pleasant surprise blooms inside you, warm, curling up behind your ribs like a purring cat. Cassian's eyes are light and friendly, his body language relaxed as though if you turn him down, it'd be of no consequence to him. Merely an offer.

You turn it over in your mind, back and forth. The gentle wind from the mountains caresses across your cheekbones, a warm touch.

Inside, deep in your chest, there's something telling you to trust. To take the step forward, to accept Cassian's outstretched proposal. That you might regret it if you didn't.

"How?" Your eyes skirt up and down on instinct, still on alert for a threat that isn't coming.

Cassian grins infectiously, not even attempting to hide his glee. He rolls his shoulders back and assesses you once more.

"Have you ever heard of the headscissor takedown?"

—

Flesh hits stone, a large shuddering bang that echoes out the courtyard. In the distance, a couple birds take flight, squawking loudly. Pain ricochets through your knees, a warbling and jarring pain that has you gritting your teeth.

"You're..." Cassian's breath comes out raggedly. "Incredible!"

He beams from where he's pinned beneath you and your pain dashes away in a moment, something gleaning and prideful taking its place.

There's a rivulet of blood under his nose, his hair knocked loose, and you know hitting the ground as hard as he did won't have been nice. He continues on as if he hasn't.

"That was perfect form. You're a Cauldron-born natural!"

You huff a breath that might be an actual laugh this time and quickly retract yourself, standing to your feet. You waver momentarily, hesitance poisoning your thoughts, before you decide. Holding out your hand to help, Cassian is quick to put his hand in your own and use it to lug himself up.

When he gets to his feet, his grip loosens but he doesn't let go altogether.

"Hey," He says, more serious this time. His fingers around your wrist, soft and warm, still make your pulse jump nervously. You force yourself to meet his gaze, still friendlier than ever. "Seriously. You're very skilled and you're a fast learner. You've got the makings to be lethal. The Night Court is lucky to have you on our side."

His hand slips back, grazing your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel the way your heart skips a beat.

No one has ever been... lucky to have you. It's so foreign that hearing someone say it aloud makes you forget to breath for one long second.

"I—" The word pushes out before you think about it. "That's... You-"

Praise is not a part of Illyrian training. You fumble with it, feeling entirely out of your depth, feeling oddly proud of yourself. It feels like your cheeks are warmer than usual.

Cassian chuckles, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "You're welcome." He says pointedly, making you realise you're supposed to say thank you after someone compliments you.

You flounder for another second, making Cassian laugh again, louder this time. He reaches forward and lightly taps you on the shoulder, a faux punch.

"You'll get used to it." He says. Part of you really, really wants to. "Now, c'mon. Let's go again. Hit me."

—

You think that now Cassian's got what he wanted—the two of you training together, learning the plethora of new moves, stances, blocks he has in his repertoire—he wouldn't have anymore questions.

You're sorely, sorely, wrong.

Two mornings later, the pair of you prepare for some sparring with the swords in the ring. Cassian's purposefully picked one of the heavier ones for himself, broad and long, but he'd put aside a blade for you.

It's smaller, lighter. It reminds you of Heartstriker.

Which reminds you of Azriel.

The mere thought of him has your heart humming, miserable and elated all at once. You're still not sure if you'd like to see him just yet, the confusing twist of betrayal too fresh, but still, some part of you seeks him out, consciously or not.

You want to wander the halls until you find the door to leads to him.

It's because he was your first friend. You reason, as you step up towards the sparring ring. He was the first person you trusted. Was? Is—maybe.

Do you still trust him?

Cassian is already in the ring, waiting as patiently as he can. His rustling wings give him away, even as casual as he looks leaned up against one of the corner posts.

His wings are stretched out, towards the sun's rays that are just beginning to slip over the horizon, trying to steal some of their warmth.

A yawn slips past your lips. The night of restful sleep was an outlier it seemed, the tendrils of a calming, easy sleep stolen away just as quickly.

