#I don’t think he is built at all but he has broad shoulders.

[jaxieus]

Thinking of him again

[pure-smut]

sunshine.

featuring: Hinata Shoyo x f!reader

contains: timeskip!Hinata, best friends to lovers, unprotected s*x, creampie, slight overstimulation at the end

word count: 2.4k

note: all characters are aged up to 18+!

MDNI | 18+ content

Masterlist

a/n: if anyone knows the artist for the cover picture, I searched everywhere and couldn't find them!! Pls and ty in advance <3

When Hinata Shoyo left for Brazil, it was like an eclipse over your life.

You’re best friends so you still talk almost every day, whether it’s quick messages squeezed into busy days or a video call right as one of you wakes up and the other one is about to sleep. But Hinata was the sunshine in your life - a bright, burning ball of energy that powered your days. When he left, everything went a little bit gloomier.

You’re busy yourself with college – meeting new people, keeping up with classes, and making time to catch up with everyone from Karasuno. Still, it feels like a candle trying to compete with the sun.

So when you show up at a house party, not really feeling up for it but wanting to see your old classmates again, you stop dead in the doorway.

Sitting on the sofa, surrounded by everyone you know, you see shock of orange hair and hear a familiar laugh. Your mouth falls open.

“Sho…?”

Hinata turns at the sound of your voice, a broad smile breaking out on his face. The moon slides to the side, the sun shining again. Your heart thunders in your ears.

“Y/n!” he calls out, leaping up and sprinting over to you.

You’re still in shock when he scoops you up into a hug, squeezing you tight.

“You’re here?” is all you can say.

Hinata doesn’t stop hugging you but you hear him laugh, vibrating through his chest.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” He pulls back to grin at you, brown eyes alight. “Are you surprised?”

You huff out laughter, your shock subsiding, and wrap your arms around his neck for another hug.

“It’s a great surprise,” you say, smiling hard.

It’s only when you put your arms around him that you realise how big he’s gotten. He’s a few inches taller than before and he’s broader than you remember, his shoulders hard as rocks. When you pull away from the hug, you hope he doesn’t notice the blush dusting your cheeks.

You both make your way into the party to a chorus of greetings from your old classmates. Hinata sits back down on the sofa but you linger, realising all the seats are taken.

“Um…”

“Sit here, y/n,” Hinata says, patting his thigh.

You don’t know why the idea makes you blush so hard – you and Hinata were always physically close, not afraid to hug or touch. Maybe it's because it's been years since you saw him in person. Maybe it's because...

You search his face for any sign he feels as flustered as you but he’s wearing an easy smile, his head cocked to the side as he waits for you to reply.

“S-sure,” you stammer out.

As soon as you slide onto Hinata’s lap, his arm snakes around your waist, resting his hand on your hip. His thighs are solid beneath you, as built as the rest of him. You obviously knew he trained hard in Brazil but you didn’t realise just how much he’s changed. You chance a glance at him, wondering if anything else has changed.

Hinata catches your eye.

“You okay?” he asks, flashing you a smile. “Comfy?”

Confidence. Hinata hasn’t only gained muscle in Brazil – the awkward teenage boy you knew has been replaced with a man. A man who flirts with his best friend, who invites you to sit on his lap with ease.

You wonder if he’s flirting because it’s you or because it’s his personality now. You’re not sure.

You’ve been quiet for too long because Hinata’s smile starts to drop. His eyebrows furrow.

“Seriously, you okay?” He lowers his voice, leaning in closer. “You don’t need to sit here if you don’t want.”

You shake your head.

“No, it’s fine. Sorry, I was just…” You give him a sheepish smile. “I was thinking, you’ve changed a lot.”

“I have?” Hinata looks genuinely confused before his expression clears. “Oh! Yeah, I grew like three inches!”

He grins wide and you smother your laughter.

“I mean, yeah, that,” you say. “But you’re like… bigger.”

You get the first glimpse of the Hinata you used to know as his cheeks tint pink. He rubs the back of his neck bashfully and you’re treated to his bicep bulging with the movement.

“Heh, yeah, I guess so.” His eyes swivel to yours. “You’ve changed too.”

This catches you off guard. You glance down at yourself before looking back up at him.

“Me?”

“Yeah. It’s like you get prettier every year.”

Your cheeks go hot. Hinata holds your gaze and you get a familiar feeling in your stomach, something you haven’t felt since he left. Intense, like you’re looking directly at the sun. Your skin prickles and you feel light-headed, like you’ve been sunbathing too long. It’s the effect Hinata has on you, that he’s always had on you.

Your sunshine.

Hinata’s hand tightens on your hip, not looking away. There’s something taut between you that thrums with electricity. You know there’s a party full of people around you but everything around Hinata has fallen into darkness. He’s the burning ball of fire in front of you, blocking out all else.

“I really want to kiss you,” he confesses, voice low and thick. “But I want to do it somewhere better. You deserve somewhere better.”

Your throat feels suddenly dry. You open your mouth to say something but your voice sticks. You give a small nod instead, not able to tear your eyes away from his.

“Let me take you out tomorrow,” Hinata says. “Please?”

You lick your lips to wet them and Hinata eyes dart down before flicking back up.

“Yeah,” you manage to croak out. “I’d really like that.”

Hinata grins like he’s just won a volleyball game, his ears pink. You both return to the chatter of the party but you feel Hinata’s thumb tracing circles on your hip, his hand on you the entire night.

*

You spend the entire next day trying on clothes and throwing them to the floor. Hinata had told you to dress nice and be ready for 7pm but he insisted on keeping the rest a secret. The closer that 7pm gets, the more frantic you are.

Eventually, you settle on a short black dress, showing just enough leg and cleavage without looking like you’re about to hit up a club. You’re finishing the last of your make-up as the doorbell goes. 7pm on the dot.

You open the door to see Hinata grinning, holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers, and your heart melts. He’s wearing a fitted emerald green shirt, tight across his chest and arms, in contrast to the fiery orange of his hair. If you hadn’t noticed the change in him before, you wouldn’t be able to ignore it now.

But Hinata’s smile falters as he sees you. He blinks once, twice, his mouth dropping open. His eyes trail down your body as his ears turn hot pink.

“Holy shit,” he exclaims.

It’s your turn to blush under the intensity of Hinata’s gaze. You gesture for him to come inside and he does as you close the door behind him. You barely have time to turn around before Hinata closes the space between you, forcing you to press your back against the door.

Hinata scoops his hand under your jaw, tilting your face up to his. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he dips his head, his other hand finding your waist. When he kisses you, he feels like molten fire.

Hinata’s lips are soft but his grip on your jaw is firm, only a fraction of his strength. You clutch at the hard muscles of his back, anchoring yourself to him. When his lips part yours to deepen the kiss, you give no resistance. His tongue meets your own as you moan into his mouth, melting under his touch. Hinata’s body responds, his cock hardening until you can feel it pressed against your lower stomach.

When he pulls away, you’re both breathless.

“I’m sorry.” He presses his forehead against yours. “I had a whole plan but when I saw you…”

Hinata tightens his grip on you, his fingers tangling in your hair as he cradles the back of your skull.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he finishes, shaking his head. “I wanted it to be perfect for you.”

“It was perfect,” you tell him and it’s the truth.

You’re almost dizzy and your skin feels like it’s on fire. You’ve always missed your best friend but now you crave him. Your hands run up his back as you reach up to kiss him again.

“Fuck…” he mumbles against your mouth. “I don’t wanna stop.”

“Then let’s not stop,” you say, kissing across his jaw.

“The reservation…” Hinata’s hips grind against yours on instinct as your lips reach his neck. “Our – ah – date…”

He groans as you lick across his windpipe, his bulge now apparent as he continues to grind it against you, his body moving of its own accord.

“I waited so long to show you…” He sounds so upset with himself.

“Sho.” You take his face in your hands, looking at him. His eyes are half-lidded and glazed over. “All I want is you. I don’t need anything else.”

Hinata’s face softens. He leans forward to bury his face in your neck.

“I missed you so much,” he says, voice muffled. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You reach around to run your fingers through his vibrant hair, feeling him shudder with pleasure under your touch.

“Show me,” you whisper.

Hinata’s resolve crumbles. He’s spent so long taming his impulsive side, the part of him that moves without thinking, without regard for consequences. But now you’re in front of him, asking him to take you, and the rest of the world goes white.

He dips his head to kiss you again, this time with intent. His hands grab at you, fingers digging into your flesh as he presses you flush to him, trapping you between his body and the door.

As his tongue laps into your mouth, he reaches down to grab your thigh, holding it up and forcing your dress to ride up over your hips. His bulge grinds against your clothed pussy, the friction making your clit throb with need. You tilt your head back and sigh as Hinata trails wet kisses down your neck.

With two layers of fabric between you, you start to whine, needing more. Hinata’s spent years wondering what you sound like, imagining the noises he could get you to make, but nothing compares to hearing you for the first time.

His movements are frantic, hooking his fingers over the hem of your panties before tugging them down. They’re not even fully off, still dangling around your ankle when Hinata unzips his jeans, pushing them down just enough for his cock to spring free.

Now it’s happening – now it’s finally happening – he can’t hold back. He grabs your ass with both hands, lifting you until you can feel his fat tip pressing against your hole.

“Are you okay?” he breathes. His cheeks are flushed pink, his lips red and swollen. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, Sho. I need you.”

Hinata presses you against the door as he pushes himself inside. He doesn’t want to go too fast, doesn’t want to hurt you, but as soon as he feels your walls around him, he can’t help himself. He pumps in and out of you shallowly, desperate for more friction from your heavenly pussy without going too deep too fast.

“Ah!” you gasp as he penetrates your needy hole, the ridges around his mushroom tip stimulating your nerves in a way that makes your thighs quiver.

You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him deeper. Hinata is more than happy to oblige, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he sinks his cock further inside you. You grip the hard muscles of his shoulders, feeling him reach the sensitive spot inside you.

When you open your eyes, you see Hinata watching your face intently, a notch between his brows. His eyes have done dark, that same intense look in his face when he’s locked onto something. Or someone.

Hinata’s cock slides back and forth over the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you and you know it’s pushing you close to the edge.

“T-there, Sho…” you whimper. “Right there, fuck-!”

Your voice is so sweet, so high with lust and need. Hinata picks up his speed, fucking you so hard the door rattles behind you. You didn’t know he had this in him, this feral side, but you’re more than happy to be on the other end of it. Your cunt is drooling over his cock, only making it easier for him to fuck you as hard as he wants.

“Sho, I’m… I’m gonna…”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, your toes curling as he brings you to orgasm.

Your plush, slick walls massage his cock, quivering around him as you cum. Hinata’s stroked himself to the thought of you before - many times - but nothing comes close to this. His fist can’t compare to the way you milk his cock, so hot and tight. But it’s your face that Hinata can’t stop watching.

The way your lips part, your features contorting in pleasure, your eyes glazed over with lust. Hinata knew when he left for Brazil that he loved you. He didn’t think he could fall any further. Until now.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groans, his cock throbbing, knowing he’s close. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Even as he cums, Hinata can’t stop fucking you. He unleashes thick ropes of cum inside you, still pumping in and out, a flurry of curses falling from his lips. The mix of your fluids is indescribable, the noise of your sloppy cunt only spurring him on. He keeps going until he can’t cum anymore, until it’s almost painful. Only then does he pull out, a flood of his cum following, running down your thigh.

“Holy shit,” Hinata gasps, releasing his grip on you so you can stand.

When your legs quake, he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you up.

“Fuck, Sho…” you huff out laughter.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, running a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

Hinata glances down at where your dress is stained with his cum and winces.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Here, let me clean you up. Where’s the bathroom? I’ll run you a bath.”

“Slow down,” you laugh. “Let me look at you a second, okay?”

You reach up to cup his face and he rests his hand on yours, turning to kiss your palm, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Let’s make up for lost time, hm?” you say with a smile and Hinata looks at you like you’re made of sunshine.

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[bambiimutt]

He makes you cry during an Argument.

Arguments with these boys? What could possibly go wrong..

ೃ࿔*:･

Headcannons and short stories under the cut!

ೃ࿔*:･

TW!! talk of Hoodie stalking, but not major! I think that’s it!!

Jeffrey Hodex:

- you’d think an argument with your boyfriend who loves you oh so dearly would hopefully end in him apologizing. Wanting to make sure he didn’t say anything to you to hurt you.. but you sometimes forget he’s not the normal person.

-Jeff has anger issues and it’s not a surprise to anyone when it’s brought up. So typically with any argument he has, his anger tends to get the better of him.

-which means if the argument is small it’s bound to be blown out of proportion, if it’s a pretty bad argument it’s about to be even worse.

-he doesn’t like to listen. To him he’s always right. He’s never wrong even if deep down he knows he actually fucked up he doesn’t want to admit it because he doesn’t want to look “weak” or too “soft”

-he typically doesn’t feel bad if you end up getting hurt emotionally, you’ll get a good ol scoff and roll of the eyes while he tells you “it’s not that big of a fucking deal, you don’t need to be so emotional.” Along the lines of that.

-but… you might just tug a few heart strings when he realized he’s made you cry. It’s when he sees that he’s scared you that he breaks a little. He’s got a habit of punching walls, breaking shit around the house when you both argue, screaming in your face.. and if it all leads to you finally breaking down and shaking that’s where he finally draws his line.

-he didn’t mean to scare you.. not like that at least. The last thing he wants is for you to be scared of him. He loves you.. even if he shows it in odd ways. He’s an asshole yes but he’s your asshole.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Would you just fucking Listen!” Jeff screamed out. His hands were immediately gripping onto his pants, trying his damned hardest to not punch the closest thing to him. But he can’t help himself the moment you cross your arms and give him that fucking look. “Jeffrey. Cut it out, I’ve listened to you for the past 40 fucking minutes.. you need to listen to me-“ you’re cut off quickly hearing his hand collide with the wall and a loud grunt leaving his lips. He’s slightly heaving, breathing heavily and hair a bit messy in front of his face. You jumped a bit, backing up quickly when he immediately whipped around to trudge towards you, black combat boots making him taller then he already was. His large hand was quick to grab your jaw and squish your cheeks together just slightly. “No you fucking listen to me. Stop being a fucking bitch. Why do you have to pick at everything I fucking do, huh?! Huh?!” If he was a scrawny guy you’d say you’d be able to at least get free but no.. no he was a big guy, tall. Muscular, broad shoulders.. built chest. His biceps twitched slightly as his grip grew harder. There was no way you were escaping this. Not with him. Your small hands pushed at his arm and your eyes watered, a tear falling onto his fingers. Oh.. Jeff’s grip softened as he slowly let go. His form lowering himself so he was at your level. “Oh baby.. oh..” his hands hesitated before cupping your cheeks and his lips are kissing at the corners of your lips, trailing towards your ear. “I didn’t mean it..” his voice is deep, gruff and low in your ear as you immediately wrap your arms around his waist. “I’m sorry..” really it’s the only time you’ll get a sorry out of him, a genuine one at that.

Tobias Rogers

- he’s one of the ones who’s a bit more understanding. He can’t exactly understand physical pain or frustration but he can completely understand emotional pain and anger.. and how fucking awful it can be to handle. So when he’s stood, tall and lanky in front of you, hands swinging in the air and his voice raising he can suddenly feel the room shift to a hurt.. deep cut feeling.

- he tries not to yell he tries to hear you out when you both have an argument, but having BPD can be an issue when it comes to that.. you say one thing in a slight tone and he’s set off. Oh? So this is his fault suddenly? Why did you have to say it like that? You could have said it this way. Why do you have to be such a fucking asshole?

-when in reality that’s not how you meant it at all.. and yes Toby does feel bad for it afterwards he shouldn’t have lashed out that way, he should have sat and listened and maybe asked why you said it that way.. but sometimes things get the better of us.

-he’s not always the one to apologize afterwards but he does when he knows he really fucked up. He can’t lose you not to something so fucking stupid. “I-I’m sorry.. you didn’t deserve to hear that.. to e-endure any of that..” with a sniffle you look up at him teary eyed. Oh that really hurts. “It’s okay Toby” he’s immediately at your side, hands brushing your hair back and placing gentle kisses to your jaw. It kills him when you cry.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“I don’t know Toby I’m just tired..” this is what set him off. The way you said it. You were tired? of this? Of him? Of this relationship? “Are you fucking serious?” He speaks with his teeth clenched together, his head resting in his hands before he’s looking up at your slowly. His body slightly twitches from time to time, though when he was angry it usually became an issue for him, twitching far too often, clearing his throat more aggressively. His tics would normally become more violent in some ways. “Are we just d-done then? That’s it just b-because you’re tired yo-you can’t fucking walk away-“ his arm flys up in the air as he stands, his hands coming to rub at his face and the patch of hair on his chin. His tired droopy eyes dart towards you. You didn’t necessarily start crying because he scared you it was more of the the stress of the situation. “Toby please that’s not what I meant.” He still hasn’t noticed as his tall figure is rambling on, tics making his occasional grip and smack to his leg but he of course can’t feel it. When he finally looks at you he realizes you’ve been crying and it stops. The room becomes quiet and he twitches a few more times before softly kneeling on the floor where you sat. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that.. I’m sorry..” he’s softly laying you down on the floor as his lips trail your neck, his hands placing your arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry.” He mumbles against your neck.

-Ben Lawman/drowned

- to be honest he’s probably not the one who started it. He’s usually pretty calm, and quiet…. Except for when he wants to act like a child and become ignorant and downright inappropriate.

-he can be perverted.. gross and this is usually where the arguments start, not that you don’t like him nor the way he acts it’s more when he says things he shouldn’t be saying. So you typically end up yelling at him and he will normally sit embarrassed and feeling a bit guilty.. he didn’t think you’d get so upset.

- on occasion if the argument isn’t about that and about something else he still is usually the one to just take it but there are rare moments where he snaps back. And when he does. Oh boy.

-constant pacing back and forth, hands in his hair, sharp glares at you and laughing in disbelief. He’ll sometimes say things he doesn’t mean. He’s usually not one to yell but when he does you aren’t really expecting it. So it scares you.. and the tears finally break.

- ben only stares for a moment. “Shit.” Yeah he fucked up big time. He immediately feels guilty and he immediately rushes towards you to pull you into a tight embrace. He didn’t mean to take it that far.. he really didn’t, knowing it was him who made you cry makes him want to break down himself.

ೃ࿔*:･

“You can hate me yknow, I won’t blame you, or be angry..” Ben mumbled against your hair, your sniffling shattering his dead heart even further. You look up at the blonde, your fingers lacing their way into his hair as you force a bit of a smile “I just.. I hate when we argue like that..” your voice breaks causing Ben to swallow. Oh no. There’s that lump in his throat. His hands rub at your back before feeling his way towards your lower half, squeezing gently. “I know babe. Don’t listen to me when I get like that yeah?” You give a gentle smile as he softly lifts you up, bringing you closer as he grabs his controller, getting ready to play his game and have you relax against him. Occasionally he’ll presses kisses to your forehead. He doesn’t like to talk about the arguments, maybe because he doesn’t know how to handle his emotions and yours at the same time or maybe he’s just scared it’ll lead to another argument, but he apologized like he always does and makes sure your comfy against him while he games. As long as you’re content with it, he’s content.

-Masky/ Tim Wright

- a bit like Jeff I just think he’s a bit more mellow, he won’t ever apologize unless he knows he’s actually in the wrong. Which ends up being majority of the time. You know he has his episodes, where he blacks out and doesn’t remember a lot of the things he ends up doing.

- he will sometimes black out during an argument. It’s not often but when he does it’s like arguing with a brick wall. Like Jeff he won’t listen. He refuses to listen to anything you say because In the moment he’s the one who’s right. But he’ll never go as far to say mean things like Jeff does. No Tim tends to stop himself before he does.

-he storms off frequently. I think he more or so hates the emotions that comes with this. He hates the yelling, the way you look at him with disbelief and anger.. Its more so he doesn’t feel like fucking shit up for being an asshole to someone who genuinely cares about him. So he leaves you to your emotions to figure out, and if they aren’t figured out by the time he gets back he tries his best to help. Even if he does seem annoyed.

- typically your arguments are more him being snarky, sarcastic and being too logical, he can raise his voice from time to time but he’s only ever yelled at you once, and he still beats him self up for it to this day. Seeing you cry at how angry he got, how you still reached out for him in your meltdown caused by him.. and you still reached for him.

ೃ࿔*:･

“They’re pills y/n, prescription pills. I’ll be fine you know I need to take them. Why do I need to keep telling you thi-“ you cut him off quickly your voice already laced with concern as it shook. “Because you take more then you should be taking Tim. I don’t like it I don’t want you to hurt yourself..” he understood where you came from yes but what you needed to do was stop it. Just stop worrying about him. “Please for the love of god, I’m fine! I’m fucking fine! I’ll be fine! Please just stop it. I hate how much you worry and stress yourself over me. They’re fucking pills, I take them when needed. So just stop!” Now he didn’t scream super loud, but it was loud enough for you to feel the lumpy tingly feeling in your throat bubble, your hands softly twisting together “s-sorry..” you squeaked out. Tears brimmed your eyes as your bottom lip quivered. He watched you carefully for a moment, grimacing a bit as he watched your face twist with sadness.. and you slowly making your way towards him. Tim opens his arms and quietly pulls you in, one hand rubbing at the back of your head and the other gripping your back. “I’m an asshole. I know you’re just worried.” He mumbled quietly, lips pressed to your forehead as you hide your face in his chest. “You’re okay..” he continues to mumble, awkwardly trying to find a way to comfort you further.

Hoodie/ Brian Thomas

-he’s quiet. Very quiet. I think he’s the most gentle when it comes to arguments with his S/O. He’s scared to hurt you, always in any circumstances. He’s more observant, he knows when the argument gets too much for you just by a single movement.

-though he does have his moments where he does get angry back, he can normally control his temper. Usually the argument starts by something he’s done so he can handle it, he can deal with it. He tells you “I promise I’ll change, just give me some time” and you believe him because he does change but then he falls back into his habits, leaving for weeks on end, taking too many pills, his stalker tendencies.

-the argument this time is unclear, you probably don’t even remember by the Time Brian starts yelling back at you. His hair is messy from running his hands through it one too many times, he’s clenching his fists and trying to breathe as he shakily keeps his voice down.

-even in moments like this he still thinks of you. Not wanting to hurt you nor scare you.. he just lets you have your outburst and then you both move on. But tonight was different.

-he tends to ignore you when he gets worked up in an argument. If he’s not yelling back then majority of the time he’s just silent. His back towards you. But only when he’s angry right back at you. He’ll give you that silent treatment for hours.

-but this time. He made you cry. And he’s stopped dead in his tracks, eyes softening, getting down on his knees and resting his head against your stomach,his hands holding onto your waist. Sigh… he just had to fuck shit up again didn’t he.

ೃ࿔*:･

“Brian you can’t just leave me for weeks on end.. you can’t just.. disappear then show up like nothings happened. Where do you go..? Is there someone else” at this point he’s just been listening to you, letting you vent out but when you suddenly accuse him of cheating on you.. he snaps. You really think HE would cheat on you?! It’s not like he didn’t spend months watching you, becoming so infatuated with you to the point that it would make anybody so fucking sick to their stomach. But he couldn’t tell you that he couldn’t tell you he’s loved you far longer. So he stands, looks at you with anger in his eyes, a hint of sadness flashing on his face “don’t fucking accuse me of cheating on you.” He points a shaky finger in your face “don’t you ever. You don’t understand the shit I’d do for you, the shit I DO for you.” He’s close now, watching as you look up at him shakily. “This S-still doesn’t explain where you go Brian.. you-“ he’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you close “no listen to me. I want to tell you I want to tell you so badly but I can’t. I can’t. I just can’t.” His eyes are averting he’s becoming shaky himself, he’s panicking. Trust him. Is what he wants to tell you, that It’ll all be okay, he’ll be okay in a couple of days, he’ll change just give him time.. but he can’t lie to you.. not now. It would only make shit worse for you in this moment. When he finally looks back at you he sees you staring up at him, not a word spoken but tears streaming down your face, and your wrists still held tight in his large hands. “I..” he softly brings your hand down, lowering himself to the ground as he watches you still stare straight ahead. He scared you. Brian goes silent and lets himself sit on his knees, his hands running up under your shirt to hold onto your waist and burying his head into your stomach. “I’m sorry” he whispered gently, shivering when he feels your hands curl into his hair and finally look down at him. You know he feels guilty. He’s only trying to protect you.

[mindmelter]

A Body Stealer Tale: Fugitive

"I only have four available at the moment. I don't hunt like I used to." I say, guiding the man to my basement, where four men are standing frozen in only their underwear.

"It's fine, they all look good." The man says.

He is a fugitive, one of the most wanted men in the country. The kind you see on the news, his face plastered everywhere, but no one knew the truth. No one knew the lengths he would go to escape. That’s where I come in. I don’t judge them—how could I? That’s not my role. My job is simple: I help them find a new body to hide in.

"Would you mind giving me their info?" The man asks.

"From left to right, we have Ethan. He's 19 years old, fresh out of high school, and I got him at a small beach town where he was spending his summer surfing and working part-time at a café. His bodysuit is smooth, with just the right amount of muscle definition, and that wavy hair makes him stand out. He's the perfect body if you like that carefree, beach vibe.

Next is Jake. At 22, he's fresh from the military, built like a rock. I picked him up after he finished his last tour. The tight buzzcut and his stocky build give him that no-nonsense, tough look. If you're into strength and durability, Jake's bodysuit is the one for you.

Then, we have Cole. He's 24 and hails from a small Texas town, hence the cowboy hat. I found him working at a rodeo—he's got that strong, silent type charm. His broad shoulders and muscular chest give him a powerful presence, perfect for anyone wanting that rough, country boy look. You won't be bothered by anyone if you pick him.

And finally, there's Luca. At 23, he's got a natural good-looking face that makes heads turn. I got him right after he graduated college—he was modeling on the side to make ends meet. His suit has that classic, athletic look, with just the right amount of body hair to give it character."

The man looked thoughtful, like he was having a hard time picking one. He inspected them from closer and pulled down the underwear of each one to inspect their junk. After a while, he finally decided.

"I think I’ll go with..."

[madamechrissy]

Dirty Little Secret

ꕥ Pairings: Toji Fushiguro x Fem Reader

ꕥ Warnings-MDNI-explicit sexual content, dirty talk, Toji calls reader 'doll, ma, slut (Toji and Doll just work lol) Age gap- reader is 21, Toji is 39. - This chapter-rough sex, anal sex, whipping, daddy kink, breeding kink, squirting, face slapping, oral (fem receiving) FREAKY ass chap lmao, reader is a brat and Toji is a whole freak

ꕥ Word Count-this chap- 7k

ꕥ Summary- Toji Fushiguro is your dad Shiu's best friend for years. You've known him most your life. You come home for spring break to relax, and who pops up at the fucking doorstep? Toji. He's nasty, annoying, perverted and... Sexy. Hot. Built. And makes you think, maybe your first time shouldn't be with some college boy? But with this buff dude who can tie a cherry stem with his tongue and a scar on his damn lip.

Chapter 9 - Masterlist - Playlist

Chapter 10

The next day

You and Toji Fushiguro are going on a date, it feels so… insane to say that out loud, but here you are in Toji’s Mustang, and his big hand is on your thigh, bare with the pretty little black dress you’re wearing. Your fingertips brush up and down his knuckles gently, feeling the roughness of his skin, and he keeps sneaking glances at you, tongue running along that scar so sexy.

Fuck how are you so attracted to a damn scar? To everything about him, how he’s wearing this dress shirt, so different from his thin gym tees, and you see how it has to stretch over his broad chest. He’s so fucking sexy, you find yourself rocking your hips side to side, thighs shifting. He smirks at you, dark green eyes darting to your bare thighs as you make that motion.

“Excited, doll?” He asks, and you flush a bit, as his fingers brush up and down your thigh, making you tremble.

“You do look really handsome, Mr. Fushiguro.” He snorts at that, rolling his eyes then focusing back on the road.

“Making me sound old as fuck, brat.”

“Well…”

“I’ll beat that ass.”

“You’re not old, silly.” You lean close, pecking a kiss on his cheek, with a little bit of stubble tickling your lips, and he sighs then, as you rest your head on his shoulder, inhaling his scent, so manly and he’s wearing some cologne you really like. “I can’t believe we’re going on a date.”

“So surprised? I have a girlfriend I never see, and haven’t taken out.” You tense a bit then, hearing the clear pain in his voice, as you chew your lower lip.

“I don’t think you’ve called me your girlfriend before.”

“Yeah because I’d like you as a wife.”

“You can’t say shit like that!” You pull away, crossing your arms and looking out the window, trying to control your rapidly beating heart.

“What shit, the truth?” He counters, yanking you back to him.

“That’s insane talk. You know it.”

“You think I am sugar coating shit, who the fuck do you think I am? I’m not gonna whisper sweet shit I don't mean, doll.” You blink back emotions, sighing.

“It’s crazy, Toji. How would it work?”

“Go to college online and move in.”

“And my dad!?”

“He’ll get over it when he has a grandbaby.”

“Toji!” He’s scowling, his hands tightening on the wheel as you glare right at him. “Where is all this coming from?”

“Where’s it coming from?” He scoffs, pulling up to a pretty restaurant then, parking and looking at you with his dark brows low. He turns off the car and then bends over, cupping your face. “Did I not tell you I’m fucking in love with your bratty ass?”

“And I love you, but… isn’t this just…”

“Just what?” His words are short, as you look down, but he snatches you by your chin, squishing your cheeks. “Just what, some fun on breaks? I told ya that’s not what I’m wanting. I want you.”

“And I want you. But it’s fucking scary.” He sighs, brushing your hair back, before cupping your face, slamming his lips on yours, and you meet him, hungry for more, kissing more and more, desperate and breathless soon.

“Want you to stay with me. In my arms, got me sappy and shit.” You giggle a bit, blinking back emotions as he whispers those words.

“Toji who knew, you’re so sappy-”

“I will beat you later. Beat your ass black and blue.” You get excited if anything, earning his sexy glare, a big hand squeezing your hip over your little dress. “Keep acting up, no date, I’ll fuck you right here.”

“Fine, fine I’ll be good!”

“Mmhmm.”

Toji is opening your door, but before you all go in he’s pressing you on the car, big hand gripping your ass now, and you feel heat pool, desire in your core, like you can’t breathe. He’s looming over you so big and tall, and you can’t stop the little whine that escapes your throat, earning his lidded gaze and exhale.

“Better be good. I’ll fuck you right here.”

“You will not!”

“Wanna bet, doll?” He licks his lips and your hands slide up his chest now, head tilting back to look up at him.

“No, you’re fucking crazy, you just might.” Toji’s chuckling now, and then kisses you softly, sweeter than usual, intoxicating you with how multifaceted he is, as you peel back all his layers slowly. “Let’s go, I’m excited!”

“Come on, then.” He’s holding you by the waist, hand on the small of your back, as you both head to the pretty restaurant, it’s a steakhouse and much nicer than you’d expect from Toji. For some reason you figured some seedy little place or something, you’re impressed as he pulls out a chair for you.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Fushiguro.” He scowls as he pushes your chair in, sitting all sexy and handsome across from you.

“You’re such a fucking brat. I’ll order you chicken nuggets, how about that kiddo?”

“Chicken nuggets!?”

“Mmm, so cheap too. Do we need crayons and shit-”

“Fuck you, old man!”

“Ahem… hello.” The waitress comes as you two stick your tongues out, and you cover your face, blushing as Toji chuckles, leaning back in his seat. You struggle to save face, kicking him under the table, and watching his knuckles go white as he’s clutching the little black table.

“Hello, he wants the kids meal-”

“Steak for me, kids meal for her-”

“You have to be twelve and under, I’m afraid.” She says seriously, and you and Toji burst into laughter, earning this girl’s confusion. You both struggle to hold in your laughter, getting more serious.

“Can I get a glass of white?” You ask, and she smiles then, nodding and tapping the tablet for your order.

“Can I see an ID?” You pull it out of your purse, showing her, and she then turns to Toji.

“Anything to drink, Sir?”

“Mmm, give me a beer.”

“Got it.”

“Card him too!” Now Toji is kicking at you, and you’re surely confusing this waitress.

“May I see your ID, Sir?” He rolls his green eyes, dark lashes fluttering, and you can’t stop the grin as he shows her the ID. “Very good, any appetizers?

Toji starts to order, and soon you and him are nibbling together, he’s handing you little bites of food, he is scooching your chair next to him, and you’re right next to him now, his big hand burning your skin. You bite your lip, snuggling to his shoulder and sipping your wine.

“Fuck this is nice.” You say softly, Toji hums at that, thumb brushing your inner thigh and making you overheated, as you look up at his eyes, dilated by the soft lights of the restaurant.

“It is nice, could be all the time if you’d live with me.”

“You know that’s-”

“Crazy. Ya keep saying that like we’re not crazy together period.” You sigh, running a fingertip along the glass then.

“That’s true. I mean, theoretically I can do journalism anywhere, it’s all from my computer mostly.”

“See, there you go. You can do that and clean my house-”

“Hell no.”

You both laugh again, as you roll your eyes, as his hand slips up more, taking your breath away. “You like that idea.”

“Shh, you’re so misogynistic.”

“And you eat it up.” He whispers, thumb brushing your already damp panties, you struggle not to cry out, as his touch makes you so needy.

“Maybe.” You admit, and he smirks, eyes lidded as he leans down, turning slightly to kiss your temple, but he’s now rubbing your achy clit in circles, and you bury your face against his neck, crying out your pleasure as quietly as you can. He exhales, kissing down to your ear.

“You’re my little slut, ain’t ya doll?” He cooes ever so quietly, and you just nod eagerly, there’s no sense acting otherwise, you’re letting him run his fingers under your lacy panties, letting the rough pad of his middle finger circle your clit, which twitches in response. Your nails dig into his strong arm, as you struggle to act normal. “Asked ya a question.”

“Yes, I am, Daddy.” You whisper back, and then he’s shoved a thick digit in your little entrance, and you bite your lip so hard it hurts, as you’re gushing around his finger, just barely inside you. “Oh my… fuck…”

“So easy, so wet already, just f’me, huh?” You just nod, then the waitress comes back with your food, and Toji eases back, sucking on his finger blatantly, making your mouth drop as he grins over at you. “Yummy. Looks yummy, yeah doll?”

“Um… uh huh.” Your hands shake as you shut your eyes for a moment, struggling to come to, the man ruins your brain.

Soon you all are digging in, as you try to cool down, then suddenly after about twenty minutes of laughing, of flirting, and of talking shit with the man you’re stupid in love with, a woman comes up to you. She saunters, so tall with blond hair, muscular and lean, swaying her hips in a gorgeous red dress.

“If it isn’t Toji fuckin Fushiguro.” She speaks all sultry, trailing a hand across Toji’s broad shoulder, over his starch business shirt, earning his glare.

“Sure is. Ya need something, Hana?” She scoffs then, leaning down, and Toji takes her hand off his shoulder, as she’s got her perky little breasts full on display, to the point you can see her nipples almost.

“A girl can’t say hi?”

“Nah, not when I’m with someone.”

“I see. And who’s this?” Her voice is purring, you outright scowl at the pretty woman, then glare at Toji, who’s covering his face and wiping down it with a tired expression.

“I’m his girlfriend.” You say then, and Toji smiles, scar stretching as his lips quirk up. She scoffs then, looking wildly at Toji.

“You, dating? Since fuckin when?”

“Yeah, so what’s it to you?” His voice is terse with her. She huffs a bit, crossing her arms and analyzing you.

“So, what, we fuck steadily for a year, and you go get some young little girl to date now? Don’t want someone your own age, Fushiguro?”

Toji scowls, his dark brows low over his eyes, jaw tense. “Not that at all, just didn’t wanna date you.”

She gasps and you can’t stop your laughter, even when you try to sober up, earning more of her ire. “She’s like a teenager!?”

“I’m twenty one. See.” You hold up your wine glass, as people are starting to look at you all.

“You’re interrupting our date. Go on now.” Toji waves a hand dismissively, earning more of her anger, as she then takes your glass of wine and splashes it right in your face. You gasp at that, standing up then, chest to chest, as Toji stands up, furious, scowling.

“Excuse me, bitch? I didn’t do shit to you.” You shove at her with open palms, making her nearly topple backwards.

“Why don’t you go back to school and get someone your own age?” She bites out those words, and you raise a brow.

“I’m gonna give you a minute to leave before I fuck you up.” You ball up fists then, and she turns, scoffing.

“Stupid little whore-”

Well, you gave her a chance, yeah?

You grab her by her hair then, knocking her on the floor, and now the entire restaurant is in shock, watching as you straddle her in your pretty black dress, and you hold your hand up. “Drink, Toji.”

He chuckles, handing you his beer, and you smirk as you pour the entire amber contents of the pint on her face, and she sputters under you, a whole sloppy fucking mess now. She’s clinging to her face as you stand, laughing maniacally as her makeup drips down her face in streaks, and she opens her eyes only to shut them again, screaming.

Toji is chuckling right with you now, as she shakes some of the liquid off, scowling at you. “How dare you!”

“You spilled one on me first, so.”

“Immature little kid.”

“Says you, the woman who comes and starts shit with a man that didn’t wanna date her? He’s mine, got it?” You snatch him up by his arm, as he looks to you practically with hearts in his damn eyes.

“Miss, we must ask you to leave.” The manager comes then, and she screeches, pointing at you and stomping.

“But she did this to me!”

“Yes everyone saw you approach and throw a drink at her. You need to pay your bill and leave.” She is dragged away, and Toji pulls you to him, tilting your chin, but you shove at him.

“I’m mad at you, too.” You hiss through your teeth, and he scoffs, gripping your shoulders tightly.

“Excuse me, brat? Lemme just find you sexy right now….”

“Nope. Check please.”

*****

You two are both outside now, screaming at each other as Toji carries your little take home bag, as you get in the car he throws it at your lap. You shove it back in the passenger seat now, as you feel the adrenaline pumping, sure you’re furious at that bitch, who’s now flipping you off on the sidewalk, but you’re also upset that this is what happens on your date.

Toji was a hoe.

“Put on your fuckin seatbelt, now brat.” He orders, snapping it then, and you unsnap it, just for him to snap it again, and you to unsnap it, smacking at his hand. “The fuck are you mad at me for!?”

“Is that what I’ll deal with!? Your hoe life all over.”

“Look, I didn’t ask her to be a bitch. Put on this fuckin seatbelt, or I swear you won’t be able to sit.” You take a shaky breath, as both of your chests heave, and the energy in the car is so intense you can’t take it.

“Fine!” You let him snap it as he starts the car with a shaky hand.

“Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

“Me!? Me!?”

“Yeah you, causing a whole scene with that temper, angry little elf.”

“Elf!”

“Hard of hearing?”

“Fuck off! I’m mad because you clearly had something serious enough she’s bothering me. She said you fucked her for a year.”

“And, so what, now I fuck you, get over it.”

“Aw, romantic.”

Toji’s eyes narrow as they set on you, as you two sit at a red light in the quiet night. “Who’s on a date, you or her, brat!?

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fuck you Toji.”

His laugh is harsh. “Fuck me, fuck me?”

“Yep. Fuck you.”

“You’re mad at me for what?”

“Being a manwhore!”

Toji’s forearms, visible in the evening, those veins wrapping around them turn you on far too much, as he grips that steering wheel so tightly, and you struggle to remember why you’re mad. “You knew it when you fucked me. And guess what? I’m good at fucking the shit out of your little pussy ain’t I?”

His words hit hard, and you feel it, right in your core, that deep husky voice and nasty words. “Pfft. Maybe.”

“You really talking shit like that, doll?”

“Sure am. How many more women will I meet?”

“Probably a lot. What’s it matter, I am with you, annoying little bitch.”

“And you’re such a hoe.”

“Means I eat pussy like a champ.” You gasp, smacking his hand as he grips your thigh.

“You ate her out, that makes me mad. So mad. Should have punched her.” Toji laughs now, only serving to make him more attractive and make you more angry, an infuriating mix.

“Doll, you were a baby when I fucked most of these women, couldn’t even legally touch you!? What, you wanted me to be some virgin? My kid is your friend, clearly I’ve been fucking a long time.”

“Ugh, whatever. Fuck you.” You cross your arms as he pulls up to his home, and he’s at your door in a flash, dragging you and shutting it with a loud thud as he’s pulling you further. When he’s inside he’s shoving you against the front door, hands on either side of you, and you see his vein pulsing in his jaw at how angry he is.

“Fuck me, huh brat?” I think I’ll fuck that attitude outta ya.” He grabs your hair roughly now, pricking your eyes with tears, towering over you, and you find yourself strangely excited.

Is it strange?

Toji has always had this effect, when he’s mad at you and you get soaking wet, your cunt right now is just dripping, as you ache for him. You tilt your chin up then, narrowing your eyes, not remembering just why you were so mad at Toji, but now he’s got you on one.

“I have a right to be mad, old man.”

“No, you don’t, I clearly stopped everything since Spring break. I didn’t even look at anyone the whole time I was gone.” You blink back tears then, as he’s got his other hand gripping your waist so tight you can’t stand it, gripping the silk material of your dress, bunched in his hands.

“You really didn’t?” You whisper, and he sighs, lips just an inch away from yours now, and you can taste him, that taste that fucking kills you, as you both pant heavily, as he’s scowling at you.

“How could I see anyone but you, little fucking brat. You think I want anyone the fuck else?”

“She was all elegant, and pretty… and…” You’re sniffling now, as your insecurities hit you, and Toji sighs.

“Ain’t shit compared to you. Y’know how beautiful you fuckin are!? You know how sexy? How perfect your body is?” You tremble, as he turns you then, pressing you against the door face forward, unzipping your dress, baring your skin to his hungry gaze and his hot touch. “I’ll take you in a Hello Kitty bikini over any bitch.”

Fuck.

You’re being petty, stupid. You sigh, trying to calm down now, but he’s simultaneously putting you over the edge of how bad you want him. “T-Toji… M’sorry. I let it get to me. Am I just young, stupid!? I…” You gasp as he yanks your dress down, pulling it past your hips, and he moans softly, hands sliding down your every curve and line.

“You’re young, you’re stupid-”

You glare back at him. “Hey!”

He chuckles a bit. “But you’re beautiful. You’re mine. My little doll, don’t you fuckin know?” He kisses down your spine then, pressing hot trails of his lips as you step out of your dress, as he eases those heels off your feet.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You didn’t even know me…”

“I knew you, but you were barely twenty, off limits. Think I didn’t jack off to you then?”

“I’m dumb, fuck.”

“Mmm, you were a virgin. It’s all it is. But you’re not now, are you?” You shake your head, as he smacks your ass gently, one cheek than the other. “And when you threw her to the ground, lemme tell ya how hard ya got me?”

“I did?” He chuckles, kissing up your thighs now, fingers gripping into the plush flesh at the center, and his breath is hot, tickling you, you’re so shaky you can barely take it.

“Sure did, sexy as fuck.”

“Ah!” You scream out as Toji pulls your thong to the side and licks a stripe up your slit with the flat of his tongue, lapping at the wetness already pooled there.

“And you, little bitch that you are, got this wet from making me angry? Was that the goal, get Toji mean with ya?”

Shit.

Your pussy did this maybe!?

“Did n-not. Fuck you.”

“Nah think I’ll fuck you.” He stands then, turning you and picking you up, throwing you over his shoulder, smacking your bare ass so hard this time you cry out at the sting, as the fans whirl from his ceiling and cool air hits them. You gasp, up far too high.

“That hurts, you damn big brute! Caveman!”

“Ah, getting yourself even wetter? Slutty little brat.” Toji huffs, fingering you then as he holds you up over his shoulder, and you’re moaning, soaking his fingers, as he bites the fuck out of your hip, before tossing you on his bed, and you bounce at the impact, gasping.

“Toji, I am sorry. Daddy…” You crawl on your knees, just in your panties and bra now, and Toji is furious, veins in that thick neck bulging, his hands brutal when they push you down again, on your back, and he’s yanking your panties down your thighs, making you shiver with desire.

“No, you’re not just bad, you’re very fucking annoying and bad. You wanna drive me fuckin insane, then you get the consequenses, got it?”

“Daddy I said sorry.” You blink your lashes, and he hesitates, then shakes his head, putting your panties to his face and moaning, he’s so nasty but it makes you even wetter, and he clearly sees it pooling down.

“No, not getting out of this one, brat. I’m done with your attitude, it seems I gotta teach you manners. Your dad didn’t, let you run around and be such a little brat, all the time. Spoiled.”

“Toji…” You get this tiny amount of fear then, as Toji takes off his belt, and your cunt throbs around nothing as he flips you, and you feel something silky wrapping your wrists now. “Toji!”

“Hush this mouth before I gag you.” You whine pathetically now, as your tits are shoved out of the bra, bouncing out for his view as he circles you on the bed.

“I’m tired of your mouth. I only want you, annoying as fuck as you are. Got me, doll?” You nod, biting your lip as he bends down, tilting your chin up and kissing you, bruising in his kisses, and you melt into him, but then he’s smacking your cheek, making your face sting. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

“Not good enough, but it’s a start.” He pushes your head down into the mattress then, running his leather belt along the curve of your ass, and then he smacks the fuck out of you with that belt, so hard you scream. “One. How many do you think you deserve?”

“N-none, daddy.”

“Wrong answer doll. Let’s start with how many times you said ‘Fuck you Toji’ yeah?” He mocks your voice, and you’re whimpering, then he smacks you with the belt again, burning your skin, and then he slides a finger between your lips, pulling that wetness out, moaning softly. “And you like it, dirty lil slut f’me.”

“Ngh, Toji I’m really sorry.” You scream out as he smacks you again, fingering you rougher, two fingers, pressing up against your spot, past that tight ring of muscles, against your little gummy walls. Your pussy starts pouring out wetness now, slippery, loud in his room.

“So slutty. You’re not a good girl, are you?”

“I am.”

“Lying to me now. Hmm.” He hits you right across the backs of your thighs, hitting your sore little cunt, and it hurts so bad you’re crying into your pillow now, but your pussy is almost ready to cum, you’re so fucking ready. “Got something to say, brat?”

“F-fuck me, please.” He grips your hips now, pulling your ass up, cheeks apart, spitting down your little ass hole and dripping to your cunt.

“You deserve dick right now, you think so?”

“You want it, old man, stop- okay fuck!” Another smack, lower across your thighs, makes your knees buckle, and he’s pulling your ass back, holding you up, as you sob softly. “I’m sorry, s’sorry… T-Toji…”

“You remember that safe word?” He says softly, pulling your hair and bringing you to your knees, you nod quickly, as his breath tickles your ear.

“I remember it.”