Fingers curling around the hilt of the short sword, you step gingerly into the ring, eyes casting across to your opponent. You roll your shoulders back, warming up the muscles a bit more, and give your own wings a little shake. A shiver wracks through you in response, the chill of the morning touching on sensitive scars.

"Is there a particular reason Azriel is avoiding you?"

Your head snaps up at the sound of Cassian's voice, cool and calm.

He hasn't shifted, though his wings are tucked back in now. His sword is still relaxed at his side, his worn hand tucked around the hilt of it freely.

The usual chattiness that Cassian has been able to coax out of you these last few days shrivels up. Azriel is avoiding you? You hadn't wanted to see him but this—something curls up inside you, sour and foul. You swallow hard.

"I hadn't realised." You murmur, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into your words.

Cassian blinks and seems to realise his mistake. He waves a hand dismissively, as if it can scratch away his last words. "I misspoke. I believe he is... keeping his distance."

He furrows his brow, face pinched, picking his words carefully. "For your sake." He adds.

You... don't know how you feel about that. On one hand, you're relieved. It's not by pure chance that you haven't seen him yet, it's purposeful—he's keeping out of your way, giving you peace.

On the other hand, something twined in your chest pangs sorrowfully, mourning the distance between you.

While Cassian's presence as an ally (or perhaps, you'll even admit, a friend) is comforting, you'll admit it does not fill the same shape in you as Azriel does. You miss him, quite terribly so.

"What makes you think he's avoiding me?" You ask.

Cassian gives an little shrug, his head tilting to the side just a bit. He smiles in a way that tells you he knows more than he lets on. Or maybe, he simply knows Azriel far better than you do.

"He usually trains in the morning." He explains nonchalantly. "He's taken to training at night since your arrival."

You frown at the new information. You don't want Azriel to be changing things for you, to bend and warp his routines in his home, just for you. You don't want him to avoid you either, even if you're beginning to think you might never be brave enough to face him.

He left you. He was your first friend and the betrayal of that is entirely too new— but you don't know where to draw the line.

You don't know for how long you're allowed to be upset — or how long you can let this go on before you're punishing yourself just as much as you are him.

Flexing your grip on the sword, you stare across at Cassian and when you open your mouth, the words tumble out with warning.

"He..." Your breath hitches.

Something awful hooks into your chest, remembering the way he had folded himself into shadows, away from you. The look on his face.

"He left me. When I needed him more than ever." You admit.

Your voice doesn't waver but Cassian can still see the slight tremble in your shoulders, rolling in. Your eyes have dropped to study the floor of the sparring ring, seemingly lost in the memory.

Cassian's face softens, his heart aching for you. You don't even notice how your own wings have begun to curl in, a soft, comforting blanket around yourself.

It's clear you're struggling to juggle the myriad of emotions that haunt you and he gets it, Mother, does he get it. It had been hard the first time, during those first tentative months of friendship with Rhys, before Azriel was even in the picture. Cassian had one emotion that served him any purpose and that was spite.

Spite kept him alive. Spite told him who to knock down and who to put down.

Friendships and spite are not the greatest combination. When Rhys had done something Cassian had vehemently disagreed with, it had felt like a deception, stinging as badly as the backhand from Lord Devlon, sneering the word bastard.

It took time to undo the messy tangle of emotions, to learn that not all betrayal fell into the same box. That forgiveness for some people was not weakness at all.

So, Cassian asks. "Did he come back?"

You glance up at him, eyes flickering with emotion at the question. After a moment, you swallow and say. "Yes. He did."

Cassian nods. He stretches his wings out a bit and reaches up to push a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"Alright. How long do you intend to punish him for that mistake?"

You freeze at that question and Cassian can tell he's hit the right spot. You're unsure how long you should—because all you know is that you're hurt. And when you're hurt, you don't know any other way to deal with it.

There's only one pathway ingrained for when someone hurts you. Cassian realises suddenly, Mother help him, that he must try to be good at the talking side of things. He needs to show you there's other ways you can go.

"Because," He continues, not waiting for your answer. "I can assure you that Azriel will punish himself for far longer and far harsher than you ever will. I've known my brother a long time. If there anyone who understands the gravity of his actions and will torture himself over them, it's Azriel."