“So you’re good, doll?” You hear it then, the concern, the care, making sure you’re okay even as he’s beating your ass.

“I’m not just good, I’m soaking wet, Daddy.” Your words earn his sexy moan, and he’s turning your face to him, gripping your breasts, squishing them in his hands and his thumbs pressing on your sensitive nipples. Your head falls back, ass arching for more and more of his rough touches.

Your pussy is so soaked when he wraps his arm around your hips, finding your clit, and you’re so wet his fingers slip. “Fuck, you’re stupid wet.”

“Fuck me, please.” You beg, as he’s pumping two fingers inside you, making the most lewd noise, and he pulls them out just before you cum, shoving them in your mouth so deep you almost choke.

“You’re not done yet, you’ve pissed me off so fuckin much. Ya think that was enough hits?”

“I do!”

“And now you beg for dick, pathetic f’me, so fucking slutty.”

“Ugh, fuck you- shit, shit sorry!” Toji’s big hand now smacks the fuck out of you, so hard you’re rocked forward, and you look back with tears in your eyes, and he’s furious now.

“So you’re still running the mouth, gotta fix that.” He shoves your head back down, and then he’s shoved three fingers in your little entrance, stretching you too full, and you’re wriggling every which way.

“T’much!” You whimper the words, muffled by the pillow, and Toji bends low now, tongue on the little unused hole, as he keeps working your cunt. The sensations are too much, there’s so much pressure building you think you’ll explode, your eyes rolling back, thighs shaking.

“Always running this mouth, huh? Do you think you’ll get to cum?” He yanks his fingers out then, and you scream out in pain, empty and pulsing, so close it hurts. “Aw, were ya close, brat?”

“S’sorry…”

“Nah, that’s not a good apology.” Toji slides two fingers in your cunt again, only to shove them up into your ass, and now the stretch nearly breaks you, as his other hand slides down, rubbing your clit, overstimulating and teasing. “Maybe I’ll break you the fuck in, huh?”

“Ngh…” You can’t say a damn thing, you’re drowning in pleasure, in need, as you’re about to cum again, and you’re sobbing hot sticky tears when he stops toying with you completely, when he’s spitting on you again, spreading his hot saliva all over your pussy and ass. “Please…”

“Please what, slutty fuckin brat? Use those words. Or already stupid from my fingers?”

The more he degrades you, the hornier and wetter you are, as his thumb pumps in your ass again. “Fuck me there.”

Toji pauses then, and for a moment it’s silent, then he’s getting undressed behind you, his tip rubbing against your slit, grinding on your clit, between your puffy lips, moaning as he feels how wet you are. Your arms are aching as you can barely breathe, so shoved against the blanket you are feeling so hot everywhere, almost weak.

“So slutty ya need me in all your holes, huh?” He whispers, now sliding his cock up, his thick, reddened tip dripping precum as it rubs your little hole, pressing in and making you hiss at it.

“Slutty for you, Daddy.” He moans then, one hand at the base of his cock, the other gripping your hip, pressing his thumb in the dimple of your back, pressing further, and then you feel him, the thickness inside, so intense you’re shaking violently. He’s gentle for all his talk, for how he usually fucks your pussy, just barely moving, and just that has you a mess.

“Fuck you feel so good, doll. Fuck… are you all right?” He asks, and you smile against the pillow, at how sweet he can be even when he’s literally fucking your ass, which is covered in red whelps.

“It feels good, alot though… can you untie me, please?” He quickly does as you ask, and you move your numb fingers, up on your hands and knees now, and he’s running one hand up your rib cage, wrapping your waist and bending over you, his lips against your ear. “Daddy… it’s s’good.”

“You like it, doll, huh? Want me deeper in that tight little ass?” His husky voice kills you, as he pulls back, and you nod eagerly. “Then what do we say?”

“Please, Daddy. Please- ah!” He shoves in deeper, his hand brutal as it grabs your entire body damn near, as the other braces itself on the bed over you. Your own hands cling to his thick cotton blankets, arching your ass up for more, every inch feels like ten, so good you can’t stand it, eyes rolling back, your toes curling against the bed as he fucks you slowly.

“Oh my fucking… fuck, fuck…” He’s cursing, not moving, moaning and breathing in your ear, making you shiver as your cunt throbs around nothing. “Can’t hold back, can you take it, baby doll?”

“I’ll try, Daddy.” He moans at that again, then he’s shoved in so deep it rips you in fucking half, and you’re screaming, as he’s huffing, his huge cock sliding in and out of your tight hole, his balls smacking your neglected entrance. “Ah, ah, ah!”

“Feel so fuckin good, Ma.” Toji bottoms out, before leaning you forward, on your stomach, bracing himself over you, one hand sliding down your spine, dripping with sweat now. He smacks your ass, bringing your hips up, and starts fucking into you, skin of his pelvis smacking your ass, making it jiggle with each thrust. “Rub that clit, pretty doll.”

“Y-yes Daddy.” You earn his satisfied sigh, as he pulls your hips up more, you’re on your knees, rubbing your clit in circles with your tiny fingers, and one of his hands finds your cunt, filling your pussy with two fingers. It’s so much, too much, your clit, pussy and ass so filled you can’t think anymore.

Your hands join each other, and you’re gushing out, as Toji’s thrusts slow, and he’s rolling his hips, hitting some spot that makes your tummy coil with tension. “You’re doing good, doll, s’good for your daddy, huh?”

“Please… can I cum? Please. I’ll be good.” He laughs softly, slamming his length in you hard, fingering you deeper, until your cunt and mouth are drooling, pools of arousal and saliva, and you’re blinded.

“Cum f’me, doll, let me feel this slutty ass around my cock.” Toji presses in so deep you can’t see, crooking those fingers, and yours slip off as you begin to cum, so hard and so much pressure, your little hole begins to squirt all over Toji’s hands, and you can’t even speak, can’t do anything as it sprays all over the bed. “Oh my god… fuck…”

“S-sorry!? Sorry! S-sorry….” You’re chanting as you keep cumming, and he groans, pausing his movements, to pull his hand back staring at the sticky mess with wonder.

“Sorry, fuck no. You’re such a good girl, squirting f’me.” You blink a bit, as you try to come to, and he’s pulled out of you, making you hiss, so damn sore, as he flips you on your back, rubbing your clit side to side.

“Too sensitive, too much… too wet…”

“Oh, doll, fuck no, Imma need you to do it again, gonna drink it.” He says, husky, dragging your hips and spreading your thighs, and you’re yanking at his silky black hair, and he’s lapping at your clit, three fingers back stretching your cunt, and you’re close again. He hums on your clit, and your hips buck up off the bed, and you’re gushing all over again.

“F-f-fuck, ah!” You’re screaming out as Toji drinks you up, you’re spraying so much wetness out, it’s all over his chin, his face, as he grins, long tongue lapping what he can as you make a wet spot in the bed.

“That’s it, that’s my lil slut.” He’s smacking loud kisses on your cunt, leaning up now, shoving your thighs up high, your knees on either side of you, pressing into the mattress, folding you in fucking half. “Imma put a baby in you now.”

“Toji…” He chuckles, smacking your cheek and shaking his head. “Daddy…”

“Mmm, you ready to take it? She sure made a fuckin mess, didn’t she?” He shoves in your cunt now, and it immediately tightens, so sensitive from how hard you had cum you can’t stand it, falling apart with every thick thrust of his veiny cock, as his swollen tip is rubbing right against your spot.

“Too much, too much! Too much!” You’re a mess, writhing and shattering under him, under his heavy weight, pressing down on your thighs with his brutal hands, as his cock bullies your cervix, and you can’t take anymore, damn near blacking out.

“You tryna pass out, brat? Tap out?” He huffs, as you try to keep your eyes open, as your mouth is slack and open, as you’re pushed over some edge. He fucks you so deep you feel him everywhere, as you see black glittery stars, and he’s cupping your face possessively. “Look at me, doll.”

You gaze at him with dilated, cock drunk eyes, narrowing, your lashes shaqdowing your view, as you struggle to breathe, brows drawing together, cheeks flushed, and he studies you with heated dark eyes, shoving in so deep then. He rolls his hips and the tip is just grinding against your cervix, pushing you again, and you’re so weak you can barely moan.

You cling to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders, scratching him hard as you cling to him to tether you, but he’s the one pushing you further and further, as he works you, as he’s heaving his own breaths. His chest contains that heart that thuds erratically now, his thumbs brushing your cheeks gently as his cock presses and stretches you till you’ll break.

“That’s it doll, lemme feel ya around me, can’t fuckin think can you? I fuck you stupid?” You would say ‘fuck you Toji’ but you can’t do anything, he has to swipe your drool off your face then, sticking his thumb between your lips, for you to weakly bite, and he bites out in laughter. “Fucked the brat out of ya.”

You wish you could say something smart, but he’s got you so weak, it’s too much, the pressure, the stretch, his sweat dripping down on you, you just weakly cry out, and now he’s leaned back slightly, putting his weight on your sore thighs. His balls smack the little hole he’d wrecked, as he fills your pussy, and his pelvis smaches against an overstimulated clit.

“Ready for this baby in ya, huh doll? Fill ya so good with me.” He cooes those words out, and all you can do is nod just a bit, gasping, head sinking into the bed as your hips buck up at how deep he gets. “Say it, say it doll.’

“W-want… your babies… Daddy…” You speak in a breathy whisper, hearing that gutteral groan as his rhythm stutters, as your walls convulse around him, and you’re gulping for air, as if he’s choking you, your sore ass fucked deeper and deeper into the mattress, making it throb and ache.

“Take all this cum, be my good girl, yeah?” You nod weakly, then he’s leaned over you, shoving in and his tip is quivering, pulsing, as hot spurts of cum fill you, and she eagerly drinks them in, like she wants it, wants it as bad as you won’t admit. Toji’s kissing you, hot and messy, moaning his pleasure into your lips, his scar brushing against the corner of your mouth.

You’re crying now, tears down your face, as he finishes pumping so much cum, and you’re clinging to him, as he’s tasting your salty tears. He keeps kissing you, long after he’s cum, as your fluids are dripping down the bed under you, and he leans up then, eyes different, they’re softer, his lips are rested, parting as he rubs your face so sweetly.

“I fuckin love, you, little doll.” He murmurs, and you sob more, kissing him and sinking your hands into his hair.

“L-love you. Love you Toji. Fuck. I’m a mess.” You say weakly, and he chuckles a bit, pulling off you, making you suck in a breath as he pulls out, leaving you empty.

“You’re a beautiful fucking mess, so, so messy too.” He fingers the sticky cum between your lips, making you jerk and cry out. “Didn’t know you could squirt, freaky lil slut aren’t ya?”

“I didn’t know either. Fuck it was too much though. I’m done.” You weakly fall back, and Toji sits you up carefully, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Lemme get you cleaned up, want a shower doll?” He asks softly, caressing your back, brushing up and down, and you exhale, shutting your eyes and sinking against him.

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll take care of ya.” He picks you up with ease, as you weakly let him carry you. “I love taking care of you after I ruin that little mind of yours.”

“Dick.” He snorts, and you can’t summon the energy to glare, you just let him bring you inside his shower, surprisingly gorgeous, with marble tiles, and a waterfall shower head. “This is s’nice.”

“Built it.”

“Built it?” You yawn, blinking bleary eyed as he washes your hair, his rough hands gently, massaging your scalp, as the hot water pours over you both, and the steam rises in the shower.

“Yeah, I built most of this place. Was bare bones.”

“Mmm, my manly man.” He snorts, and soon he’s rinsing your hair, sudsing your body up.

“You’re so pathetic f’me, little doll, can’t stand?”

“Fuck no.” He’s chuckling, holding you gently, and you think that the moment can’t get much better, being in his arms, feeling his heartbeat thud in his chest, so soothing you almost fall asleep then and there. Only to be wrapped in his big, strong arms all night in his bed.

*****

Fuck you feel sick, you sit up as you awaken, and Toji’s sheets are rumpled, your nipples are killing you, more than they have been, and you peer between your thighs, worried you’re on your period. You’re thankfully not, standing now, smelling breakfast Toji is cooking, which should be yummy, tantalizing, but another wave of nausea rolls through you.

You only had one glass of wine!?

You blink at the sun streaming through the windows of Toji’s cozy cabin, standing on wobbly legs, he’d fucked you so good you can barely walk even now, your ass is so goddamn sore from his belt, and his cock it’s ridiculous. You wonder how you’re going to manage to sit even.

You pad barefooted on old wooden floors, seeing Toji’s sexy, strong back now, and you can’t even appreciate it, because your tummy is rumbling and hurts. You bite back it, trying to suck in a breath, and Toji looks back, grinning deviously, dark green eyes drinking you in.

“Sit down and eat, doll. Let daddy cook for ya.”

You can’t even snort, you can’t do anything but cover your mouth, and he then looks concerned, brows lowering, and you run off to his bathroom, throwing up everything you’d digested last night. You’re sobbing as you do, and Toji is there, freaking out.

“Well shit, the fuck!? You okay!?” He’s pulling your hair, trying to be gentle but he’s such a damn brute it yanks your hair.

“Ow- fuck!” 

“Shit, my bad. Here.” He’s yanking one of your pony tails off the sink, putting your hair up in a bun then, rubbing his hand on your back as you flush the toilet. “Was it something you ate?”

“No, I don’t think?”

“The wine?”

“One glass, no. Shit am I sick? I…”

You trail off then, and do some math in your damn head, then you gasp, falling back on the tile floor. “Doll, want some water?”

“Fuck no. No, no, no. Shit!” You’re trembling, hugging your knocking knees then, eyes wide in horror as you look at Toji.

“What the fuck is it?”

“You… I… oh my god.”

“What!?”

“You asshole!” You haul off and smack him then, earning his glare, snatching your wrist and shoving you against the wall, pinning you there.

“Me, I didn’t do shit, don’t smack me little fuckin bitch. Explain yourself, what the fuck is…” He trails off then, and brushes your nipple, making you scream out. “Fuck… shit… you’re sensitive, I noticed, and they’re even…”

“Oh my god.”

“Shit. Are you…” He looks up at you carefully, as you struggle to fight another wave of nausea, then he presses on your flat tummy, as you come to the most scary fucking thing you’ve ever though of. “Are you pregnant!?”

Shit.

A/N enjoy the cliffie *evil laughing* ahahahah

Chapter 11

[rrrrinmaru]

tease (sylus x mc)

wc: 4.4k rating: M (for violence) warnings: canon typical violence, blood mention, broken nose

“This isn’t a competition.” His voice is amused, lips pressed tightly together to mask the smile pulling at the corners. “And even if it were one, you’re not in the running.”

“Rude.” Sylus smiles this time, this smug look that makes your fingers itch. You want to wipe it off his face. “Everything’s a competition with you, don’t even pretend to hide it.”

He shrugs. One hand is draped over the inside of his thigh—his legs are spread, thick thighs far apart enough to accommodate your frame if you stand in between them. If you wanted to. If you could bear being that close to him without taking decisive action, like curling your fingers into a fist and jamming it into his pretty face. The other hand is laid out against the table.

His eyes are filled with lazy amusement. He always adopts that look around you, like you’re nothing more than a straggling kitten he picked up off the side of the street. 

“Sheathe your claws, dollface,” Sylus says. He tilts his head to the side and his heavy gaze traces over your form. “This isn’t a competition because you’re not competition.” He pauses, long enough for you to bristle and raise your hackles, then continues, “not yet, at least. Maybe in a few years. Months, if you work hard.”

“I could take you,” you say heatedly, uncaring of how severely outmatched you are. Yes, the man is a good couple centimeters taller than you (and by a couple, you mean a lot). Yes, his shoulders are twice as broad as yours. Yes, his palm is the size of your face and his calves are as thick as your thighs. But just because he’s built like a brick shithouse and then some doesn’t mean you can’t lay him flat out on his ass at least once in a fight.

“Some would argue that retreat is the better part of valor.” 

You scoff. “Some would argue you’re deflecting the question.”

Sylus hums. He drums his fingers idly on the table; the pads of his fingertips tap out a steady beat against the stained oak. “You seem to have quite a bit of wild energy inside you today. Do you need some help letting out some steam?”

“My fist, your face,” you retort. “My knee, your gut. What are you, scared?”

And here’s the thing—you think Sylus thinks he’s above petty provocation. Sylus thinks he’s more mature than someone who will give in to the fighting words of someone with the vocabulary of a kindergartener. Sylus thinks that he won’t sink to your level, or to anyone’s level, really, because he’s above everything.

All about the bird’s eye view, this man. What a lofty attitude. You kind of want to tear at him, from his feet to his knees to his hips, fingers grasping at his clothes to rip them apart as you clamber up the pedestal he’s put himself on. 

But deep down, you also think Sylus’ just a teensy, tiny, little bit competitive. It also helps that no one has had the balls to mouth off to him like you have. Part of the reason you manage to get such strong reactions out of him is because he’s unused to having someone who doesn’t instinctively defer to his authority around his person. 

So when you raise your eyebrows, smirk back at him in a sharp mirror of that smug grin clinging to his lips, saying words like ‘what are you, scared’, you can see the way his eye flashes. Crimson red, just for a breath, like a ruby gem that turned just so and caught the glint of the light—and then he’s up, pulling off the coat that he wears in that infuriatingly chuunibyou manner over his shoulders. 

“If you want to memorize the taste of concrete so badly, who am I to deny you? I am nothing but a good host,” he muses. 

“You think you’re so funny.” You roll your eyes at him, but when he clicks his tongue and stalks off to the nearest training room (read: one of the many rooms around his godforsaken maze of a mansion that is empty enough for Sylus to treat it as expendable), you follow behind him.

Electricity burns up and down your spine, like a volt snapping along the livewire of your back. 

Maybe you do have some energy you need to work out.

==

Again, the thing about Sylus is that he is… a small bit cocky. 

Depending on one’s perspective, he could also be seen as extremely cocky. He carries himself with the confidence of a man who has a well-decorated CV that precedes him. Just the name alone is enough to make people in the street scatter into the alleyways, choosing to avoid whatever hailstorm chases his ankles.

It’s not difficult to see why. With an Evol like that, Sylus is practically set up for greatness. 

It does, however, also mean that he underestimates you. 

“No Evol, or this wouldn’t even be a fight,” he says idly, reaching for a roll of hand wrap  he had squirreled away somewhere. He binds his fists quickly, the movements swift and practiced. The cloth circles his wrist, around his knuckles and palms, through his fingers—he pulls it taut, gaze focused as he tightens it around his wrist again. 

Must be a pain to have such big hands, you think, reaching for the other roll of hand wrap in the little cubby behind a light switch. The same roll of hand wrap would make it around your palm at least three or four more times than his. 

A wrapped wrist catches yours before you can unravel the roll. “Ah ah,” he murmurs, giving you a considering look. “Did I say you could touch that?”

You give him a blank stare. Sometimes, Sylus can be really irritating. 

“I’ll split my knuckles apart on your face if I have to,” you say indifferently, letting go of the roll of hand tape. 

“I didn’t say you had to ruin your pretty hands,” Sylus retorts immediately. He flips your hand around, palm face up as he grabs the roll of hand tape with his other hand and sets it in the centre of your palm. “Your manners?”

You scoff. “Please,” you say with as much disdain you can inject into your voice, “and thank you.”

Sylus lets go, a smile pulling at his lips. He may think he has an excellent poker face, but he wears satisfaction like a second skin. It sinks into his face, lighting up his eyes and lips, and you think you can see it scrawled all over his neck, shoulders and chest. 

You make quick work of the hand wraps. You bind your wrists and knuckles tight enough to give you that much needed support—your dainty wrists, as Sylus would say with a grin, as if it’s your fault your wrists aren’t as thick as a coke can like Sylus’ are—and you use up the remainder of the wrap around your wrist for extra security. 

It moves quickly after that. You rotate your wrists, testing the give of the wrap. Flexing your wrists gives you the same reaction—sturdy, firm wrists with well-padded knuckles that won’t burst apart upon first contact with the sharp lines of a face eyeing you from across the room. 

When you look up, Sylus’ gaze is still on you. He doesn’t even bother pretending to avert his gaze. There’s something in his gaze as he stares at you, as if he’s doing nothing more than looking at a possession. 

Yeah, you really want to punch that look off his face. And if he splits his lip, you think it might even be an improvement to his face. 

Upon meeting your gaze, he rolls his shoulders and brings his fists up. His stance is loose and he rocks back and forth, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“Ladies first,” Sylus says, crooking his fingers at you. 

Sylus’ fighting style is always interesting to watch. There is a formality to his actions that have to be taught—the way he binds his wrists and knuckles is almost identical to the demonstration from the instructors who taught hand-to-hand combat when you were training to be a Hunter. His stance is almost an exact replica of the stance the instructors modeled for the class. 

And you’ve seen the way street rats fall into a brawl. You’ve seen the way they form a fist in the wrong way and how they mistakenly wrap their palms into mittens. They don’t even adopt a stance before they start swinging desperately at anything that moves, flinching at the nearest target. They throw their entire weight behind a punch and end up overbalancing, tipping into the arc of their fist. They stumble. They trip over their feet. Even the more experienced brawlers have a wilderness to their hits that one doesn’t get from formal training and sparring under supervision. 

But despite how formal his stance is, when he holds his fists up and makes a come hither motion, crooking two fingers at you, there is an air around him that students studying martial arts in a regulated environment would never have. 

There’s just something about Sylus that screams how he cut his teeth on other people. 

Or it might be how he’s the only one alive on this Earth that fights Wanderers with his fists. Even during Hunter training, even during the compulsory hand-to-hand combat lessons, the instructors never failed to impart to you the importance of using weapons where you can. Keep the Wanderers at a distance, however slight, if you can. Even if it’s nothing more than the range of a dagger, some distance is better than fighting so tightly up close that you can smell the stench of rot from them. 

Simply put, no one’s crazy enough to fight Wanderers with their bare hands. No one except Sylus, of course. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” you say briefly. Before he can respond, you dart forward to jab at his face. 

Your knuckles make painful contact with Sylus’ forearm. It sends a tremor through your hand—you almost want to accuse him of having undergone some kind of body modification because surely that is an exoskeleton, not bones that he somehow grew all by himself. 

There is a throbbing ache in your fingers, but the pain doesn’t faze you. You swing back into your old routine: jab, jab, upper cut, jab, left hook, jab—

The hits don’t always land. Sylus weaves through your swings with practised ease. It’s always either a defensive block or an evasion, the former more than the latter and you can hear him grunting from the force of your hits. A few blows even get him to let out a low gasp of air, and there are slivers of moments where he angles himself just right and you manage to peek through his arms to catch the slightly surprised look on his face. 

One upper cut gets close, your knuckles glancing off the side of his jaw because he didn’t manage to turn fast enough to avoid it. The hiss of air he sucks in is gratifying, a whistle through gritted teeth. What’s even better is how you take advantage of that situation to turn on your front foot, pivoting and slamming your shin into the side of his thigh. 

Sylus doesn’t curse out loud, but it’s a near thing. There’s another grunt, lower this time, accompanied by the sharp sound of another hiss of air as if he slammed his teeth together to stop the sounds escaping his mouth. 

His eye glows. Through the gap between his arms, his defensive guard he has up to block his face and chest, you see the way his eye pulses.

“No Evols,” you say breathlessly, your voice trembling from exertion as you back him into a corner. To be fair, when he’s not actively attacking you and sticking (rather infuriatingly) to a ‘defend-and-evade” maneuvre, the only direction he can go is backwards. So you back him up, further and further until he’s almost flush against the wall.

“I wasn’t going to use my Evol,” he pants. Exertion makes his voice low, his words interspaced by quick breaths. “Had your fun, kitten?”

You don’t deign that with a response. You swing a right upper cut and when he veers back to avoid it, you take full advantage of how he’s been slightly favoring his other side ever since you first slammed your shin into him. And if it ain’t broke, there’s no reason to fix it. 

So you swing again, leg bent as you drive it into his side. There’s a moment where you think your kick will land, but he catches your calf and kills your momentum with a twist of his body.

He looks at you, smug as all hell, and you turn your foot to brace it against his (again, infuriatingly) hard abdomen to use it as a platform. 

And he wouldn’t drop you, of course. Because he’s play fighting you, like a lioness does with her cubs—you can tell, because the scent of bloodlust radiating off him is next to none. It’s so faint you almost suspect this is nothing more than his base level of danger, a brutality that sits so at home in his bones that it follows him everywhere he goes. He isn’t fighting you, not really, for reasons you cannot fathom and you think you are better off not knowing, for the sake of your own sanity. 

With that knowledge in hand, you put your entire weight behind your foot and use it as a step, flying up towards his face. His arm is down, fingers wrapped around your calf. His guard isn’t up. Like this, he’s ripe for the taking.

There are a number of ways you could do this. Hands in his hair, ripping the strands out so viciously one would think you were trying to scalp him. Jamming your knee up into his face, breaking his pretty nose. Grabbing his head and forcing his face down to slam against your hipbone. Whatever you pick, you suspect it won’t end well for his face. 

For the briefest of moments, in the span of the flap of a hummingbird’s wings, you consider going easy.

And then you remember how he survived a gunshot point blank to the chest, how he insists on play fighting you even though you told him you could take him in a genuine fight, and you decide against it.

Stupid games will only win him stupid prizes, you think, as you sink your hands into his hair, fingers yanking so tightly around the strands that Sylus starts to wince, and you slam your knee into his face.

You can feel it. The crunch of cartilage under your knee, the way the muscle gives in and shifts, quite viscerally, to the side. The familiar feeling of a broken nose, the bridge shattered from the force of your hit—it’s been a while since you’ve put this much force behind your hits, and you’ve forgotten what’s a normal amount of force to use when friendly sparring with someone. 

Although, you’re not exactly friendly sparring with Sylus. 

To your surprise, however, even the sound of his nose breaking doesn’t mean Sylus lets go of your calf. He swears, voice hoarse from the blood spilling from his nose, but he doesn’t let go of you. 

“Fuck,” he groans, reaching up to prod at his face. “I haven’t had a broken nose in years.”

Quite right, considering he doesn’t let a living soul get within ten meters of him if they’re not you. “It’s an improvement,” you tell him candidly as you subtly try to wrench your leg out of his grasp. For someone who just had his nose broken, he’s surprisingly concerned with sliding his hand to your ankle, the pad of his thumb rubbing against the sharp jut of your bone. 

He tilts his head at you and gives you a droll look. As droll as one can look when fresh streams of crimson blood leak from his nose, two lines that trail down to his upper lip. His tongue darts out to skate across his skin, licking up the trail, and you can’t look away. 

You’re paralyzed, eyes drawn to the way he treats the wound so casually. You’re no stranger to a broken nose, and it hurts like a bitch. It’s a sharp pain that radiates all over your face for the first few minutes, until all you can feel is pain. Then it fades into a dull ache that still persistently lingers on your face and you end up looking like a fool while being in persistent, throbbing pain that doesn’t go away for days. 

“Let go of me,” you say, but your heart’s not really in it.

Sylus grins at you. The blood is slightly smudged, dripping down to his chin. It’s like someone took red paint and splashed it all over a white wall. The only blood you’ve ever seen strewn on his skin like this is other people’s blood and his own, from that first and only time you pointed a gun at a human. 

The first and only time you’ve shot a gun at a human. 

Point blank.

If you close your eyes, you think your breathing might fall into a specific breathing pattern. Caleb had told you about it once, when he came back from the Aerospace Academy and had just learnt how to fire a sniper rifle. Mandatory training, he had said, although he wouldn’t be the type of soldier to need to use it. No one carries a rifle in a fighter jet. 

Finger on the trigger, he had said. Breathe in, hold it, and breathe out. Slowly, so slowly that your heart almost tricks itself to think you’ve fallen asleep. And once your heart is steady, once your mind is clear, squeeze the trigger with the faintest of touches in between breaths. 

You didn’t have any of that when you shot Sylus, of course. That one was just right off the cuff. You don’t even know if you were thinking straight when you did it. As if you squeezed the trigger by accident, with a heart pounding like the paws of a rabbit hitting the ground as it escaped from a larger predator. 

This time, though, with Sylus looking at you, face bloodied and thumb still rubbing, distractingly, along your ankle, your foot pressed against the line of his abdomen—

You think your breathing is starting to slow. 

“You really do look good like this.” The words slip out before you can wrench them back where they came from. And then, as if realising how absurd that sounds, you add on, “aren’t you going to fix it?”

Sylus hums. His free hand comes up to wipe the blood dripping from his nose. It stains his thumb red, as red as his eyes, as red as the wine he tried to foist upon you before you somehow changed the topic to fighting and how you could take him in a fight. 

“If you think I look good like this, who am I to argue? Perhaps I’ll keep this look for a change.”

“... And strut around the N109 Zone with a broken nose?”

That makes him laugh. “Does it affect how menacing I look?”

His comment makes you relax, funnily enough. The tension in your body dissipates, and you put your fists down. The wild energy that made you challenge Sylus to a fight is gone, tamped down and tamed for the time being. 

As if noticing how you’ve relaxed, the hand on your leg finally leaves your ankle alone and slides up your calf. 

“It makes you look a little stupid,” you admit frankly. “The big bad crow of N109 will lose quite a bit of street cred if people see you walking around with a face like that.” All battered and bruised and bloody.

“Do you like it?”

There’s a knowing look in his gaze. It’s enough to make you huff, leaning forward to squeeze his cheeks together. His other hand darts up to catch your wrist before your fingers touch his cheek. 

“I’m not about to let you touch my face again,” he says mildly. “Who knows what you’ll do to it?”

“Fix it,” you retort, pretending like you didn’t intend to manhandle his face and cause him a second round of excruciating pain. “Clean up your broken nose.”

“Or what? You’ll break it again?”

He teases you like you’re a feral kitten in a cage and he’s sticking a finger in just to see what you’ll do with it. Like he’s not afraid to get mauled, or perhaps he thinks you’re so tiny that your claws won’t be able to do much damage to him. 

There’s an air about him that suggests he’s only allowing you to do these things because he finds them entertaining. That he allows you to mouth off at him, that he allows you to slam your knee into his face, that he allows you to break his nose. As if you didn’t do that all on your own. 

“Maybe.” You shrug callously. You’ve finally managed to free your leg from his grasp, and you somewhat stumble back into an upright position with both feet firmly on the ground. “I told you I could take you. If you insist on underestimating me, or playing nice with me, you’ll end up with a few more broken bones, I’d reckon.”

“Hm.” His gaze scans your face, then quickly drops to your knee, as if he’s fully appreciating the weapon that slammed into his face. “I’ll admit, I haven’t seen a move like that before. You took me by surprise.”

When he locks eyes with you again, his look is appraising. “I’m impressed. You do know how to fight.”

By now, the blood has trickled to a stop. The stains on his face are fresh, though, and you feel this urge to reach up and press your fingers over it, to properly rub it into his skin. 

The first indelible mark you’ve left on him. Even if he fixes his nose, even if he manages to make it look like your knee had not gone anywhere near his face to begin with, you’ll know. He’ll know. 

Almost as if you’ve branded him with a secret just the two of you carry. Red hot and burning, spilling down the curve of his his Cupid’s Bow like an overturned wine glass. 

“You went easy on me,” you say eventually, dragging your gaze away from his nose with much difficulty. “Clean yourself up. I mean it. I don’t want to hear news from the N109 Zone about the leader of Onychinus walking around with a broken nose. It’ll mean more paperwork for me when the higher ups demand an investigation into who, or what, could have left such a visible injury on you.” 

“I won’t go easy on you next time,” he murmurs, blinking slowly as he stares at you. Tendrils of energy sneak up his chest, red and black swirling around his neck and flaring up his face. For a moment, you lose sight of his facial features. It’s just a thick, surging ball of energy that crawls up his body like flames licking at cloth.

When it clears, his nose is back in place. His features are back to that unfairly symmetrical build, so classically handsome that you immediately want to draw your hand back to punch him again, just to mess it up a little. 

His hair is still a mess, though, from when you sunk your fingers into it. It’s nowhere near his usual coiffed look, or what some might call artfully tousled. He really just looks like someone had their fingers tangled in the strands and pulled hard enough to make it disheveled. 

And the blood is still on his face. Twin trails to his mouth, over his lips, and down his chin. It draws your eyes to his mouth, the shape of it, the half-moon lips and how the tip of his tongue runs along the seam. 

You think of his messy hair, and you think of his mouth. You think of your hands sinking into his hair for a different reason altogether, and his mouth pressed up against a drenched hole begging to be filled by something clever. Fingers or a tongue, it isn’t picky. 

Once you’re thinking about this, the arousal hits you like a trainwreck. Now you’re the overturned wine glass, arousal pooling in your gut and spilling into your veins so quickly you almost stumble. His low voice, the way he licked the blood off his upper lip, the caress of his thumb against your ankle, the insistent way he held your foot even as he stood there, blood all over his face—

You look down, almost instinctively, a knee-jerk reaction when arousal floods your system so potently it makes you dizzy, and what you see just makes the heat spike in your body. 

“What?” Sylus’ voice is lazy. When you briefly glance up, his gaze is knowing as he stares you down. He leans back enough to brace his upper back against the wall behind him, and his knees shift imperceptibly wider. You wouldn’t have noticed the shift in his stance if you weren’t looking.

But you were. You were staring, 

So when Sylus speaks in that tone that barely hides a smile, you know he knows. 

“See something you like?” 

Your mouth is dry. Again, with those spread thighs. Just enough space to fit you, if you bothered to go between them. More than enough space if you decided to go on your knees. 

“I was the one who won that fight,” you point out. If your voice is a little hoarse, Sylus is magnanimous enough not to call attention to it.

He hums, seemingly deep in thought. “And so you did,” he says, brows raised in feigned surprise. “Would you like a reward?”

Something inside you throbs. It’s a hunger that sparks and spirals until it’s a flame eating through your veins. You shift your weight from one foot to another, unconsciously fidgeting on the spot. 

“I would,” you say eventually, tilting your head to the door. “Should we unwrap our hands first, or…?”

The grin Sylus gives you is filthy. “I won’t need my hands for what I’m about to do,” he says in a silky voice, and jerks his head at the wall. “Get up against the wall, sweetie. You won’t need your hands either.”

If you almost stumble in your haste to get your back pressed up against the wall, Sylus is again generous enough to not mention it.

==

© rrrrinmaru 2024 | no unauthorised publication or reproduction allowed

a/n:

reader: i could take you

sylus: in a fight?

reader: :)

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Vienna. Two.

you want to shake him, scream at him, bare your heart to him. you don’t dare. not yet, anyway. you don’t know how to feel - and carmen doesn’t either.

pairing - childhood bestfriend!carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - cursing.

word count - 2k

authors note - part two, baby! I hope you can start to understand their dynamic here - they’re like magnets. they’re a perfect match until they’re not. this is going to be fun… <3

part one. series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We haven’t done this in a while, huh?”

You shake your head as you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, taking a moment to look Carmen up and down.

He’s dressed up just for you, even attempted to style his hair. He’s wearing trousers and a linen shirt, loafers on his feet instead of the usual beat up sneakers. His jacket is slung over his arm, rings adorning his fingers. He looks handsome.

Although, admittedly, he always looks handsome to you. You’re not blind to the way girls look at him, how they looked at him when you were growing up. He’s always had this unassuming charm, this subtle, quiet beauty. He’s got striking features. Strong jaw, sloping nose, unruly curls.

He was always a skinny, lanky kid. Limbs too big for his body. He had a habit of tripping over his own feet, making both of you laugh no matter how many times it happened.

Now, he’s grown into himself. He looks strong. Broad shoulders, thick biceps, prominent thighs. He’s toned, muscled, built slightly like some sort of Greek God.

The realisation hits you all of a sudden, standing outside of The Bear. It takes you off your feet a little, causing you to sway sideways and into Carmy. His arm wraps around your hip as if by reflex, warmth from his palm bleeding through into the material of your dress. His cologne is woody and musky, and you know if you stand close enough to him for long enough that you’ll smell like it too.

“I’ve never had to do this,” he murmurs, breaking you out of your daydream. “Get seated at my own damn restaurant.”

You chuckle, fixing a stray curl that’s fallen into his eyes with gentle fingers.

“You ready? We’ve been stood here for like ten minutes, Carm. It’s kinda cold.”

You think that maybe this is all a little overwhelming for him, so you’re letting him take all the time he needs. He’s about to eat in his restaurant, the place he’s poured his heart and soul and savings into.

He nods, and you link your cold fingers with his warm ones at your side.

“Relax, Carm. Tonight is going to be incredible, alright? Just you, me, and some damn good food. We’ll be yapping each others ears off soon enough, and you won’t even be thinking about the service, or what’s happening in the kitchen.”

“You’re right,” he mumbles, squeezing your hand. “Just you and me.”

“The way it’s always been.”

You smile, and the smile you receive back is enough to light up your bones.

“Let’s fucking do this.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Richie seats you at the back of the restaurant, tucked away just out of sight. You’re grateful for the cover, and for the fact that Carmy can’t see into the kitchen.

“You nervous about them doing a night on their own, or about having dinner with me?”

His bright blue eyes snap up to meet yours, head tilting in confusion.

“Nervous?”

“You’re shaking the entire table with your knee, Carmen. I think you might be shaking the entire restaurant, actually.”

You reach out under the tablecloth to place a hand on his leg, his jitters stopping instantly.

“Sorry. Fuck, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

“I need to chill the fuck out.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to be the one to say it.”

He laughs, then. Loudly. So loudly that Richie spins around to look at the two of you, fighting a smile as he does it. He hasn’t heard that sound coming from Carmy in a long time.

“Okay, okay. I’m relaxed, I swear. Sorry. It’s just, uh… a lot to process, I guess.”

“I get it. Just remember that I’m in the exact same position as you are, alright? I mean, I’m not about to eat dinner in my restaurant, but you get my point.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Sorry.”

“I haven’t heard you apologise this much since I had to get stitches in fifth grade.”

“Oh, shit. Don’t remind me of that, please.”

It’s your turn to laugh now, your entire being lighting up with it.

“I have never seen you look so guilty in my life, Carm. Thought you were gonna cry every time you saw me.”

“Stop,” he groans. “I felt so bad. It was all my fault, and there was so much blood.”

“You didn’t know I was gonna hit my head.”

“Yeah, but I used to forget that I was stronger than you. Especially when I started growing taller.”

“When did that happen? You got taller?”

“You’re such a bitch,” he laughs, kicking your shin under the table.

“Careful, Carm. That might need stitches.”

“I hate you,” he all but yells, beaming grin plastered across his face. “Shut up and decide what you want to drink.”

You pretend to look at the menu, eyes scanning across it.

“This is hard to read.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s a terrible choice of font, Carmen. There’s no way anyone older than sixty is deciphering this.”

He snatches it from your hand, studying it carefully. After a moment of silence, he speaks.

“Fine. It might be a bit difficult to read.”

You feign passing out, sagging back in your chair like an award winning actress.

“You’re apologising, you’re telling me I’m right… who are you, and what have you done with Carmen Berzatto?”

He laughs again, still loud and real. What a joy, to make your best friend throw his head back in amusement after all this time.

“It’s fine. I’ll just get you to redo them.”

“Oh, you will, will you?”

“Of course. It’s your speciality, and it means there’ll be a piece of you in the restaurant too.”

You think about it for a second, holding his gaze.

“Fine. But only if you ask me nicely.”

“Vienna,” he begins, grabbing your hand across the table. “Will you please do me the honour of designing me some new menus?”

“Carm,” you grin, squeezing his fingers. “I would love to. It’d be my pleasure, in fact.”

“Perfect.”

Richie appears, then, smiling like he knows something you don’t.

“Drinks, kids?”

“Two waters, and two wines that’ll go best with dinner, Cousin.”

You nod in agreement, winking at Richie.

“You got it, Boss.”

When he leaves, you turn to Carmen.

“You guys are… good? You and Richie?”

He looks a little taken aback by your question. Bristled, almost.

“Yeah, uh - yeah, we’re… fine. We’re good. Yeah.”

“Sounds it.”

Another kick meets your shin under the table.

“Fuck you, Berzatto. Those fancy leather shoes hurt.”

“I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look at me like you’re reading my mind. It’s annoying.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Real mature, Vi. Real mature.”

Richie appears seemingly out of thin air, placing your drinks on the table. He still has that look on his face.

“Food won’t be long, besties.”

“Besties,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Haven’t heard that in a while.”

“That’s what you always were! The Besties. Honestly, I was always a little jealous. I asked Mikey if we could have a cool nickname for our friendship, but he fuckin’ refused. Asshole.”

The offhand mention of Michael hits you like a punch to the stomach, solid and unflinching. It still makes you want to cry, even after all this time.

“You were always Mikey and Cousin,” you tease, hoping they can’t hear the shake in your voice. “A world famous double act. Never one without the other.”

Richie laughs as he walks away, which in turn makes you smile. He always laughs so wholeheartedly, so fully. It lights up a room.

“I don’t know who’s happier that you’re back - me or him.”

“Oh, definitely him.”

Carmy shakes his head as he chuckles.

“I don’t know about that,” he says quietly, after a minute. “I missed you like hell, Vi.”

“I missed you too,” you murmur, linking your fingers with his atop the table. “I wish you’d answered the phone more.”

“I know. I know. I, uh… I guess I just… I didn’t think you could ever miss me as much as I was missing you.”

“That’s not true,” you whisper, brows furrowed. “That’s not true at all, Carmen. You’d know that if you called. You could have asked, and I would have answered.”

“Yeah, well. Didn’t wanna bother you, I guess.”

“You being my friend isn’t you bothering me, Carm. It’s the exact opposite. That’s kind of the point.”

“Too late now.”

You drop his hand, withdrawing yours into your lap.

“Yeah, it is. Because you were my best friend, and then all of a sudden it was like you didn’t exist. Do you understand that?”

“I thought it would be better-”

“If I lost you and Michael? Because that’s what it fucking felt like, Carmen. He died, and you were gone. Actually, you were gone long before he died, which somehow was worse.”

He doesn’t know what to say - it’s written all over his face. You don’t break his gaze as you sit across from him, the rest of the restaurant unaware of the heated conversation you’re in the middle of.

Richie brings your first course over in silence, as if he’s sensed the change in mood. He places both of your plates down, squeezing your shoulder gently as he walks away.

“You know you’re allowed to love more than one thing, right? You don’t have to choose between food and me, or between food and your family. You never had to choose. No one ever expected you to,” you take a deep breath, exhaling carefully. “And yet, for some reason, you made yourself believe that you did. And you chose food. And I got left in the dark. We all did.”

He goes to speak, but you cut him off before he can.

“There is nothing you can say right now that isn’t going to piss me off. So don’t try.”

You pick up your fork and begin to eat, trying to focus on the food. It’s delicious, admittedly. Not something you’d usually order, but clearly very carefully crafted. When you’ve finished, you look up at Carmy to find him already watching you.

“How was it?”

You consider it for a moment, making him wait.

“It was beautiful.”

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. He values your opinion so much, even if he’d never admit it. His brother used to tease him about it, his constant need for your approval. Even as kids.

He nods, not wanting to step over the line again.

“I don’t want to spend tonight fighting with you, Carmen. We can do that some other time.”

“Can we talk about this properly, though? Later, or tomorrow, or something?”

You chew your lip, tasting slight vanilla from your lip balm.

“Yeah. I think we need to. It’s long overdue.”

“Okay,” he breathes. “Yeah. Later. Or tomorrow, or something.”

“Yeah.”

You sit in the silence for a minute, listening to the noise from the restaurant.

“So come on, Carm. Tell me about what’s on this menu tonight.”

He launches into a language you barely understand, but you listen intently anyway. Flavour palettes, texture combinations, acidity and sweetness. You take all of it in, watching the way he lights up with every word.

You wonder if maybe he did make the right choice. Choosing food, instead of you.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

@agirlcandream84 @diorrfairy @raging-panda @melancholicmelanin @nolita-fairytale @jacxx2 @huang-the-geek @2guysonascooter @stxxllaaa @an0nym1ss @thereisnoowl @amataadriana @dreamingofleon @gabbycoady13 @stilinskisensation @prongsprincessworld @arieltwvdtohamflash @clairesjointshurt @gnocchisworld @buzzcutlip

[chvoswxtch]

we got a problem

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you discover a shocking revelation about who's behind the defenders of freedom.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of guns & violence

word count: 4k

a/n: this chapter is a little on the shorter side, but it does contain a huge bombshell. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

If someone had told you six months ago that you would be going shopping with Frank Castle, you would’ve done more than laugh maniacally; you would’ve recommended that they get a psychological evaluation. Hell, even seventy-two hours ago you wouldn’t have believed it. But here you were, in the women’s section, sifting through hangers and stacks of clothing with Frank following you closer than your own shadow, listening to his quiet grunts of irreverence and faint hums of approval when your fingers wandered over different items.

“I don’t get what the big deal is ‘bout this place. It’s just a store.”

All at once, your palm paused over a dark blue pair of jeans, and you looked up at Frank in a mock expression of horror while clutching your hand over your chest. 

“Target isn’t just a store, Frank. It’s a way of life. And we happen to be in a Super Target, which means not only do they have literally everything you could ever want, but there’s a built-in makeup store and a Starbucks.”

Frank rolled his eyes in exasperation and grumbled under his breath as he lifted the white grande cup up on cue, which looked comically tiny in his large hand, and brought it up to his lips to take a sip of the black coffee he had gotten.

“Yeah, don’t remind me I paid seven fuckin’ dollars for one goddamn cup of coffee.”

“Technically you paid eighteen because you were kind enough to buy my iced latte.”

“Is it even still a latte when you ask for fifteen extra fuckin’ shots of espresso?”

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you arched one of your brows and placed your hands on your hips while looking up at Frank. 

“I asked for two extra shots-“

“When it already came with four-“

“I don’t need to explain my caffeine intake to you. Now, if you’re finished with your interrogation, can you tell me how long we plan to be on the run for?”

A slight crease nestled between Frank’s brows while his features twisted into a look of incomprehension. Shoving one of his large hands into his jean pocket, he pursed his lips slightly in conjunction with shrugging his broad shoulders.

“However long it takes to figure out who’s behind this shit.”

“And…exactly how many outfits and tubes of toothpaste does that translate into?”

“Just get whatever ya want.”

Pinching at the bridge of your nose, you inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath before crossing your arms over your chest and staring up at Frank. 

“I don’t know how much you think journalists make, but I can’t exactly-“

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, I’m buyin’.”

Those words were certainly not what you were expecting to come from Frank’s mouth, and the shock was evident on your features. While you stared up at him, completely stunned, Frank gave a light shake of his head with a miniscule charming smile and took another sip of his coffee.

“You can’t use any of your credit cards. They could be trackin’ your bank accounts to figure out where you are.”