A hesitant expression shutters across your face, your brows furrowing slightly. Cassian doesn't need Rhys' daemati gift to understand the conflict that's battling within you.

"You think I should forgive him."

You don't pose it as a question. A little bit more of that iciness has bled back into your voice, on guard again.

Cassian can tell that, like him, you don't take well to being told what to do. That's fine; Cassian has no intention of doing that whatsoever.

"I think that is your decision entirely." Cassian says, letting the words breathe so they truly sink in. He watches as your eyes narrow momentarily and then your shoulders relax, sinking down an inch.

"But," He says gingerly. "If you avoid each other, you might never move past this. Might never move forward. It might be worth considering what you really want at the end of the day."

The sun has properly broken across the mountain ridges, no longer just sparse rays. You turn your face, facing towards the warmth. There's still that scrunch between your eyebrows, betraying your deep thought, but Cassian has said enough for now.

He moves his sword and taps the end of it against the stone, a soft steel ping grabbing your attention. You whip your head back to face him and Cassian grins, raising his sword.

"Enough talking. More fighting."

You smile, a little hesitant but entirely genuine, and raise your sword in response. That's one thing you're sure you know how to do right.

[NEXT PART: FRIENDS (AGAIN)]

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[rinhaler]

assuming ur reqs are still open, can we please get younger stepbro!megumi watching you get off through a peephole in the wall? and like you know he's watching so you call him a little perv and he gets harder 👀

i'm sorry if it's too specific sdjsdjsjjls ofc u don't have to do this, have a lovely day!!

-a follower who's too shy to come off anon

I hope this is okay for you! I've never really thought about writing a younger step brother thing before since I'm not into younger guys myself but I hope I made it fun for you to read, enjoy my angel!

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, masturbation (m+f), voyeurism, vibrator use, stepcest ofc.

words: 1.1k

Going from being an only child to having a little brother was always going to be a big adjustment. It’s not like you’re that much older, but moving into a new home to accommodate a four person and two dog household was a big change. You had your own room on the ground floor of your old home. Your mother didn’t stop you from coming and going as you pleased.

But now, you have a room directly next door to Megumi.

You’re always butting heads and even your stepdad has been giving you trouble since your family merged. You have a curfew for the first time in your life. You aren’t allowed boys over and you haven’t been able to party in months. You’re frustrated. Constantly pent up from the lack of excitement in your life.

Megumi hasn’t helped the situation in the least. He’s a quiet introvert with a wicked tongue when he starts. You argue a lot, and he always gets you into trouble. You’re the wayward party girl. Whereas he’s the studious quiet guy that couldn’t ever put a foot wrong.

You’re going stir crazy.

And it’s been weeks since you got laid.

You took a risk when you decided to order a new vibrator to alleviate your tension. If you can’t satiate it with sex, a big pink wand will have to do. You didn’t want to get caught by a stupid mistake like your parents or your brother opening the parcel. So you ordered it to a friend’s house. She didn’t judge, but she dropped it off the very next day for you, winking and telling you not to have too much fun.

Fingers aren’t enough, they haven’t been for years.

The only thing that can relieve your growing tension is the buzz of a vibrator. You have small bullets and they do just fine, but if your stepdad is insisting on you having no life and no hook ups, you knew you had to up the ante.

The only other person home right now is Megumi. Your parents are at work and you quite frankly can’t wait to watch some porn and cum all over your toy. You hurry up the stairs and take it out of the packaging. You test to see if it has any charge, it does, and decide to forgo charging. You don’t care about a lengthy edging session. You just want to cum.

And you’ve known about the sick little hole Megumi drilled between your bedrooms for weeks now. He thought you weren’t home when he did it, opting to hide when he started peeping through. It’s behind a Weezer poster adjacent to his bed. You’ve seen the familiar green eye numerous times and opted not to say anything. Not because you want him to leer at you. But because you’re holding it to use as ammunition next time he really pisses you off.