“I could pull out-“

“You use an ATM to get cash, they’ll know which one you pulled it from, and that gives ‘em a location. As far as they know, you’re dead somewhere. The longer they think that, the more time we got to figure this shit out.”

“Frank-“

“Just put the goddamn stuff in the cart, and finish your liquid heart attack. We got shit to do.”

Realizing that Frank was serious about his offer, a part of you felt guilty for all the items currently in your cart. You weren’t high maintenance by any means-okay maybe a little, but a girl has needs. You couldn’t get by with three shirts, two pairs of jeans, and a three in one bath product like Frank could. 

On the other hand, you were curious to see exactly how much you could get away with, and the urge to press his buttons was oh so tempting. A devious grin stretched slowly across your lips, and Frank narrowed his eyes at you in suspicion when he noticed the mischievous twinkle in your gaze.

“Well, if you insist.”

Dropping the jeans into the cart with a satisfied smirk, you pushed the cart over towards the makeup section in the middle of the store and could hear a disgruntled Frank muttering an ‘aw hell’ under his breath as he followed right behind you, much to your amusement, which caused laughter to bubble up from your chest. 

Shopping with Frank was your new favorite activity.

»»———　　———««

“How them sheets feel?”

A faint smirk curled at the edge of your mouth as you glanced at Frank over your shoulder from where you were laying on your stomach on one of the comfortable beds. He had managed to find a decent hotel outside the city, and got a room with two beds much to your disappointment, but anything was an upgrade compared to the seedy motel the two of you had camped out in the previous night.

“Like clouds.”

Frank raised one of his dark brows in silent amusement while looking over at you from his spot at the desk by the window. He let out a quiet grunt in response before his features morphed back in pure concentration while he averted his gaze back down to the gun he was currently cleaning. For a moment you completely forgot what you were doing and just watched him, completely mesmerized. His large hands moved methodically, but so fluidly as he cleaned each piece and re-assembled the weapon, like it was second nature and something he could probably do with ease in his sleep. The way his fingers were gliding over the pieces had your mind suddenly wandering to what else Frank’s hands might be good at. 

“Find anythin’ yet?”

Frank’s gruff voice tore you out of your impure thoughts, and your cheeks burned with heat realizing you had spent the past three minutes gawking at him. Clearing your throat, you turned your attention back to the documents in front of you, willing the black and white text to come back into focus as you found the paragraph you had left off on.

“Um…it seems like all the permits and the deed for the land are registered to a company called Fortis Allied. I can’t find a name attached to it, but all the paperwork is fairly recent. Everything looks like it was filed within the last year.”

“You say fortis? Like f-o-r-t-i-s?”

“Does that ring a bell for you?”

“It’s Latin.”

Scrunching up your brows, you turned your head to look at Frank again in a mixture of puzzlement and surprise.

“You know Latin?”

Frank had leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, his legs spread slightly making his lap look like an extremely comfortable and inviting seat. He held onto the handle of the gun in one hand and the rag he had been using to clean the pieces in the other, his dark brows knit as he stared over at you with his eyes squinted slightly in curiosity, like he was deep in thought about something.

“Marines’ got a motto, Semper Fidelis. It’s Latin, means always faithful. Navy’s got one kinda similar; Semper Fortis.”

Frank clicked his tongue against his cheek as he let out a dry and humorless scoff that only fueled your confusion further.

“And why is that funny?”

“Cause it means always courageous. And if these are the assholes we think they are, that’s pretty goddamn ironic.”

Staring down at the slew of papers spread on the bed in front before you, Frank’s Latin lesson presented more questions than it answered, and your lips pursed slightly.

“Defenders of Freedom and Courageous Allied. Their creativity is astounding.”

Frank snickered quietly behind you hearing the dry sarcasm seeping from your voice. Letting out a sigh of frustration, you reached for your phone that was charging on the nightstand. It had been dead for the past seventy-two hours, and as soon as it turned on, you had an overwhelming amount of missed calls and texts from people who thought you were either missing or dead, or both. About eighty percent of the missed calls and frantic voicemails were from Ellison, but to your surprise, there were quite a few missed calls and texts from Billy as well.

You had made sure to turn off your location so that your phone couldn’t be tracked, and Frank had been adamant about you shutting off your imessage. Deciding you had raised your boss’ blood pressure enough for three days, you sat up cross legged on the bed and grabbed one of the paper’s from the bed that had all the company’s information on it.

“I’m gonna call Ellison and see-”

“No.”

Looking over at Frank in surprise, you let out a quiet scoff of incredulity. 

“Frank, I have to tell him I’m alive. And he can help us-”

“The less people know you’re alive right now, the better. I told you, we can’t trust nobody right now.”

Dragging your palm down your face slowly in irritation, you shook your head in a show of defiance.

“I’m pretty sure my boss isn’t one of the people trying to kill me-”

“You don’t know that-”

“Yes Frank, I do. Ellison is practically the closest thing to family I have in this city, and considering that his best friend, and my mentor, was murdered by Wilson Fisk, I can say with absolute certainty that he is not involved in this shit.”

Frank’s hardened features softened slightly hearing the slight twinge of grief that resonated in your tone, and he was looking at you with those big brown puppy dog eyes of his that normally made your knees weak. But right now that infatuating sight was no match for the heaviness of guilt that filled your entire rib cage like raw cement every time you thought about Ben. 

You swallowed the pebble that threatened to swell into a boulder in your throat and stared down at your phone screen, your thumb hovering over Ellison’s contact.

“Fisk was never charged with murder.”

Frank’s voice sounded almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should be saying that, but it was clear he was looking for an explanation behind your accusation, even though he wasn’t outright asking. It was almost eerie how he always seemed to know when to explicitly ask you something, and when to craft an open invitation to let you come to him.

“Ben was writing a story about him. He was going to expose him for who he really was. He got too close, and Fisk killed him for it. He broke into his home and strangled him to death, but he didn’t leave any fingerprints or evidence, and his hard drive was wiped clean. Ben’s d-his case is still considered an unsolved homicide.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Frank slowly stand up from the chair he was sitting in. He tentatively took a few steps towards you and sat down on the edge of the bed next to you, his eyes searching your avoidant gaze.

“What makes you so sure that’s what happened though?”

“Because I pushed him into doing the story.”

The way your voice slightly broke off towards the end of your sentence broke Frank’s heart. The remorse you felt was evident as it rose along your waterline.

“He didn’t wanna do the story. He told me to let it go, and I didn’t. If I had just left it alone-”

Frank wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you in closer towards him, cradling your head against his chest as he held you close and kept his voice soft.

“Hey, hey…don’t do that. Don’t put that on yourself. Whatever happened, it ain’t your fault, you got that? Don’t take the blame for somethin’ that someone else did. He did the story cause he knew you were right, yeah? He believed in you, sweetheart. And that piece of shit Fisk is rottin’ in prison where he belongs, gettin’ exactly what he’s got comin’ to ‘em, trust me.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as he slowly carded his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. 

“I just feel like it’s all my fault. Like I…I could’ve prevented it.”

For a moment Frank was silent. Eventually he let out a heavy exhale through his large nose and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“I know.”

The deafted way he spoke those two words made it sound like Frank was telling you that he knew exactly what you were feeling, and an ominous thought crossed your mind as you found yourself wondering if he felt that way about his wife’s death. 

He let go of your head and reached into his pocket, pulling out the burner phone that he used. Frank handed the flip phone to you, and you lifted your head to stare up at him curiously. 

“Let ‘em know you’re alright, but make sure he knows it’s important no one else knows nothin’ ‘bout you, yeah?”

“You can trust him, Frank. He’ll help us.”

»»———　　———««

Forty five minutes later, you managed to calm an absolutely hysterical and pissed off Ellison, changed his mind about firing you once you were no longer considered missing/dead, and caught him up on everything that had happened since the night you were attacked three days ago. He agreed to help you and Frank do some digging into the company listed on the permits for the warehouse that burnt down, and in addition to emailing you everything he could find about the company, he also sent you copies of the reports on the two men that had attacked you.

“You were right.”

Frank’s head instantly snapped over in your direction, and his thick brows rose up his forehead slightly in bewilderment.

“‘Scuse me?”

“Cavella and Walker were in the Navy.”

Holding out your phone for Frank to see, you showed him the article you were currently reading on your phone that had a picture of the two men in their Naval uniform. Frank seemed to completely ignore your comment and was looking at you instead of the screen.

“You mind repeatin’ that?”

“I said Cav-”

“Nah, what you said before that ‘bout me bein’ right.”

As you caught the delighted smirk that tugged at the edge of Frank’s mouth, you rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head with a soft laugh, returning your attention to the article.

“Shut up, I tell you when you’re right.”

“Yeah, only after I gotta fix that bratty attitude of yours. The other ninety nine percent of the time, you gotta fight with me ‘bout every goddamn little thing.”

“Don’t be so fun to argue with, and I’ll stop.”

Lighty shrugging your shoulders with a faint mischievous grin on your lips, Frank shook his head and let out a dry scoff in response.

“Ya’know, you remind me of another hot-headed smartass I know.”

“Your other favorite person?”

“He’s the fuckin’ Devil, and a goddamn pain in my ass. Hell of a lawyer, though. You oughta think ‘bout switchin’ professions and arguin’ for a livin’. Think you could give even him a run for his money.”

For some reason that made you laugh loudly. The kind of carefree laugh where you throw your head back like a little kid, eyes crinkling, stomach aching with pure joy. Frank was the first person to make you laugh like that in a long time.

“I’m perfectly happy where I’m at. Besides, I’m pretty sure I would be disbarred within the first hour. I don’t think you’re allowed to tell the opposing court to go fuck themselves when they say something out of pocket.”

“Pretty sure you ain’t allowed to throw shit at ‘em either.”

Turning your head to glare playfully over at Frank, he returned it instantly with a challenging arch of his dark brow. You couldn’t fight the grin that slowly stretched across your lips seeing the faux serious look on his face.

“I threw a pillow at you.”

“Two pillows. Hard as hell, too.”

“I had no idea you were so sensitive.”

“I’m fuckin’ delicate, goddamn it.”

The mock expression of offense on Frank’s face coupled with the serious tone of his voice made you double over with laughter. He couldn’t seem to keep his composure either, and he began to laugh along with you. Shaking your head slowly, you waved your hand at him dismissively and turned your attention back to your phone.

“Okay, I’m trying to solve a case here. Stop distracting me. I have more than two pillows in my arsenal right now.”

“That a threat?”

“It’s a promise, Castle.”

“I had no idea you were so ruthless.”

Frank grumbled quietly under his breath as he looked through the stack of papers with the ghost of a smile on his lips while you softly laughed, his dark eyes scanning the pages for anything either of you might have missed. 

As you looked through the documents Ellison had emailed you about Fortis Allied, perplexity creased in the middle of your forehead the more you looked through each page.

“It’s not a real company.”

“What?”

“Fortis Allied. It’s…it’s like a shell company. It’s just a front. And it’s owned by…”

As you read the signature on one of the forms you were looking at, your confusion melted into an expression of cognizance. Enlarging the signature, you turned to show your screen to Frank, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he read the letters, before his face shifted into a look of indignation.

“Son of a bitch.”

Owned and operated by Nicolas Cavella.

Before either of you could say anything, Frank’s phone started to ring. He glanced down at and read the name flashing across the screen, giving you a quick glance before flipping it open to answer.

“Yeah?”

He stood up and walked over towards the window, leaning against the wall with his back to you. Curiosity got the better of you, and your eyes fixated on him as you watched him intently.

“Been takin’ care of somethin’. What do ya need?” His voice sounded a little rougher than usual, and you caught the way he tensed slightly and watched as his eyes flickered over at you over his shoulder. You arched one of your brows silently, as if asking him who he was talking to and what was going on.

“Yeah…I know. Cause I turned ‘em off. You know why, Bill. Yeah, she’s fine.”

Billy.

It abruptly dawned on you that you weren’t sure if Frank had told Billy what happened. He was technically supposed to be with Steven right now. Where did Billy think Frank was? What had Frank told him? Why wasn’t Frank letting him help?

In the midst of your chaotic inner monologue, Frank’s head dropped between his shoulders for a moment and he let out a heavy exhale before turning to stare over at you with an unreadable expression.

“She’s with me.”

The way Frank said that sent a shiver cascading down your spine, and the room suddenly felt twenty degrees hotter. You watched as he lightly clenched his jaw and nodded, as if Billy were in the room and not on the other end of the line.

“Be there in an hour.”

Without another word, Frank snapped his phone shut, and you watched him inquisitively.

“What was that about?”

“I gotta go check in with Bill. That trustfund asshole is throwin’ a fit ‘bout me not bein’ ‘round.”

While Frank started to gather his wallet and his gun, you quickly got down from the bed, feeling your pulse start to quicken at the thought of him leaving.

“Wait, I thought Steven didn’t want you around?”

“And I didn’t wanna be ‘round, but I guess you gettin’ kidnapped and two cops gettin’ shot spooked ‘em. I won’t be gone long.”

Before Frank could take another step, you grabbed your bag and started to gather up all the paperwork back into the folder.

“I’m coming.”

Frank paused while reaching for his black denim jacket. He let out a deep exhale as she shook his head and motioned towards the bed for you to sit.

“It ain’t safe for you to be in the city right now. Just stay here and I’ll be-”

“Frank, we already talked about this. I’m safer with you, okay?”

“It’s only an hour away-”

“I don’t care if it’s five minutes down the street, I don’t want to be without you.”

Alone. You had meant to say, ‘I don’t want to be alone’. But the words had already left your lips, and Frank was already staring at you with that one look in his eyes that you could never seem to decode. He didn’t hesitate like he did when you asked to come on the stakeout with him. He walked over towards the door of the hotel room and opened it, gesturing with his head for you to follow him, and before you knew it, the New York City skyline was coming into view.

»»———　　———««

When Frank pulled up to the Anvil office and put his truck in park, he turned his head to look at you with a somewhat stern gaze.

“Just stay in the truck, alright? Won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

For a minute, Frank’s thick brows knit together before they rose up his forehead an inch, like he was shocked you simply agreed instead of arguing with him about coming in. He eyed you warily for another moment before letting out a quiet grunt and getting out, closing the driver side door behind himself. While you watched him march up the front steps of Anvil, it was incredibly amusing to see how many people rushed to get out of his way. You weren’t sure if it was because they knew him and knew to stay out of his way, or if it was because of his physical stature and the permanent broody look etched onto his sharp features. Either way, you couldn’t help but laugh.

While you sat there in the truck looking through your phone, you noticed that there was a red notification dot lingering over your voice notes app. Clicking on the app curiously, you were met with an error message that read “Failed to capture full recording”. Immediately you were puzzled, and then you noticed that your last recording was over four hours. When you checked the date and saw it was from three days ago, a soft gasp left your lips.

You had never stopped the recording with Walker and Cavella.

Your phone must have just kept recording until it eventually died. With everything that had happened the past three days, you had almost forgotten about the recording entirely. Pressing the play button, you turned up the volume and listened to the playback.

The sound of glass shattering and bullets flying along with your own panicked scream had you wincing and pulling the phone away from your ear. The sounds of one of the most traumatic nights of your life had your stomach twisting into anxious knots, and you felt the phantom pain in your bandaged hand of glass slicing it open all over again. But just as you were about to turn it off, something caught your attention and made your ears perk up.

Rewinding the recording a few seconds, you pressed play again.

“Pr…we…ot…fuc…lem.”

The sound of bullets being fired in the background made it difficult to make out the words. You rewound it a few seconds and played it again, furrowing your brows as you listened intently.

“Pr…we..got..fuc…problem.”

After quickly downloading one of those music recording apps on your phone, you imported the clip from the voice memo and tried to figure out how to isolate the audio to where you could hear it better. As you pressed play this time and listened, you could hear Cavella’s frantic shouting clear as day, and his words made your blood run cold.

“Price, we got a fucking problem!”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @twoshields @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @ferns-fics @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @yeah3459 @collaps3r @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @annalism @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @fearne-calloways-wife @cuntghoulie @marcysbear @lunaticgurly @xxdrixx @pretzelcows @aoi-targaryen @callacats @iloveabeltesfayehehe @keshaia @dumb-fawkin-bitch @lilylilyyyyyy

*if your tag isn't working, pls let me know!

[blackenedsnow]

Hello! Feel free to ignore this if you can't or wouldn't like to write it!

If it's not any trouble, could I request an Arthur Morgan x Asexual!Reader thing (one shot or headcanons, whatever fits better and/or is easier!), where there's like, mutual pining, but the reader speaks about their aversion to sex and lack of that sort of attraction, and how they think they're just never gonna have a meaningful romantic relationship because of this? Been feeling discouraged and sad about this, so yeah lmao.

And if the reader could be buff, it'd be awesome (no, I am not buff yet, but I will use this as inspiration to get there lol.

Anyways, tysm for taking the time to read this! Have a lovely day/night/afternoon!

heart stronger than flesh

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan x Asexual! Reader

NOTE: I hope this gave you the encouragement you were looking for! Arthur's got your back, and so do I. You're going to reach those buff goals, one step at a time. Stay strong and know you're worthy of all the love and care in the world! Thank you so much for requesting this. Remember that love comes in many forms, and you deserve it as you are.

SUMMARY: Arthur has always admired you—your strength, your sharp wit, the way you stand tall in the middle of this messy world. He knows there’s something unspoken between you two, but neither of you has dared to name it. That is, until one evening when you finally confront your fears about the future.

The camp was quiet tonight, only the crackling of the fire filling the air as the rest of the gang slowly drifted off to sleep. You sat a little ways from the fire, resting on a fallen log, your muscles tense from the long day. Arthur sat nearby, the warmth of the firelight casting flickering shadows over his face as he quietly cleaned his gun. His usual frown softened whenever his eyes flickered your way, though he was trying to act like he wasn’t paying too much attention to you.

It had been this way for a while now. The unspoken tension between you two simmered just beneath the surface—an unacknowledged pining that neither of you knew how to handle. You weren’t blind to how he looked at you, especially after all the times you’d ridden into town together, his eyes lingering on the way your biceps flexed when you pulled the reins. He was always good at keeping it hidden, though, his cowboy façade of stoicism remaining intact. But tonight felt different. He kept glancing over at you more often than usual, his jaw clenched a little tighter.

You sighed and stretched your arms above your head, feeling your muscles strain under your skin. Even in the dim light, your physique was obvious—strong arms and broad shoulders earned through days of hard work and rough living. You were proud of the strength you'd built, but something else gnawed at you. The weight in your chest wasn’t from exhaustion.

You tried to brush the thought aside, but it came creeping back, like it always did.

Arthur noticed the shift in your expression. He finally broke the silence, his voice low and gravelly. “You alright?”

You hesitated, your fingers idly picking at the worn fabric of your pants. “Yeah. Just… got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

He nodded, putting down his gun and giving you his full attention now. He was quiet for a moment, waiting for you to speak. His eyes were soft, his usual guarded expression slipping as he looked at you with concern.

You shifted on the log, feeling the words at the back of your throat, but they were hard to spit out. How could you explain it? You weren’t shy about being tough, about fighting back against the world, but this? This was something different. Something more vulnerable.

“Arthur…” you started, not looking at him directly. “You ever… feel like you're not ever gonna have what other folks have? Like, love… romance?” You paused, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. “I mean, I see people, how they are with each other. But for me… I don’t feel the same way they do.”

Arthur frowned slightly, not sure where you were going with this yet. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, your hands tightening into fists in your lap. “I don’t… I don’t want the same things as most people. I don’t want—” You stopped, heart pounding, before forcing yourself to continue. “I don’t want sex, Arthur. I never have. Never felt that way. And it makes me feel like… like I'm gonna be enough. Not for anyone.”

Arthur was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you, but there was no judgment in his eyes. Just understanding, like he was listening to every word you said with more focus than he gave most things in this world.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while now. About... us. I know there’s… something between us, but I’m scared it’ll never work because I can’t give you what most people expect in a relationship. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s fair to you.”

Arthur finally spoke, his voice low and calm. “You really think that’s all there is to love? To wantin’ someone?”

You blinked at him, surprised by his question.

“I’m serious,” he said, shifting forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned toward you. “You think I’m with you—care about you—just ‘cause of what I could get outta you physically?” He shook his head. “It ain’t like that. Not for me.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say.

“I don’t care about that,” he continued. “Hell, I’ve been around enough folks to know what really matters. I care about *you*. I care about the way you carry yourself, the way you look after the people you care about, the way you get stronger every damn day.” His eyes softened even more. “You think I ain’t noticed how damn strong you’ve gotten, how you keep pushin’ yourself?”

Your heart skipped a beat as he spoke, and a warmth spread through your chest at his words. You had always prided yourself on your strength, but hearing it from him—hearing how he noticed and appreciated it—meant more than you could have expected.

“I’ve felt it too,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Somethin’ between us. I ain’t gonna pretend I know all the answers, but I know I care about you. And I don’t need anything else but you by my side.”

It was hard with the weight of your fears crashing into the relief his words brought.

Arthur, ever perceptive, reached out slowly, placing a calloused hand on your knee. It was a gentle touch—so different from the hardened man you were used to seeing in him.

“I ain’t here to push you,” he said softly. “You don’t ever have to be anything you’re not. I don’t expect you to change, and I sure as hell don’t think you’re any less for feelin’ the way you do.” He hesitated, squeezing your knee gently. “You’re more than enough. I promise you that.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping your eyes quickly. “Arthur, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t gotta say anything,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Just know that you mean somethin’ to me. And I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

For the first time in a long while, the tight knot in your chest started to loosen. You weren’t used to feeling this kind of reassurance, and yet, here was Arthur Morgan—someone as rough as the life you both led—telling you that you were enough just as you were.

You looked down at his hand on your knee, then back up into his eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled—just a small, fleeting thing, but it was real. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the fire crackling softly beside you, the night quiet and peaceful for once. And in that stillness, you felt a sense of calm settle in your bones.

You were strong—physically and emotionally. And with Arthur by your side, maybe you didn’t have to carry that weight alone.

[jpitha]

The Gods Among us

It is not unusual to have Gods.

Most - if not all - of the sapient races did at one time or another.

What is unusual however, is how completely the humans kept their gods.

Don’t get it confused. There is not one human religion.

There are millions.

There are atheists who worship no gods and think the whole thing is rather silly, monotheists who worship one and only one god and get sniffy about all the others, and people who worship a whole pantheon of gods of all different shapes, sizes and colors.

People who worship nature.

People who worship their ancestors.

People who worship their system’s star.

Humans are unique in their belief though. They bring their gods with them. I mean this figuratively of course. But... also literally. Humans will talk about how their gods follow them, and come along - sometimes to help, sometimes not. They speak of them as if they're right there with them.

And friends, I swear I’ve seen them too.

One time, we were between the stars and our FlashWarp drive failed. I don't know the details behind the why of it, I was onboard as a passenger. We were two days without our drive and thoroughly stuck.

On this trip, quite a few of the passengers were human. I had seen them before in passing, but never up close before. Short and stout, their bodies shouted their origin. A dangerous, difficult, high gravity world. They were strong and clever and built to survive.

Some carried little trinkets and charms too. Little pieces of metal, or plastic in small shapes. During the evening meal, I had asked one of them about it, and they had mentioned that it was a sign of their religion.

"Religion? As in worshiping the supernatural?"

"Well, technically, I suppose. It's much more personal for me than something academic sounding like that." They smiled and used their delicate digits to manipulate the little charm while they spoke. "Humanity has had religion a long, long time. I understand that many Confederation races had it too at one point, but most decided to put it away as they ventured out into space, correct?"

I nodded. It was fascinating to hear the conversation. I had never spoken with a human this much before. Her accent was impeccable and her voice was like music. Did all humans sound like this?

She continued. "Humans - those who Believe - bring that with them in what they do, who they are. That's not to say that Atheists are bad or wrong, or people who follow different gods are bad or wrong either. The galaxy is large enough for everyone, right?" I nodded, trying to follow her logic. "But in a galaxy as large as this, I believe that there is more to existence than meets the eye." Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.

While we were speaking, another human walked by. Tall for them, male shaped, with broad shoulders, and quite a lot of facial hair - beards is what they called them I believe. His facial hair was neatly trimmed and oiled. As he walked by I could smell it. I couldn't place the scent. Resinous though, natural. It was nice.

As he walked by, he glanced down at Meredith, he saw her fingering her little charm - it was two straight pieces of metal crossed near the top, one smaller than the other - and smiled.

I looked up at him. We met eyes - Meredith didn't notice him - and he closed one eye quickly and then opened it again. I think it's called... a wink? It's one of those gestures humans do that's full of nuance. It's hard for most translators to understand it.

Just as quickly as it began, the interaction was over. He continued on with long purposeful strides towards the rear of the ship, where Engineering and the FlashWarp modules were.

Later that day, there was an announcement from the Captain that the drive was repaired and we could continue to warp to our destination. We would work hard to make up for lost time, but that we would probably be a demi cycle behind. Apologies were offered, discounts on future travel given out, but mostly everyone was happy we weren't stranded anymore.

A rumor started on the ship however. While the engineers had the drive apart and were struggling with why it had failed, a human had walked into Engineering, looking around as if they belonged there, approached the FlashWarp module and stared at it for a moment.

When confronted and asked what he was doing, he replied in perfect Maligran - the language of the engineers working that time - "Have you checked the outer compensator? It looks cracked to me." and then did that motion with one of his eyes - closing and opening the lid quickly - and left.

The engineers, with nothing else left to try checked the outer compensator. It was impossible to see with an unaided eye, but they scanned it and sure enough, it was cracked. Just enough to prevent the FlashWarp seed field from forming. They had a spare on hand, replaced it, and were up and running almost immediately.

The next morning, I sought out Meredith at the morning meal. I asked her if she knew the human that had walked in, pointed out the error and left.

"What did he look like?"

I described him as best as I could, as well as the scent I noticed.

She nodded sagely. "That was probably Saint Eligius, patron saint of mechanical engineers."

My fur puffed out involuntarily. "A religious figure?"

She nodded and took a sip of coffee. "A minor one, but one nonetheless."

"And you're not surprised by this?"

"On the contrary, I'm pleased to hear that my prayers were answered."

"You... prayed for him?"

"Not him specifically, but I did ask for help."

I sat down at the table heavily. It seemed impossible that a human saint had walked by - had winked at me - and yet...

"Meredith, can you tell me more about your religion?"

[cyarikaplease]

say no to this

step dad!din djarin x f!reader

summary: you have sex with your step dad in the mines of mandalore

warnings: explicit smut, must be 18 years or older to read, step-cest, if that is not your thing then please click away

Life on Mandalore has been nothing short of hectic. It’s not that you don’t like having the clans living amongst each other. But the fact of the matter is you don’t feel like Mandalore is your home. You didn’t grow up on Mandalore and based on the legends you didn’t understand why the others were so determined to come back. And now that you’re living here, you still don’t get it.

They’ve done their best to make the place feel more like a home. Houses made of stone have been built but they’re more utilitarian than cozy. They’re still trying to figure out what land can be used for farming and it’s a miracle no one’s starving yet.

And then there’s your mother. Your mother decided to get remarried once you got settled here and she chose to marry none other than Din Djarin. You expected your mom to get married again sooner or later. She’s been lonely since your father passed away during battle many cycles ago. But you didn’t expect her to marry Din. You’ve heard the rumors about him but you didn’t meet him until right before everyone went to reclaim Mandalore. You didn’t have time to address your attraction to him back then but that’s when it started. Between the saunter in his step, how broad he is, and his brilliant silver armor you’re head over heels. Not to mention how good he is with his then-foundling and now son, Grogu.

He’s been the only person concerned about your transition to life on Mandalore. As if your attraction to Din needed to grow any deeper. Your mother has been busy with Bo-Katan and the Armorer, developing infrastructure and surveying land for farming. Which left you alone with Din and Grogu. He’s been great with checking in with you here and there.

On the rare occasions when he went with the others to attend to matters, you were left to watch over Grogu. And it made you seethe with jealousy. Not that you didn’t like watching Grogu. You just felt like you should be out there with your man. Because deep down, you developed not only a crush but a slightly possessive one at that.

You think he feels it, too. There have been times when his visor lingers on you. And although you can’t see his face like he can see yours, you can only imagine what his expression is like underneath his helmet. Or it’s a pat on your shoulder or his hand on the small of your back as he’s trying to scooch behind you. It’s literally anything. It doesn’t matter what because your mind has convinced you that he wants you like you want him. Sometimes you think you’re crazy, that you’re foolish for believing that your stepdad could possibly be into you.

But maybe you’re not so crazy after all.

It’s another typical day for you. You’re sitting outside, looking up at the muddled atmosphere. You sense Din beside you out of your peripheral, towering above you.

“Doing alright?” he asks, crouching down to sit beside you. He sets Grogu down, letting him waddle around on the rocks, lifting a few of the small ones with the Force.

“Not really. But it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. What can I help you with?”

“Probably nothing. I’m just never going to get used to this place being home.”

“Can I suggest something?”

“What is it?” you ask, turning to look at him.

“What about doing some things to feel more connected to the creed?”

“Like what?”

“Have you visited the Living Waters?”

“No.”

“I would start there.”

“I thought you only had to go there if you messed up. You know… like you did,” you joke.

“Very funny,” he deadpans.

“But I’ll go if you think it’ll help.”

He scoops Grogu into his arms and stands, offering his free hand to help you up. You grab your helmet and take his hand, standing so close to him it makes your stomach flutter. You look down before replacing your helmet on your head and see his hand flex after he lets it go. And it leaves you wondering what that could mean.

You bid him goodbye, feeling his visor burn a hole into you walk away. The journey to the Living Waters is uneventful. Most if not all of the threats were cleared out by the others a while ago.

Once you get there you take off your helmet and jetpack, sitting on the stone floor by the water's edge and enjoying the solitude. It’s actually peaceful down here and you hate feeling that way. You’ve gotten so used to being apathetic about every aspect of this place that feels weird to enjoy something here for once. Since moving here you’ve gotten used to being alone, since your mother and the other clan members have been so busy. Aside from the moments with Din and Grogu, of course. But here it feels like you’re alone on your own terms like you chose for it to be this way instead of the others just abandoning you.

“How are you doing?” a voice says behind you.

You startle with a jolt, turning your torso to get a glance at who’s there. It’s Din, of course. Who else would it be? No one else cares this much to come all this way to see how you’re doing. You’re surprised you didn’t hear him but you must’ve been too far in your own head, reflecting.

“I don’t mind it down here,” you say, turning to face the water again.

He detaches his jetpack and sits beside you like he did on the surface, but this time he spins around to face your side, back nice and straight up nice and straight with his hands resting on his knees. You scooch around to meet him in the middle, both of you facing each other. Grogu’s noticeably absent this time.

“Where’s Grogu?”

“Playing with the other younglings.”

“My mother?”

“Still with Bo-Katan and the others. Something about planting a few test crops to see how they take.”

“Ahh.”

“Just admit you like it down here,” he says. You can just by his voice that he’s wearing a smug grin on his face.

“Fine,” you roll your eyes, “But don’t tell anyone. Or else they’ll start asking me to help out.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m just glad something finally got you to feel better. Even if it’s just a little bit.”

“Yeah…” you trail off. You turn your head back towards the water and ask, “But why do you care so much?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you care if I’m happy or not?”

“I know what it’s like to move to a strange place, to feel like you don’t fit in.”

You stifle a snort, prompting him to ask, “What?”

“When have you ever felt like you didn’t fit in?” you say, turning your head back towards him.

“Lots of times. Especially when I’m the only Mandalorian in a room.”

“Oh yeah? So what did you do to make yourself feel better?”

“It’s empowering not to fit in.”

“How so?”

“It means there’s something about you that sets you apart from the others.”

“I don’t think I have that.”

“You do. You just don’t see it.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your spunk.”

“My spunk?”

“Yeah. You’re not afraid to let your mother have it. That’s for sure.”

That gets you to laugh, a real laugh. Maker, you haven’t laughed or felt this much joy since before you moved here.

“Thanks for saying all that,” you say, inching closer to him.

“I mean it,” he says, leaning forward.

Without thinking you inch closer even more and now the gap between you two is almost nonexistent. You gaze directly into his visor, imagining what he looks like underneath his helmet. As if he read your mind, he gravitates his hands towards the bottom edge of his helmet, lifting it off of his head. You throw your hand over your eyes out of respect. Is he crazy? He just redeemed himself for doing this not that long ago.

“You can look. We’re a part of the same clan after all.”

His voice. His unmodulated voice.

“Really?” you ask.

“Yes really,” he chuckles.

You put your hand back in your lap slowly, taking in his appearance. He’s better than you ever could’ve imagined. His brown curls are slightly matted from his helmet, albeit in a cute way. His facial hair is slightly graying along his jawline. And his eyes, so warm and brown they make you melt.

You’re so close to him that his warm breath tickles your face. He’s so intoxicating it makes your mind short-circuit. Without thinking you lean forward, closing the small and almost nonexistent gap between you two, pressing your lips against his. He freezes, his body going tense and stiff before melting into the kiss. His hand finds your chin, his rugged and calloused fingers gingerly touching your skin. The kiss grows more and more passionate; more heated. His tongue brushes against your lips, begging for access. But it’s almost like that brings you back down to reality. This isn’t just any man you’re kissing. This is your stepdad.

You pull back and look at the water again, hoping that he doesn’t notice how flustered you are.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t be sorry. You were just acting on your feelings.”

“My feelings?” you say, looking at him again and raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, your feelings. It was only a matter of time before you acted on them.”

Your heart drops to your stomach.

“H-How long have you known?”

“A while. Since before your mother and I got married.”

You place your head in your hands, mortified and groaning in embarrassment. You feel him inch closer again, bringing his head by your ear like he’s whispering a secret.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I feel the same way,” he whispers, tickling the shell of your ear.

“You do?!” you ask in disbelief, poking your head up.

“Mhm,” he says, kissing you again with the same grip on your chin.

“But aren’t we breaking the creed?” you ask, pulling away again but hovering over his lips.

“Look where we are, cyar’ika. We can just bathe in the Living Waters after.”

“I guess you’re right…”

“Relax, mesh’la. Let me take care of you.”

He gently pushes you so you’re lying on the stone floor. He pulls off one of his gloves and hovers over you, ghosting his fingers over the fly on your flight suit. You’re embarrassed by how wet you are already. But it’s natural given how much you’ve fantasized about this moment. You just didn’t expect it to take place here beside the Living Waters.

He opens the fly of your flight suit and palms the wetness in your underwear. His mouth curves into a devious smirk before he bites his bottom lip. You look down between your legs and see the bugle in his fight suit, his cock hard and straining against the fabric.

“You’re so wet, cyar’ika. I’ve barely touched you.”

You whimper in response and he chuckles darkly, watching as you writhe under his touch. He loves every minute of it.

“Have you touched yourself and thought of me?”

Your mouth opens to respond but no words come out, surprised at his bold question.

“You can tell me, cyar’ika.”

“Y-Yes,” you admit.

“What did you think about?”

“Uh, something not too far off from this.”

“Tell me,” he repeats.

“You sneaking into my room at night, touching me while I sleep.”

“Dirty girl,” he says, resting on the back of his heels. He opens your flight suit more, taking your underwear in his hands and ripping apart the fabric. You gasp but he doesn’t stop, tearing your underwear in half before pulling them off of you and tossing them to the side.

“Din!” you say, turning your head and glancing at the strewn fabric.

“Need you. Now,” he grunts, taking his pointer and middle fingers in his mouth, slicking them with his saliva. You spread your thighs apart farther, aching for his touch already. He slides his pointer finger inside you, curling it painstakingly slowly against your g-spot.

“Mm, Din please, I need more,” you whine.

“Are you begging?” he asks, hovering his face mere inches above yours.

“Kriff… Yes, I am.”

“Say it.”

“I need more… more fingers,” you whimper.

“Good girl,” he praises, pushing his middle finger inside you.

Soon the cavern is filled with your moans, echoes bouncing off the rocky walls. He brings his head over your cunt, spitting a wad of saliva over your clit before rubbing his thumb over it. Your back arches up off the floor and he steadies you with his other hand on your hip.

“Wanna feel you cum all over my fingers, cyar’ika. Can you do that for me?”

“Harder,” you beg.

He obliges, picking up the pace of his fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit. With one last push against your g-spot, you cum, walls clenching and releasing his fingers.

“Good girl,” he praises, astonished at the amount of wetness you produced.

You ride out your high with a jumbled string of moans, whimpers, and curse words, letting your orgasm subside. He pulls his hand from you, holding his fingers above your mouth. They glisten under the dim lights of the mine.

“Open,” he commands.

You do as you’re told, opening your mouth for him. He places his fingers inside your mouth and you taste yourself on your tongue. He guides your mouth close with a hand on your jaw, commanding again, “Suck my fingers.”

Once he’s decided you’ve done enough, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and grabs your chin, kissing you deeply while his other hand pulls out his cock. He rests on his heels and takes off his other glove, gathering your spend and slathering it on his cock. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a look and somehow it’s more than you could’ve ever imagined it to be— long, thick, and uncut.

“Are you ready, cyar’ika?” he asks, hovering over you again and coaxing you to lie back down.

You nod and he thrusts into you slowly, burying himself down to the hilt.

“You feel so good like this pussy was made for me,” he says, nestling his head into the crook of your neck and sinking his teeth in your skin. Your response is barely coherent, another mix of moans and curse words.

“Use your words, cyar’ika.”

“Harder, p-please. I can take it.”

He pokes his head up and meets your gaze again, lips curled into that damn devious smirk.

“I knew you could,” he says before kissing you. He draws his hips and slams into you. It’s a symphony of pants, whimpers, the sound of skin slapping against skin, and the wet, squelching sound your pussy makes. You tangle your hands in his hair, tugging on it lightly. He moans into the kiss and thrusts into you harder, until you cum around his cock. He pulls his head back and studies your face as you cum. Tears roll down your cheeks as your orgasm ripples through you, core muscles spasming erratically.

“Good girl,” he says, repeating it over and over again while the pace of his thrusts never falters.

He cums inside you, balls deep and hitting the deepest angles inside you. You’re filled with the warm feeling of his release, looking at his face as he cums. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open in a soft O. The curls on his forehead are matted with sweat and sticking to his forehead. You can’t help but absentmindedly bring a hand to his cheek and stroke his facial hair. He’s beautiful.

He pulls out of you and sits between your legs. The post-orgasm clarity is settling in and you’re left with the reality of what just happened. You zip up your flight suit and sit up, looking at him with a wild expression in your eyes.

“What now?”

“Into the waters we go.”

He puts his cock away and stands up, offering you his hand. You stand and walk down the steps with him, slowly submerging yourself in the water, never letting go of his hand.

“Repeat after me: I swear on my name. And the names of the Ancestors, that I shall walk the way of the Mand’alor… and the words of the Creed shall be forever forged in my heart.”

You say the phrase back to him, looking in his eyes the entire time. Although you’ve just repented for your transgressions, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t matter. The feelings you have for him only run deeper after what just happened.

He leads you out of the water where you replace your helmets and reattach your jetpacks. He turns to you one last time before leaving and says, “No one can know.”

“No one can know,” you repeat before he takes off and you’re left with the stillness of it all, wondering if that will be the first and last time you have sex with your stepdad.

-

@pedrostories @littlemisspascal

[lovemyavatar]

Just for the Night

Lo’ak x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Part Two

Warnings: (aged up) nsfw, enemies to lovers, angst, arguing, hate-fucking

part one

The skin on the back of your neck prickles with unease, color tinging your cheeks as frustration mounts with each rushed stride through the forest.

You're practically vibrating with irritation, muscles pulled so taunt a dull ache radiates from between your shoulders. You welcome the sting of short nails biting into your palms, reveling in the distraction for only a moment before the scrutiny at your back becomes too much to bear.

“Will you stop that already?” Your lips purse with a low hiss, head turning just enough to send a steely glare toward the man behind you.

Lo'ak glowers at your quickly retreating figure, lips turning downward in displeasure. Long fingers tighten around the woven basket perched on his hip, the mere sound of your voice putting him further on edge.

“I can feel you plotting my murder back there.” You mutter with a roll of your eyes, attention returning to the path ahead.

The weight of his hard stare is palpable. It settles in your gut, twists your insides uncomfortably. Warmth blankets your skin, a heady mix of anger and...something else, something you haven't dared begin to dissect since the night you both crossed a line it doesn't seem you'll be able to come back from.

“Oh, I don’t have to plot, sweetheart. The whole thing’s already planned out.” His voice is rough, lips twitching into a satisfied smirk at the way your spine stiffens.

You whirl around to face him, fists clenching impossibly tighter, eyes narrowed in a fierce glare. Despite your best efforts, he's continued doing what he's best at: worming his way under your skin.

Whatever this is between you—this stifling tension—it's only gotten worse since that night in his family's tent. The lingering looks, the constant bickering...it's driving you crazy. Not a single day has gone by without some altercation with the youngest Sully brother.

Despite years of this back and forth, you aren't accustomed to the cold, unreadable wall that Lo'ak has built around himself since that night. It makes you uneasy, has you questioning if there may be some deeper issue he has with you, past the point of friendly competition.

“Charming.” Your nose wrinkles with an insincere smile, a scoff falling from your lips as you turn away from him again.

“You always do this." A humorless laugh echoes through the trees as you near your destination. Lo'ak jogs forward, arm extending to brush away a large leaf from the path, allowing you to duck through into the clearing first. “Get all mad as if it's not your fault we're in this position.”

You're already facing him as he steps into the plush grass after you, an expression of exasperated shock etched into your features.

“You're joking, right?” Wide eyes scan his lithe form, taking note of the way strong arms cross so casually over his broad chest.

He can't possibly think this is your fault. You were simply minding your own business, as usual, when he appeared and started bothering you. Kiri was at your side, the two of you helping prepare for the midday meal, chopping various vegetables for the clan.

Less than a minute after Lo'ak plopped down onto the rock only inches from yours, the fighting was unbearable for your best friend. She disappeared with the typical departing insult—calling you both skxawngs (idiots) with a soft sigh.

Truthfully, you don't even know how it started. You never do. Somehow, despite your best efforts, the two of you always end up right here. Harsh words and cold glares exchanged until one of you snaps and stalks off, only for the cycle to repeat the next time you see each other.

“I know you're used to getting away with everything, but you should know by now that I see through the good girl act.” Lo'ak's head tilts to the side, tail swaying with ease at his back.

Despite the volatile nature of your relationship, he's never stopped watching you. He's tried, he really has, to leave you alone—to keep his wandering eyes at bay. But you're always there, always so close yet still out of reach.

It's his own fault, and he knows it, but the fact does little to lessen the sting.

“What are you talking about?” Something ignites in Lo'ak's chest at the flare of heat in your golden eyes. It eggs him on, pushes him closer to the line he's always toeing, between good-natured bickering and actual fighting.

“Oh, please. The clan's precious little angel, used to getting whatever she wants.” His voice drips with mockery, and it makes a wave of embarrassment wash over your cheeks. “And you can't stand that I don't like you.”

Lo'ak's feet move on their own accord, bringing him a step closer with each harsh word. He has no idea what he's doing, doesn't know what's possessed him to take it this far, but he's just so...fed up. He's tired of this push and pull, tired of warring with himself every time you're close.

He can't stand you, and yet, he aches to be near you. His heart yearns for yours in a way he's never experienced with anyone else. In a way he hasn't been able to shake since the very moment he realized his feelings for you breached well past platonic.

It was only a breath later that he decided he would never have you. Decided it would be best to push you away, to protect his fragile heart from the surety of your rejection. Because, even at such a young age, he knew it would never work. He'd long been labeled the trouble child, the rebel, the one who ruins everything he touches...

And how could he bear to bring you down with him?

A surprised laugh bubbles in your chest, and you move back, desperate to put some distance between you. It's clear, what he's insinuating. That you're the instigator, the one to blame for the argument that got you into this mess in the first place.

Regardless of who threw the first verbal punch, Lo'ak's father—your Olo'eyktan—was not the least bit happy. He stormed toward the two of you without hesitation, sternly hissing that you were drawing attention to yourselves. Bringing shame to your families.

His words settled heavily in your heart, made your ears flatten with shame. But he was right. It only took a single glance toward your father, standing just a few feet behind Jake, to notice the disappointment gleaming in his eyes.

As the Olo'eyktan's closest confident, he has an image to uphold. Which, in turn, means that you do too. And typically, you're an exemplary member of the clan. You pull your own weight, help others whenever possible, and keep to yourself otherwise.

But there's just something about Lo'ak that makes you forget all duty and responsibility in the name of defending yourself, of proving that you're not some wallflower. That you're worthy of being noticed.

Jake quietly ushered you both off to collect some fruit for lunch, ordering that you not return until you've figured out how to get along.

“Are you actually that self-absorbed? You really think I'd waste my time trying to get at you?” You peer up at Lo'ak in disbelief, a flash of anger making your heart beat just a fraction faster.

“Drop the innocent act. It's just me, and I've already seen the real you. Can't get much worse than that.” He regrets the words the instant they leave him, jaw clenching at the way your lips part in surprise.

He's taken it too far. That much is clear, if the pained glimmer that washes over your eyes is any indication. It's gone in an instant, replaced with the fiery anger he's used to. Your ears twitch, tail snapping, a clear display of your animosity.

“If I’m the clan's angel, what does that make you? Clan screw up?” Your hands curl into fists and you take a small step forward.

The air between you is sharp, jagged edges of your tattered friendship hanging by a thread. You can't help but lash out, even if the insult has your own heart cinching in your chest.

It was a low blow, and it's obvious you've hit a nerve. Your chest heaves as you watch the words settle over him, watch his expression crumble before turning hard as stone again within seconds.

Lo'ak's tail twitches to attention against his spine, before swishing from side to side harshly. His breath hitches, heart racing with an overwhelming mix of emotion.

It washes over him in wave after wave, an onslaught of anger, frustration, crushing sorrow. Because after all this time, you finally see him for what he truly is.

What he fears he'll always be.

“At least I actually contribute. You can’t do anything without daddy hovering right behind you. How pathetic.” He crowds the remaining space between you, towering over you, chin dipping as his eyes narrow into a harsh glare.

He looks downright menacing, not an ounce of warmth in his expression. A soft gasp falls from your lips, moisture blurring your vision. He's breathing heavily, chest nearly touching yours as he fights to slow the violent thrum of his heart.

You peer up at him, equal parts rage and hurt swirling deep within your belly until you can't take it for even a second longer. One of your hands rears back, but before you can land a hit on his cheek, he snatches your arm out of the air.

Long fingers curl around your wrist, his hold gentle but firm. The feeling of his skin on yours sets you ablaze, fans the flame of desire that's been building within you since that night. This is the first time he's touched you since then, and though it was only in an act of self-defense, the warmth from his palm has you reeling.