You hear the indiscreet sound of his poster moving after you test the buzz of your vibrator. And you smirk, hearing how he carefully tries to unzip his pants and groans softly the second his hand holds his cock.

It’s an all too familiar sound, now. Him wanking over you at any given chance. It’s weird considering he has zero interest in you as a human being, doing anything he can to hinder your life. But watching you undress slowly everyday multiple times leaves him spent. And the intimate moments after dark that you have to yourself and the quietly playing porn you choose to watch on your phone are the highlights of his day.

He strokes himself slowly as you strip down to nothing, you’re teasing him as you fondle your breasts before getting comfortable on your bed. You settle for some lewd ASMR. A random man with a deep voice telling you what a good girl you are among other things. You do exaggerate a few moans, pretending that you have no idea that your brother is home and playing with himself over you.

It feels incredible.

You knew a wand would be powerful, but you had no idea to this extent.

“O-Oh, fuck, shit—” you gasp, cumming almost instantly as you up the speed to full. You’re shaking and shivering as your orgasm rips through you, and the sheer quickness of it all makes you burst into laughter. You cover your mouth, giggling, in a state of disbelief of how amazing this pink silicone toy is.

Megumi licks his lips, beating himself off quicker after realising you’ve came already. He hadn’t expected you to finish so quickly, but he keeps replaying the sound of your moans in his mind as he tries to chase you in your release. But he slows, again, when he hears you restart the wand. He grunts, too loudly, as he watches your hips roll into the wand, chasing the feeling of that release again.

“Such a little perv, Megumi.” you moan… not stopping the buzzing against your clit as you talk to him. “W-What would dad think? If he knew you were getting hard and cumming over me?”

He bites his lips, unable to believe you knew he was doing this. And even more shocked that you aren’t stopping, letting him watch you. Maybe even getting off on it? If he’s a perv, what does that make you?

But he knows he’s a perv. He’s had a thing for you since the minute he set eyes on you. Unable to believe how brazen you were with bringing boys home and making out with them without a care in front of your parents. Toji hated it, and so did Megumi. But he couldn’t deny it turned him on. And seeing how riled up you were getting after Toji’s boy ban was when he knew he had to take the plunge and make a little peephole for himself.

Spying on you every chance he got whenever you felt particularly needy or just wanted to change your outfit. He’s had so many jerk-off sessions to you thinking you were clueless.

But you’ve known… the whole time. It’s too much for him. It’s going to bring him to his fucking end.

“You’re such a slut…” he pants, his teeth piercing the skin on his lip enough to draw blood.

“I-I’d rather be a- a slut. Meg-umi. Than a gross little perv like you. Watchin’ me cum everyday… watchin’ me change… such a sicko. Hnng—!” you tense up, trying to hold back your orgasm while taunting your brother.

He cums, spurting white globs all over his fist and up the wall. You hear him hissing and grunting as he finishes, you even hear the sticky fisting sound over the buzz of your vibrator. He begins to pant, deep and heavy as a bead of sweat runs down his forehead.

“I hate you.” he mutters, putting his poster back down and moving away to clean himself up.

“Awe, come back Megs!” you giggle. “Don’t you wanna watch me cum?”

© 2023 rinitxshi

[ladybyakuya]

 ❝ ATLEAST WE SEE THE SAME MOON ❞ + ( sakusa kiyoomi, hinata shoyo, atsumu miya, bokuto koutaro,meian shūgo ) 

cw. | headcanon/scenarios about how they act while being away from you vs how they act when they actually get to see you; gn-reader, boyfriend headcanons, first-time long-distance relationships, fluff, brief mentions of smut, established relationship. || redirect to blog navigation.

notes. | recently rewatched hq so here's something to get rid of my nostalgic brain rot.