“I hate you.” You voice wavers, the proclamation nothing more than a broken whisper.

“Good.” His jaw clenches, your spiteful words only spurring him on.

He pulls you forward roughly, capturing your lips with bruising force. You stumble into him, body responding without hesitation despite the weak internal protests warning against falling into this pattern with him.

The pressure on your wrist disappears, instead moving to your hips as both of his hands circle your waist. A gasp tears your lips from his as rough bark bites into the skin of your back. You hadn't even realized you were moving, too distracted by the burning heat of his lips on yours.

Lo'ak devours you like a man starved. His kiss isn't sweet, it isn't tender. It's all tongue and teeth, a explosion of pent up tension that's been brewing for years. A shiver rolls down your spine, and you arch into him, pressing your chest flush to his.

Your tongues battle for dominance, ragged breath mingling as you both pour every ounce of distain for each other into the kiss. One of your hands lifts, fingertips smoothing over the side of his neck to draw him in.

You hold him there gently, a quiet moan spilling into his mouth despite your best efforts to keep any noises at bay. Warring desires clash in your mind. You want to shove him away, and pull him closer all at once. He's so infuriating, so intoxicating, and you're far too under his spell to escape now.

Within seconds, your loose hold is ripped away as he cages your hand against the tree, holding it above your head. You can't help the way your hips writhe along his, a breathy sound falling from your lips when you feel the stroke of something hard against your soft heat.

You respond by tangling your free hand into his braids, tugging harshly just to see his reaction. His head jerks back at the unexpected sting, a rough growl rumbling his lungs. Your hips rut against his again, the vibration of his chest on yours settling hotly between your legs.

A wave of pleasure washes over him, the color of his cheeks deepening. His eyes snap to yours, narrowed in warning before he leans forward, nipping at your bottom lip lightly. An involuntary whimper escapes you, hold on his hair tightening.

A low moan falls from his lips, a shaky breath fanning your face as he staggers back a step. Your lips chase his, seeking the heat of his touch before your mind has a chance to catch up. The two of you stumble blindly, an uncoordinated dance of passion as you desperately fight to stay connected.

This continues until one of Lo'ak's heels catches on an upturned root, sending him crumpling to the ground. His arms slide around your middle, caging you to his chest as his tailbone takes the brunt of the fall. He grunts against you, lips still ravaging yours without skipping a beat.

The slight ache from the fall is instantly forgotten as you mount him, spreading your legs so his body easily slots between them. His head tilts back at the sensation of your plush skin on either side of his hips, a shudder wracking his chest when your hands begin exploring his skin.

Your fingertips trail along his chest, over trembling abs, all the way down to the hardened length still trapped beneath his loincloth. When your touch ghosts over his cock, he jerks, his hips rutting into your hand. A breathy moan falls from his lips, followed by a shaky gasp when you do it again.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Your lips twitch into a smirk against his, earning you a low growl.

“Shut up.” He hisses, long fingers curling around your throat.

The hold is possessive, and oh so dominant, a show of control even though he's the one beneath you. He pulls you forward, claiming your lips harshly again. A shiver rolls down your spine, and you can't help but drag your soaked core over his cock.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He gasps, lips ripping from yours as his head falls back, eyes fluttering with a surge of pleasure. His hands fall to your hips, his hold tight as he presses you down onto him, guiding your movements.

“Take this off.” Your chest is heaving, breath ragged as you hurriedly tug at the strings of his loincloth.

His lips curve into a lopsided grin, though another moan rumbles his chest when your hips roll along his cock again. “That desperate already?”

“Don't.” Your voice drops in warning as you successfully undo the knot, before practically ripping the material from his body.

It's quickly discarded, leaving you with nothing to do but dissect his cock with heavy-lidded eyes. It's bigger than you imagined, slapping against his stomach as it stands fully erect.

Something warm and unwelcome blooms deep within Lo'ak's chest, as he watches you. Wide eyes, flushed cheeks, plump lips parted with wonder as you take him in for the first time.

He's quick to flip you over, to lay you gently onto the soft grass. His palms press into the earth on either side of your head, supporting his weight as he takes a moment to gaze down at you. He can't help it, the way his eyes lock onto yours, pouring out every last bit of his usually tightly shackled emotions.

Having you beneath him like this is something he's fantasized about for years, and even now, he's not quite sure that it's real. He's tried so hard to push you away, to wedge so much distance between you that this could never be a possibility. And yet, here you are, more beautiful than ever...and all his.

He rips his gaze away, warmth blanketing his face. He deftly unties your loincloth with one hand, slipping it down your legs smoothly. His palm skims along the outside of your calf, sending a shiver down your spine.

When he reaches your thigh, he gives it a firm squeeze before hooking his fingers behind your knee and urging your legs apart. A deep moan rumbles his chest at the sight of your glistening pussy, fingers moving to drag along the trail of slick coating your inner thighs.

“Goddamn, you always get this wet when we fight?” He rasps, only half joking. The mere idea of you so hot and bothered by him, by your frequent disagreements, has his cock throbbing in anticipation.

“Stop. Talking.” You hiss, the color of your cheeks deepening with arousal and embarrassment alike.

Lo'ak gives his cock a few strokes as he aligns himself with your entrance, dragging his swollen tip along your soft folds. You arch into him, a quiet moan falling from your lips. The sound has his gaze snapping to yours again, breath lodging in his throat.

Suddenly, this position feels too intimate. It tightens his chest, makes his stomach flip with conflicting emotion. A deeply seeded desire within his heart urges him to take care of you, to allow whatever this is between you blossom into something real. Something warm and soft, unlike the cold bitterness that's been festering for years.

It's all too much. Too good to be true.

So, instead, he grips your waist and roughly flips you over, hauling you onto your hands and knees before him.

“Lo'ak—” You gasp, surprised at the unexpected movement.

“Thought you said no talking?" His teeth clench so hard he fears they may shatter, but he welcomes the ache as he easily slides into your waiting pussy.

You cry out, arms already trembling, nearly collapsing onto the grass at the burst of pleasure. Lo'ak's eyes pinch closed, hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he slams his entire length into your sopping pussy. He groans when he bottoms out, tip pressing firmly into your womb.

You're a mess before him, reduced to a string of moans and whimpers as he drills into you mercilessly. Your back bows, head dropping between your arms when your lower belly tightens. His head falls back, a low growl echoing through the clearing as your silky walls flutter around him.

He doesn't give you even a second to rest, maintaining a brutal pace as he chases his high. One of his hands smooths over your lower back, pressing into it to force a deeper arch. It continues trailing upward, until his fingers tangle in your braids, jerking your head back firmly.

Sharp teeth catch his lower lip, restraint tightening his chest as he fights to hold back mounting pleasure. All you can do is whimper meekly, the sting in your scalp pushing you closer to a quickly approaching orgasm. Moisture pools in the corners of your eyes, his roughness too much and not enough all at once.

This is what you expected from him, and yet, it's better than you could've imagined. The way he handles you, bends you to his whim, it has your pussy spasming around his cock all over again.

“Fuck.” Lo'ak rumbles, his free hand snaking around your stomach, fingers expertly finding your clit.

You jolt at the sudden explosion of pleasure, the mere swirl of his fingers over your overworked pussy throwing you into an intense release. A series of sharp moans echo through the trees, every muscle in your body tensing before you shatter around him.

Lo'ak suddenly jerks his cock free, the abrupt emptiness jostling your trembling form as he pumps his cock, riding out his orgasm with an arm still firmly wrapped around your middle.

Silence falls between you, thick and uncomfortable as the weight of what you've just done settles over you both. You fight to catch your breath, pushing yourself up and out of his hold with shaky limbs. You avoid the sharp glare you can feel prickling against the side of your head, eyes scanning the area for your loincloth.

“That's never happening again.” The words aren't nearly as strong as you would've hoped, the slight quiver in your voice betraying the turmoil raging within.

Being with him like that, it was...good. Too good. It felt right, like the two of you should've been doing this for years, rather than pushing each other away at every opportunity. It's planted a seed of doubt in your mind, made you wonder what it could be like to let him in, to explore the possibility of being more.

It's a dangerous thing, hoping for something like that.

“Obviously.” Lo'ak is quick to agree, averting his eyes as you shakily stand to your full height and pull your loincloth back on.

By the time he's retrieved his own clothing, you're gone. A rough sigh caves his chest, disappointment lodging deeply within his gut. Some part of him, however small, thought maybe things would be different after what you just did.

He runs a hand down his face, replacing his practiced mask of indifference before he'll have to face you again.

The walk back to Home Tree is silent. He doesn't approach you, instead he maintains a wide birth between you, trailing your tense silhouette from a distance. When he breaks through the tree line a few seconds after you, his irritated groan has your head whipping around.

Your eyes widen, silently asking him to corroborate whatever story you've just told before your attention returns to his father.

“Lo'ak.” Jake's arms are crossed tightly over his chest, a signature look of disapproval etched into his strong features. “Did you two work it out?”

“Uh…yeah.” He winces, rubbing at the back of his neck as a wave of uncertainty makes his stomach twist.

Had you? Or did he only make things worse, like he always does?

Jake's eyes narrow, flicking between the two of you for several seconds. He notes the absence of any fruit, which is the entire reason he sent the two of you into the forest in the first place. That, coupled with your disheveled hair and Lo'ak's crooked loincloth, tells him everything he needs to know.

“Alright. Dismissed.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, a sigh of exasperation filling the space between you.

You're quick to scurry off, practically running away the very second you're given permission. Lo'ak's gaze remains locked on your retreating figure until it disappears into the center of Home Tree. His head drops, eyes closing as he considers the consequences of what you've just done.

He only makes it one step before Jake grips his arm, gently pulling him back.

“Not you, boy. We need to have a talk.”

@youcantseem3 @neyetams @pandorxxx @daiyuu27 @taleiak @neyetams @mrslandryy @superiorbyfar

[angelcqre]

no grave can hold my body down • i

Your husband has been dead for three weeks, four days, and twelve hours.

Every glance at the clock reminds you of the fact. Reminds you that you’re damned to a life without Simon - a life without stupid jokes and his hands around your waist and the weight of his stare when he thinks you don’t notice him looking.

When Price had come, hat in hand, you’d screamed. Clutched at his shirt and screamed and hit at the broad chest until he’d had to hold you still, support you as you bawled your rage and grief into his shoulder. You’d always told Simon that you supported his work - even if it was hard, even if you hated it. He was a hero. He saved the world from the bad guys.

Three weeks, four days, and twelve hours.

You buried an empty coffin last week. Price hadn’t told you where his body was - you didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know. Had watched the coffin descend into the ground, gripping your best friend’s hand white knuckled and firm.

The thing in your yard now is not your husband.

It looks like him - broad shouldered and tall, the pale blond hair curling past his ears the same as always. Even the way it stands, steady and heavy as if the world weighs upon its shoulders, screams of Simon. The mask illuminated by the moonlight, silver on bone on black, is his mask, is Simon’s.

But it isn’t him.

Tonight is the second night it’s stood there, and every time, it gets a little bit closer to the door. Gone by sunrise, you wouldn’t even have noticed it if you hadn’t gotten up in the middle of the night and caught sight of it last night.

Tall. Broad. Hands curled loosely into fists as it stares up at you, highlighted by the full moon.

You watch it now from the safety of your bedroom, phone clenched in your hand, but - who would you call? Who would believe you? What would you even say? You watch it for what feels like forever, the blanket of two in the morning leaving the entire scene feeling hazy and thick.

You go to raise your phone to your ear, to call - somebody, Soap maybe, he’d promised he’d come if you needed him (though he’d said it a bit more intensely than you’d known what to do with), one of Simon’s brothers to come and get you and -

It takes another step forwards in the span of a blink. One moment it’s in the middle of your yard, the next its boots are in your daffodils, crushing the delicate blooms that you’d spent hours planting in careful little rows.

Mud stains its jeans, and you can see the fluid, thick and black, that sludges from the center of its chest. It waits. Patient. He’s always been able to out-wait you, infinite patience to your nervous energy.

What choice do you have but to let it in

Your bare feet on the stairs of the home you’d built with him are quiet, soft, the floor cold beneath you. You move like you’re in a dream, tugged along by a narrative you can’t quite grasp, merely a tool for the story. You couldn’t fight it if you tried, so you don’t.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s almost funny, how proper that knock sounds, how polite, as if you haven’t seen Simon knock down doors like it was nothing, all broad power. You know it could get through with ease. Considerate of it to knock.

[esggs]

Hey Handsome!

[Noritoshi Kamo gets hit on, right in front of you]

[stand-alone drabble, part of Obeisance to The Arrow universe | fluff, light jealousy, arranged marriage, contractual marriage | 1k words]

Friendships are a difficult world to navigate, especially for someone like you who’s been raised in strict isolation. Even with your cursed technique that is particularly aimed at solving problems, how do you solve this problem: Saori, who you befriended a week ago and have brought along to introduce her to Noritoshi, has been steadily flirting with him for the past 15 minutes.

Not like your husband has noticed. You had caught up with him after his archery practice, with his sports bag hung over his shoulder, and all three of you are now walking around Nihonbashi with ice cream in your hands. Saori is subtle– maintaining plausible deniability just in case. A brush of her hand against his (“an accident!”), asking if she could try a bit of his ice-cream (“I asked you too, though!”), giggling at everything he says (“he’s just so funny, you know!”), and why is her voice so much cuter and softer now? 

Granted, Saori doesn’t know that you two are married, you only told her that he’s a good friend of yours. You suppose it’s not fair for you to be mad at her shooting her shot: Noritoshi, if you take a completely unbiased objective view, is really fucking good-looking. Why is he so tall? Why do his lean muscles strain against his workout clothes? Why do his built arms and broad shoulders draw your eyes? Why does his hair, parted and wrapped like always, seem so much more gorgeous, like a prince from the Edo era? And his face, it really sours your mood to admit this, his face is a masterpiece. With a blessed face like that, he could’ve been a rockstar-idol; it’s as if someone took a list of traditional markers of male beauty (lily-petal eyes, a refined mouth, ski-slope nose, straight eyebrows, delicately carved chin, long lashes and nobly-pale skin), and crafted a man with that as a to-do list. If it wasn't for his ice-cold standoffish demeanor, he'd be getting hit on everyday. No, you can’t blame Saori. You would’ve done the same if you were in her place. 

And technically, you can’t be mad at Noritoshi either. You were the one who established that your marriage exists only in front of the elders. I’ll be your perfect wife and lady when you need me to be, and you let me be otherwise when I want to be. You don’t even wear the wedding ring, not wanting your peers at Jujutsu High to see you differently (Noritoshi does keep his ring on, but he has his own reasons for that; not like Saori seems to care). The perfect deal struck between you two included a tacit understanding: as long as we keep it from being a scandal, our love lives are our own, with no interference from the other. 

Listen, it made a lot of sense when you two shook hands on this. It was equitable, mutually beneficial, and fair. What isn’t fair is the fact that you want to gouge out Saori’s pretty fucking eyes and throw your melting ice cream at her pretty fucking sundress. She’s so pretty too, you have to admit. And so is Noritoshi. And they seem to get along so well. It’s not fair.

Noritoshi’s picked up that you’re upset, though he’s not very sure why. You’ve been walking alongside him and Saori for the past 15 minutes without butting in a word while Saori has been chattering non-stop. You were so excited to introduce your first non-sorcerer friend to him too. Truth to be told, he doesn’t like meeting new people that much, and it’s been a while since he’s talked to a non-sorcerer, but he wanted to oblige you, as well as make sure your new friends are good to you. She’s only just started to interact with people. Noritoshi thinks as Saori accidentally bumps into him. Again. God, he really wants to go back to practising. She really can’t be blamed for her taste in friends. 

Your eyebrows have hardened, as if you’re trying to make a decision. Maybe she finds her annoying too? Or maybe– is Noritoshi inwardly pleased about it? Doesn’t the thought of two girls fighting over him stroke his ego? Doesn’t he get to feel silly things like this too? Doesn’t he, despite being Noritoshi Kamo and all that entails, get to enjoy that his wife is jealous?

He doesn’t stay with that thought for too long (his face is getting redder by the second), because the way your cursed energy is darkening, this situation might not end well for anyone in your vicinity, especially not Saori. As casually as he can, he throws an arm over your shoulders and presses a quick kiss onto your hair. It’s not too intimate to be PDA (both of you would rather die) but it sends a message, especially with the ring glinting on his left hand, which is just-so-absentmindedly playing with your hair. You’re getting really good at reading his mind and playing along: you lean into his side immediately. 

It’s a small gesture, done with practised ease. Saori gets the hint. She doesn’t stop talking about the price hike in Bottega Veneta though, but this time without any attempts to flirt with Noritoshi. She’s not evil that way. She might be a bit too chatty for your introverted duo, and she might not fully get the relationship between you and Noritoshi, but she’d rather grow a wart and eat it before breaking girl code: never ever eye a man that your friend likes. 

Noritoshi supposes that Saori is alright. It took you a (secret) Distillation or two to understand her intentions, and another Distillation on your husband to truly sate your insecurities. He doesn’t have any secret romances with anyone, you’ve gathered. It wasn’t like you were expecting him to. Still, it does make you happy, selfishly. 

You don’t even bother telling yourself things like, I just don’t want to be humiliated if my married husband is caught with another girl, or I don’t care if he likes someone, I just didn’t want it to be Saori, that’s all. Unfortunately, you are too self-aware: you might have a teensy-tiny crush on Noritoshi.

written as an inverse of #7 - Jealousy, Jealousy, where Kamo gets jealous.

timeline wise, this fic is set three weeks after reader has joined Jujutsu High. Kamo is in Tokyo now and then, for missions. Right before this fic, he was sent on a solo mission near Nihonbashi, and is staying in a hotel there for the weekend. Reader drops often to meet him. Nothing bad has happened yet :)

img credits: 1 2 3

@kalopsia-flaneur thnx for the idea!

[ghcstao3]

Even without his art, Soap is a people-watcher—but that being said, finding muses for his art is a job made easy when the biggest window of his flat overlooks a busy street.

For as long as he’s lived at that address, he’s had plenty of luck picking out whoever catches his eye and filling out sketchbooks worth of passersby. Every drawing a stranger, every subject unique.

Until the empty business space across the street is finally leased out to some new bistro, and suddenly Soap only has eyes for one person.

A man too well-built to be a server, surely, with arms Soap could watch flex all day as he brings out orders to customers on the patio. Soap never knows what expression he wears not because of distance, but rather the black face mask that obscures the lower half of the man’s face.

When, weeks later, Soap notices that he’s suddenly almost filled an entire journal with sketches of the server, he decides to finally pay a visit to the bistro.

It isn’t at all luck that gets Soap seated in his—the server’s section, just the pathetic fact that he’s long since memorized the man’s oddly reliable schedule.

If Soap were a stronger man he’d never admit to the feeling of his knees going weak when the man comes to take his order. The name tag tacked to the white dress shirt that stretches over broad shoulders reads Simon, and god, does Simon have a nice voice.

As soon as he’s gone with Soap’s request, Soap’s sketchbook is open. He’s quick to scribbling out every line and curve he couldn’t possibly have seen from afar, and ends up so enraptured in this new angle that he doesn’t notice Simon has returned until he’s looming over his shoulder, gaze fixed on Soap’s journal.

“So that’s what you’ve been drawing.”

Soap startles, slams his journal shut. All he can manage is a weak what? as he looks up at Simon.

The server jerks his chin in the direction of Soap’s building. Soap notes, with some distant observation, that he’s still balancing several plates on his forearms with ease.

“I’ve seen you in the window a few times,” Simon tells him.

Soap wants to melt into the floor. He desperately needs the earth to crack open and swallow him whole.

“I’m sorry, it’s not—it wasnae—“ Soap stammers, his fingers drumming an anxious pattern on the faux leather cover of his book, “I’ll stop.”

“I don’t mind,” Simon hums, leaving it cryptically at that. He finally sets Soap’s food on the table, bidding a good meal before disappearing off to go do his job.

Soap doesn’t think the buzzing warmth on his face ever fades for the entirety of his time spent at the bistro. Simon never checks in with Soap like he does other patrons, either, so Soap just gets to wallow.

Things are hardly made better when Simon says hope to see you around after Soap has paid, or when Soap gets home and notices the phone number scrawled on his receipt just as he’s about to ball it up and toss it out.

Going to the bistro was a mistake. Simon is surely going to be the death of him.

Or Soap is going to be the death of himself—especially doing something dumb as accidentally leaving his sketchbook behind in his haste to get out.

Soap’s cheeks burn.

And when he looks out his window to the table he’d been sat, he already sees the journal is gone.

Idiot. What a complete and utter idiot.

[chaotic-mystery]

Not A Survivalist Girl Part 5:

“I want to fucking tear you apart”

Written by @chaotic-mystery & @tightjeansjavi

( Joel Miller x f!reader )

Summary: You finally get what you've been waiting for from Joel but you quickly realize he's not a gentle lover, he's far from it and so are you. Your foul mouth has landed you in a world of pain with Joel and he's not letting you off easy.

Warnings: consensual rough sex, heavy degradation (slut, whore, cockslut, stupid girl) praise kink, pet names (good girl, daddy,) sir kink, pain/humiliation kink, dom/sub, choking, spitting, throat fucking, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, edging, cream pie, unprotected p in v, doggy style and breeding pose, overstimulation, filth, mean!Joel, dark! Joel, rough! Joel, possessive! Joel, talking you through it, hair pulling, biting, smacking (if you squint) no after care, porn, NSFW (+18) minors dni!

WC:5.7k

A/N: Gi and I were giggling the whole time writing this, so I hope you guys are ready for it. This can be read as a stand alone if you aren’t familiar with our series! Love you angels, let us know what you think! 🖤

Was he being serious right now? Was he really going to sit there and tell you that you didn’t mean something you said? You scoffed as your mouth dropped a bit, “I always mean what I say, Joel. You are beautiful and nothing is too rough to me, big boy.” Let’s see how he likes those apples.

Joel could feel what was left of his rationale was dissipating before his very eyes. It crumbled like sand pulverized by crashing waves. Fluttered like ash from a burning fire disappearing into the thick blanket of black in the night sky. His pupils expanded, darkened as the fire's warm glow flickered against his irises. The close proximity to you was spinning his mind in fast circles. Your exposed skin begging to be touched by his calloused hands, and wet mouth. He swallowed hard, the Adams of his apple bobbing as his gaze met yours. He wet his lips with one swipe of his tongue as all the blood in his body flowed southward, straight to his strained cock that was pressing painfully against the confines of his worn boxers.

“You’re playin’ with some dangerous fire right now, girlie. You sure you wanna do that?” His brow raised as he leaned in close, close enough that you could taste the whiskey on his breath and feel the heat radiating from his body. “I’ll give ya one chance to take back what ya just said. After that..” He trailed off as his eyes flitted down to your lips. His hand reached out, cupping your jaw as his thumb dragged across your lower lip, tugging the soft skin down with his thumbnail. “C’mon. Use those big girl words and tell me you don’t fuckin’ want this. C’mon, girlie. This is your one chance to back out while you still can.”

“You tell me if I don’t want this” you whisper as you put his hand over your clothed cunt, feeling how wet your panties became since he started touching you. You moved your hand over his and showed him how you wanted him to relieve the built up anticipation in your panties. His rough hand slid the thin fabric to the side and like magnets attracted to one another, his fingers found where you needed him most. A groan escaped Joel’s lips as he caressed every inch of your soaking wet folds. Your whimpers filled the cabin walls and you were growing hungrier for him by the second. It wasn’t enough that he was just in your panties, you needed to show him how badly you’ve waited for this.

Part of you wondered if he thought of you whenever he flipped through his dirty magazines touching himself. Your hands found his broad shoulders and you helped yourself into his lap, making sure his hand never escaped your panties. Joel started circling your clit faster, his hand on the small of your back to hold you close against him. “God dammit do you know how long I’ve waited for this, Joel? Fucking Christ I-” you cut yourself off by crashing your lips onto his like you’d never get the chance to kiss him again. Your hips started bucking against his hand and you found a delicious rhythm between the two of you.

“Did I fuckin’ say you could kiss me?” He growled against your lips, fingertips digging harshly into your lower back, nails scraping against the skin. “Did I fuckin’ say you could even touch me?” He bit down on your lower lip hard, tasting copper along his tongue as his teeth broke through the delicate skin. He drank in your whimpers as his fingers continued to play with your clit. “Such a fuckin’ little slut throwin’ yourself at me like this. Fuckin’ my hand like a bitch in heat.” He tsked under his breath. “You gonna let me do whatever I want to you? Huh girlie?” He smacked your clit with his fingers once, then again as your body jolted forward. “You want this that bad, huh? Your little clit is gettin’ all puffy n’swollen for me. Hurts a little doesn’t it baby? Yeah, I bet it does. You poor poor thing.”

You breathed in sharply as he smacked your clit and your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at the root firmly. “You aren’t gonna tell me what to do right now, Joel. You always tell me what to do, not this time.” You hissed at him and dug your nails into his back while you were still tugging at his hair with your other hand. He was right though, it felt so good it hurt but god did you fucking need this.

“You wanna fuckin’ bet on that girlie?” He removed his hand from your cunt, fingers wet with your slick as he wrapped his hand around the base of your throat, squeezing down along your windpipe just enough that you’d have tears welling up in your eyes. He wanted to turn you into a fucking blubbering mess. His eyes bore into yours as he used his upper body strength to push you off his lap and onto the carpet below. He pinned you down beneath his weight, using his knees to keep your thighs spread apart as you felt the heavy weight of his concealed cock bulging against the thin fabric along the soft swell of your tummy.“Here’s how this is gonna fuckin’ go. You’re gonna shut that smart ass mouth of yours, and get on your fuckin’ knees. You want this so fuckin’ bad?” He chuckled as he dragged the bridge of his nose against your cheek, inhaling your sweet strawberry scent. “Well, you’re gonna fuckin’ take whatever I give to ya.”

A smirk formed on your face as you closed your eyes for just a second to take it all in, and nodded in agreement. Joke was on him, you wanted him to man handle you and get rough. “Well c'mon then daddy, show me how big your cock is since you want it in my mouth so badly.” You egged him on to pull it out, you knew it was big. You may or may not have seen it once when he was getting out of the shower and he left the door open just a crack. It wasn’t intentional, he probably knew you were going to get up to get food and decided to give you a peek.

Joel nibbled along the soft skin on your cheek, dragging his lips and tongue down your exposed neck as he continued to inhale your aroma. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of it. Truthfully, he was more than compliant to lick every inch of your skin like the dirty man he was. “You want my cock? Then get on your fuckin’ knees. Don’t make me ask you again.” He slipped his hand down from where it was wrapped around your throat, bringing it down over himself, palming his cock through the fabric. You could see a dark wet patch from where the head of his cock had weeped a few beads of salty precum through the thin material.

You practically jumped up to your knees with eagerness and placed your hands on your thighs, waiting for him to pull his underwear down. The wet patch was making your head spin and you were growing needier and needier. Looking up at him with big puppy dog eyes, you teased him by licking your bottom lip and taking it between your teeth slowly before releasing it. You wanted to reach down between your thighs and play with yourself, but what would Joel say if he caught you doing that? When have you ever cared what he’d say? You tossed the idea to the side and did exactly that, shoved your hand right down your panties and rubbed circles over your clit.

Joel was certain that this was actually the prettiest sight he had ever laid his undeserving eyes on. How could someone be so fucking eager for him? Here you were, sitting on your knees like the compliant good girl that you were. Nearly drooling at the sight of him. God, he wanted to fuck your face. Stuff you full of his cock till you couldn’t breathe. He wanted to see tears streaming down your cheeks just so he could wipe them away with a calloused thumb. He knew right then and there as you unashamedly played with yourself under the fire’s glow, that you were something mixed between an Angel, and the Devil. A sinner just like he was. “Look at you. So fuckin’ needy for me. Lemme see her. Let me see how wet she is for me. You’re just a dirty little slut, huh girlie? Just a dirty little cockslut.” He palmed himself over the fabric as his eyes slightly lolled back into his skull. He could barely handle it anymore as he finally pushed his boxers down and his cock sprang free, slapping up against his stomach. Thick, veiny, the ruddy head dribbled in pre-cum, just for you.

Your lustful eyes watched as his cock emerged from his boxers and you swear you were seeing stars. There was no way that was going to fit inside you, but you were absolutely willing to try. You were going to make it fit inside you. Just hearing how he talks about your pussy made you gush with excitement and only made you want to play with yourself more. Without standing up you managed to shimmy out of your panties, tossing them at Joel’s chest. As you lean back while still on your knees, you spread your cunt for him to see it glisten and admire how pretty it is. You wanted him to see what he was about to destroy, what was soon going to be all his.

Joel wrapped his fist around the base of his cock, giving it a few firm tugs as his eyes glazed over, in a trance at watching you play with yourself. “Now that’s a fuckin’ gorgeous sight if I ever seen one..” he let out a harsh puff of air. “Can’t wait to fuckin’ get my mouth on ya. Only if you’re a good girl f’me.”

He scooted closer to you on his knees, cock heavy in his fist as his free hand cupped your cheek, softly at first, before you felt the pads of his fingertips digging into the soft flesh on your cheek, “Open that fuckin’ mouth of yours f’me. Nice and wide. Wanna see that pretty ‘lil throat I’m gonna fuck.”

Almost desperately doing what he said before he finished his sentence, you opened your mouth wide and stuck out your tongue waiting to be fed. You hummed quietly as you sat there, ready for him to fuck your face. It felt like butterflies took control over your stomach, forget butterflies actually; it felt like the whole damn zoo took control over your stomach. Never once did you peg Joel Miller to be the teasing type to make you beg to have his cock down your throat but here you were, begging.

Joel watched you with hooded eyes. His pupils were blown out, dilated as he was zoning in on his prey. His next meal. You looked dumbly pretty, obeying him like this. So willing, so needy. “That’s a good girl.” He praised you before releasing his tight grip that he had on your face, bringing his hand back to lightly smack you on the cheek. It was a loving smack. Before you could react, he shoved two of his thick fingers right down your throat, pressing them down harshly over your tongue to make you gag. “So fuckin’ pretty for me. You’re so good at always runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth of yours. I’m gonna take care of that issue for you, okay baby? Gonna stuff that pretty little throat of yours with my cock.” He slipped his fingers out, leaning directly over you as he dragged the head of his cock across your parted lips. “Keep that mouth nice and wide for me, that’s it baby. Good girl.” He rasped before he spat a glob of saliva right down into your awaiting mouth, watching as some of it dripped down the side of his cock. “Now, lick that up f’me. Nice and slow.”

There was nothing else you needed to say to him, now it was time to play and get played with. You got on all fours as you dipped your head down to where the saliva dripped to the base of his cock and with a flattened tongue you licked all the way from the shaft to the very tip as slow as you could go. Of fucking course you wanted to swallow his cock whole but you needed to make him wait just as much as he made you wait. You had to let him feel every inch of your tongue glide over his rock hard cock and coat it in spit before you shoved it down your throat. When you reached the head, you swirled your tongue over the tip and gathered all the pre-cum he was constantly spilling. As you grab his cock and begin to jerk him off slowly, you look at him and grin, “You’re gushing like a fucking tube of lip gloss, baby. Such a whore for me huh?”

It had been so fucking long since Joel had felt the warmth of a wet mouth around his cock. The almost instant euphoria washed over him as he took in a shuddered inhale. His hand had found its way to the back of your head grasping your hair tightly in his fist as a slew of profanities slipped past his parted lips. “Fuuuck. Jesus Christ, if I woulda known your mouth was this good, I would have put it to good use sooner.” He gripped your hair tighter as the muscles under his stomach clenched inwards. His head tilted back slightly before his gaze fell on you once more. Eyes narrowed as he yanked your head upwards harshly. “The only fuckin’ whore in this room is you girlie. Get to fuckin’ work. It ain’t gonna suck itself.”

Even when he was horny he refused to laugh at a silly thing like what you just said, go figure. He wanted his cock sucked? That’s exactly what he was gonna get. You leaned down and placed your hands between your knees to hold yourself up as you maneuvered his cock back into your mouth. As you started to bob your head back and forth, you hummed against him while trying to take him whole. You gagged when the head hit the back of your throat but you weren’t a quitter, you didn’t push him away. Instead, you shook your head from side to side for a few seconds and then released him from your mouth, starting the same thing over and over. Your whiny moans were muffled from his cock being shoved in your mouth but he still felt them vibrate against his thick shaft. Looking up at him as you release him once more, a string of spit connected from your mouth to the tip of his cock and he really got to see how desperate you were for him. “Tell me I look pretty like this. That I look so beautiful with your cock shoved down my throat, tears spilling while I choke on you.”

“Fuck yeah, that’s it. Good girl. Suckin’ me off like the good little cockslut that you are.” He rocked his hips forward when he felt the head of his cock reach the back of your throat. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this girlie. Throat stuffed with my cock. So fuckin’ beautiful.” He hissed under his breath as he brought his freehand up to his mouth, biting down on his fist. “You got two hands for a reason, don’tcha? Play with your needy little pussy while you suck me off. C’mon. I wanna see how wet you can get yourself f’me. Wanna see you drippin’ all over the fuckin’ carpet.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice to touch yourself, so you reached down between your thighs and ran your fingers through your soaking wet slit, listening to the faint clicking sounds you made as you rubbed around your throbbing clit. Just seeing him so worked up over your mouth was enough motivation to cum right there all over the floor but you had to pace yourself. You took his cock in your mouth and went all the way down until your nose bumped the base of his cock and you gagged a bit, a moan mixing in there somewhere. Not even wondering if he’d like it, you grabbed his cock with your freehand and held it to the side and sucked up one of his balls into your mouth. Your tongue toyed with it while you sucked firmly before releasing it with a pop sound. If he didn’t like his balls being sucked before this moment, he does now.

Joel doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer with you like this. No, he knows he is not going to last much longer. His eyes are hooded, glazed over as he watches you suck one of his balls into your mouth. The tears that were welling in your eyes from deep throating him sent an animalistic growl coursing up his throat. In one swift movement he was yanking your head away from his cock as he squeezed your face harshly, causing your swollen lips to pucker. “Now, that is enough.” He narrowed his eyes down at you, zoning in on the bit of precum dribbled along your chin. “You enjoyed that, huh girlie? You loved havin’ my cock shoved down your throat? Yeah, of course you did. What am I gonna do with you now?...” He had a grin playing on his lips as he observed you with harsh scrutiny. “Think I wanna have a taste of exactly how wet I got your pussy. She’s glistenin’ ain’t she?” His lips parted mockingly in an o shape as his hand slipped between your thighs, brushing the back of his knuckles across your puffy, swollen lips. “You think I should have a taste? See just how sweet you really are?”

“Y-yes please sir, please put your mouth on me, I-I need you so badly- fuckk” you cry out and grind against his hand, your brows furrowing in pleasure. He was getting you so hot and bothered you were so close to getting up and riding his face. He had the perfect nose for it, too. You laid flat on your back and spread your arms out, running your hands over the carpet under your palms. You were practically getting into position for him, all he had to do was put that gorgeous face between your legs.

Sir.

Now that was something that Joel Miller could 100% get behind. “Sir? Mmm. Now we’re talkin.’” He grabbed ahold of your ankles beneath his rough palms and just when you thought he was finally going to nestle his head between your open thighs, he roughly flipped you over in one swift movement so you were laying on your stomach. You felt his arm swoop in under your middle as he forced you to arch your back at an uncomfortable angle. Your ass in the air as you felt his hands pry the soft flesh of your ass cheeks apart. He didn’t allow you a grace period to get comfortable in the new position he had contorted you in. Oh no, he didn’t want to waste any more precious time. His mouth was on you in an instant, tongue lapping at the sticky sweet slick between your folds, while his nose was firmly pressed against your clit. He was eating you like a man starved, groaning against you as he reached down between his own thighs and grabbed ahold of the base of his cock, giving it a few firm tugs. He pulled back momentarily, only to spit all over your already soaked cunt. He lapped up his own saliva, mixed with the addictive taste of your arousal. He was positively feral as he dove his tongue into your tight wet hole, fucking you with the wet muscle. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet, girlie. All f’me? This cunt? It belongs to me. All fuckin’ mine.” He growled against you, mouthful of your pussy as he shook his head back and forth vigorously. “All. Fuckin.’ Mine.”

Your nails clawed at the carpet as you whined Joel’s name, begging him to keep going just how he was. If this was the way you could die, you’d go happy. You pressed your cheek against the floor as you moaned louder with every swipe his tongue did over your clit, and boy did he know where the clit was. Joel wasn’t like anyone else you had been with before. Most of them took a few looks at your boobs and that was enough for them to cum to while they attempted to fuck you. Not a single one gave you this much attention, praised you exactly how you wanted to be praised. Joel Miller owned you. “Fuuuck daddy, don’t stop. That’s the spot. I promise you I’m all yours, I swear. You make me feel so fucking good, my god.” you squealed and bounced your ass a little to create friction against his tongue.

Joel scraped his teeth across your clit as he wrapped his lips around it and sucked on the little bud harshly. “I ain’t your fuckin’ daddy, girlie. You fuckin’ call me sir or I don’t let you cum.” His arm that was firmly wrapped around your middle yanked you further back into his face. He was ready to drown in your fucking pussy at this point. Get drunk off your taste along his tongue. “You’re all fuckin’ mine. You got that? You cum when I say you fuckin can.”

He’s a fucking pro at this, must’ve done it a lot before the outbreak, you thought to yourself while his mouth worked on you. Reaching behind you and grabbing the back of his head to make sure his face is as deep as he can make it, you moan his name louder with every flick of his tongue. The way he slurped up your juices like he was starving, the way his groans vibrated against you, Joel Miller was the devil himself. “Let me cum please, sir. I wanna cum for you so bad” you barely managed to get out.

“You think a fuckin’ slut like you gets to cum?” He mumbled against your soaked cunt. He pulled his face from between your thighs. His chin, beard, and lips were coated in your slick. He didn’t give you much time to recover as he slipped two fingers into your wet warmth. He pumped his fingers at an agonizing fast pace as he leaned down over your back, his cock sliding across your lower back as his freehand grabbed your face roughly and pushed it down into the carpet. “Only way you’re gonna fuckin’ cum is around my cock. You fuckin’ hold it in girlie. Or else I won’t fuck you. How’s that sound? I’ll leave you beggin’ for more and I won’t give it to you.” He gruffly whispered against the shell of your ear.

“So fuck me how you think I should be fucked, Joel. If I’m such a slut, fuck me like one.” You smirked, trying to get a rise out of him. His words made your spine tingle and your body felt hot, so desperate for him to be inside you and rip you apart from the inside out. You slid one of your hands down your stomach and to your clit, giving it the attention Joel was slacking. He had you so close and if he’d gone just a few seconds longer, your clit wouldn’t be aching this badly. “Shove your cock inside me, I know you’ve wanted to since the first time you saw me. I found your dirty magazines, you filthy old man. Do you think of me when you look at them?” The playful tone in your voice was probably annoying the shit out of him considering you called him out for his magazine stash.

Joel pressed your cheek further into the carpet and when he saw you slide your fingers over your clit, he slipped his fingers out and smacked your hand away. “Did I fuckin’ tell you that you could touch yourself?” He was feeling a newfound sense of rage when you openly admitted to going through his things. “You fuckin’ dirty little whore. You went through my fuckin’ stuff?” He growled against your ear. “You know it’s rude to go through someone’s personal belongings, right girlie? You knew exactly what you were fuckin’ doin.’” He tsked under his breath as his free hand wrapped around his cock. “Such a bad girl. A bad, bad, bad girl.” He didn’t even bother to tease your entrance with the tip of his cock. He was absolutely ready to slice you right down the middle as he harshly jutted his hips forward, sinking fully into you. His nails dug into the flesh of your ass leaving crescents in their way as he snapped his hips forward over, and over again.

You shrieked as he buried his cock inside your soaking wet hole, not giving you any time to adjust. “You knew I was a bad girl and you knew I’d find them- fuck, Joel.” you cried out and reached back to put your hand on his as he dug his nails deeper in your skin. You arched your back further with every thrust Joel made until your chest was pressed into the carpet. The warmth from the fire and Joel’s body started to make you sweat slightly, your body starting to glimmer in the glow of the flames. “What’re you gonna do about it? Fuck the attitude out of me until I can’t walk or do anything? Show me your worst, Joel.” Your orgasm was building once more in the pit of your stomach and the thought of cumming before he tells you to actually scared you a tad, simply for the fact you weren’t sure how he’d react.

“What the fuck else did ya go through, huh?! Fuckin’ sneakin’ around my shit after I spared your fuckin’ life?!” He grunted deeply as he continued to slam his hips into you. He listened to the sound of his skin slapping harshly against yours, along with the crackling of the fire. His nails were digging so harshly into the soft flesh of your ass that he was drawing blood. Did he care? Not one fucking bit. “You just shut that whore ass mouth up and take whatever I fuckin’ give you.” Each harsh thrust had him driving his cock even deeper into you. You could feel the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix with each thrust. He wasn’t showing any mercy; especially after he found out that you betrayed his trust.

“N-nothing Joel I swear, it was just the ba-throom” the slapping of your skin interrupted you and made it difficult to focus. Suddenly you felt like maybe you shouldn’t have brought up the magazines, but you didn’t think he’d be too upset. “I’m sorry, Joel. I’m sorry” you kept repeating and begging for him to listen. It was all becoming too much for you, overwhelming you as he was thrusting so deep inside you, his nails digging even harder, the anger you could feel radiating off of him. You squeezed your walls around him, trying to keep yourself from cumming right then and there. It was right there, your stomach doing flips while your clit thumped with eagerness. “Please don’t be mad at me, I’ll be a good girl, I’m sorry.” you whined and squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on anything except how he said you have a whore mouth and how wet that made you. As he pumped in and out of you, a faint squelching sound filled the room and you whimpered his name louder.

“You’re a dirty fuckin’ liar, girlie. You’re sorry? Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ are. It’s too late for you to be a good girl, baby. Too fuckin’ late for that.” He slipped out of you suddenly, giving you false hope that he was done but of course..that hope was immediately crushed when he grabbed your ankles and roughly flipped you over onto your back. A mixture of his pre-cum and your slick coated his cock and your inner thighs as he pressed your thighs into your chest. Slipping back into you was easy work with how soaked you already were and at this angle, you felt him reaching spots you felt were impossible to reach. You could feel him deep within your lower belly with each thrust. His hand grabbed your jaw roughly as he forced you to look up at him. His brows were furrowed in concentration and his eyes were as black as coal. “Fuckin’ look me in the goddamn eyes and tell me that you didn’t go snoopin’ anywhere else.” He gritted out between locked teeth as the pads of his fingers dug into your cheekbones.

Your eyes widened at his angry tone, his grip on your face making it hard to look away and lie. “I promise I didn’t Joel, I swear” you croaked out and screwed your eyes shut. Every piece of you was hoping he’d believe you and let it go. You grabbed his hand and tried to pry it off your face and onto your neck, trying to choke yourself with his hand. “Tell me when I can breathe, go ahead.” you insisted. The familiar white hot burning sensation was back in your core, making you feel like you could never get enough of this. He was fucking you so good you begged for him to never stop, keep going until he couldn’t anymore and leave his cock inside you to grow later when he’s ready to continue. You hooked your arm around the back of your knees to hold them closer and give him as much access to you as possible. Joel’s callused hands felt so good against you, his touch always so firm and rough on you.

“Give me one good fuckin’ reason as to why I should believe you? One fuckin’ reason.” He grunted as his thrusts became less coordinated, and more sloppy. He growled under his breath when you tried to remove his hand from your face but this was the one moment where he obliged and wrapped his hand around the base of your throat. “I’m gonna cum inside this fuckin’ pussy. You got that? I don’t care if you have to say ‘bout it either. I’m doin’ witn you whatever the fuck I please. Bet a slut like you loves to have your pussy coated in a dirty old man’s cum, huh girlie?” He watched the way your eyes rolled back as he snapped his hips forward. “Bein’ a good girl and grippin’ my cock so tightly. Fuckin gorgeous. Dumb little cockslut. I ain’t ever gonna fuckin’ let you go.”

“Please please please” you repeated as his grip on your throat sent your head spinning and your legs began to tremble, your mouth falling into an o shape as he drilled into you. “Joel let me cum with you, let me cover your big cock with my cum and show you how good I really am” your voice wobbled from the limited air being inhaled. Tears started to prick your eyes the closer and closer your orgasm was getting, your toes curling in the air. “This is your pussy, Joel. Do whatever you want to me, cum so deep inside me and watch it spill out before I suck your cock clean from our fluids mixing.” Your other hand went to your nipples and pinched them firmly, slightly twisting just to get you that much closer to cumming for Joel.

“That’s fuckin’ right girlie. You’re mine. Your pussy is mine. All of you fuckin’ belongs to me. You best not forget that either.” His tone was possessive as he claimed complete ownership over you. “Let those pretty ‘lil tears fall f’me. Weep for my fuckin’ cock. That’s it baby. Good fuckin girl.” He brought his free hand down to where your bodies were connected and rubbed your clit in harsh circles with his thumb as he gave a few more harsh thrusts. “Cum for me girlie. Coat my fuckin’ cock. Every last fuckin’ drop. Give it all to me.”

Your back arched off the floor and you squirm while your orgasm washes over you, guttural moans of Joel’s name and curse words flying from your lips. He was sending you over the top with rubbing your clit. You tried pushing his hand away but Joel being Joel didn’t budge.”Fuuuck Joel, that’s so good. You treat me like a fuckin’ princess. Now cum inside me and fill me up full.” Your breaths were deep as you tried to regain your senses, Joel still very much pumping in and out of you. His cock was twitching and you could tell he wasn’t going to last much longer. You bit your lower lip gently and looked at Joel with your beautiful eyes that he has a hard time saying no to, trying to get him to cum so deep inside you.

Joel let out a guttural almost animalistic sound that crescendo deep from within his throat. His hips stuttered as hot spurts of cum coated your fluttering walls. He bit down on your shoulder hard as he finished inside of you. The moment was over as quick as it came. Joel was already slipping out of you without another word. His cold demeanor washed over his post orgasm haze as he grabbed his boxers and yanked them over his hips. He grabbed the rest of his clothes in a fury. He wasn’t looking at you. It was as if you didn’t even exist in his close proximity anymore. He didn’t participate in any form of aftercare. He didn’t leave tender soft kisses along your face. Instead, he left you there on the carpet, fucked out with his cum dripping out of your spent cunt. Even with the fire's warmth, your body felt cold. His bedroom door slamming shut echoed through the cabin walls like a cymbal.