☆ SAKUSA KIYOOMI

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a man of less talk and more work most of the time. He is the kind to miss you day and night without diluting his efficiency in the game. Even texting seems hard for him a phone call seems a little too demanding. He will call you when he is at the far end of a high cliff yet not tell you how much he misses you, your voice, your touch around the house. . . everything in general. But after calling for onetime it starts to become frequent and his talk is full of: "Did you miss me?", " Do you even miss me?", " you rarely call me"; even though he is the one who has told you not to call when you feel like it yet he is the one to call you to say that he misses you a lot and most of the time it is out of context. Maybe you are talking about your day, or some local news but when you finish he just spurts "I miss you". There are two seconds of silence then he says again, "I miss you a lot." But when he is finally home, with you on the same bed and inside you, he would still say, "Did you miss me?" and then places open mouth kisses all over your body saying, " because I sure missed you a lot."

★HINATA SHOYO 

 Hinata is used to being away from his favorite people but he is not used to being away from you. His texts are frequent and regularly calls you to check on you but when he misses you he never tells instead he visits famous tourist spots and video calls you, shows you those famous tourist spots through video call and says, "i wish we could see this together," and then goes on autopilot mode of talking. You ask him to repeat what he just said and he does repeat except what you want to hear. It is a pulling-pushing game and the end results are embarrassment, laughter, and confession. He never gives a room to complain but time and place keep you apart from him. He often sends you parcels containing matching pieces of jewellery and outfits. And after such deliveries, he visits you and brings souvenier for everyone, even for you but says, "Don't worry this is not the only thing i came for to give you." So, when everyone is sleeping in the house and you two are awake and barely clad. He says, "I've more souvenirs for you," as he admires the bite marks over your body while hooking his arms around your thighs, getting ready for the next step.

��✮ ATSUMU MIYA

Atsumu's way of telling you that he misses you is not very stealthy but if you tease too much, his verbal expression comes to a halt since he will build a cocoon around him. Sure, he wears his heart of his sleeve, sometimes on his face but he is never the one to be good with teasing especially coming from his beloved. So, he regularly sends you gifts with an endearing note and when he finally comes home unannounced, he is found in the bedroom with a box full of all those notes he send you, crying. He is crying for two reasons. one: his surprise did not go as he planned. two: he is missing you right now more than ever. When you finally come home, both of you get surprised at first and then he goes back to his whining self about how he wanted to surprise you, talking about his matches and food. Talking about food is a must because he will never admit how good Ongiri MIya is and as he keeps talking he follows you everywhere you go, every corner of the house, and gives you the puppiest face he can manage if you do not let him inside the shower with you. But you actually do, because the owner did miss this puppy.

★ BOKUTO KOUTARO 

 Bokuto makes time for you every day. He is the kind who tells you each and every detail of his each day before going to bed when he misses you. He tells you that he is coming over next weekend to see you and gets pouty when you are not surprised. It is not a wonder to you that it totally slipped his mind that he actually did mention that he is coming to see you but when you mention that you have specifically taken a day off since he was coming he is instantly is in his high spirits. Because he gets to spend time with you, He gets to spend each and every moment with you,he gets to go out with you, he gets to binge-watch shows with you. There are so many things he get to do wuth you just because he told you that he is coming to see you beforehand. isn't that great? Well, of course it is. As much as he is excited to do all these things, he ends up doing nothing instead spending the whole day in bed with you: talking and listening, talking and touching, touching and kissing, kissing and fucking and then fucking and talking again. If you say that you have to cook he says, "can't we order a take out today?" just so he could cuddle you just fiften minutes more.

 ☆MEIAN SHŪGO

 Meian has a reserved time for you, during weekends unless a match comes up. Everyone knows that even team-mates, parents and coach. He asks you to keep the video call on and do whatever you are doing. It is a nice feeling, almost having him like he is with you, around you even if it is through those rectangular screens. But late at night, he gets a little too sneaky and demanding asking what you are wearing? or says that there's something on your shoulder even if there is not. He takes the longest detour to tell you that he misses you. But all of that just sublimes when you say that you are going to shower. He keeps quiet for a moment and ends uo saying the most common reaction,"without me?" There are times when the answer is yes with a huge nod from your end but there are also times, when you say, "No. You can watch." But Meian does not survive your whole shower time. He even ends the video call just before you are fully naked yet deep down in his heart he believes he can improve with time.