#I need him so carnally

[merakiui]

thinking about experienced ojiisan azul and his very inexperienced sugar baby…… azul talking you through your orgasm, cooing at you that you’re so good, taking him so well, you’re so beautiful and soft…….. and you’re just so overstimulated, your mind turned to complete and utter mush!!!!!!

azul who spends so much time between your legs and you’re practically suffocating him every time you close your thighs and clench, and you’re gasping and begging (for more or less, you’re not even sure) and you don’t know what to do with your hands. somehow they’ve found themselves in the sheets and then in azul’s hair!!!!

something something azul eating you out at his italian villa with its stunning views,,, OH HE IS SO RICH.

[crystalline-teeth]

wtf he's so big

[fuckyoutommie]

this specific picture of Danny

did something to me

[prodbyton]

just saw the hottest clip i’ve ever seen of eunseok and i want to die what the fuck is his problem

[ineeddarylbadly]

I definitely have thoughts rn…

[themetroidspectrum]

thinking very normal thoughts about Rusty Nail rn. 

[wildlyfreemoon]

i want the geto suguru look up figures so bad that ive started saving pictures of them into my 'manifesting' board on Pinterest

[luvrxbunny]

holy shit holy shit holy shit

be good

pairing: sub!joel miller x dom!f!reader

summary: joel was never really the submissive type. until he met you, and realised he'd do whatever you asked of him.

warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] no outbreak, established relationship, strangers at a bar role play, dom!reader, sub!joel, dirty talk, joel miller is desperate, face sitting cunnilingus, f!masturbation, save a horse ride a cowboy, size kink, praise kink, light choking, mean!reader, pet names used for joel [honey, baby, sugar], orgasm denial, reader talks joel through it, 90% porn 10% plot lmao.

word count: 7.6k

masterlist

a/n: folks i've been gagging for something with joel just being so good for his partner and [begrudgingly] doing whatever she tells him too... and then i listened to 'sex with me' by rihanna and got even more inspired so here we go. [i swear i will post something soon with an actual plot jfc]

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He’d been watching you all night.

Pip’s Bar was busy. Though it wasn’t your usual haunt, it was one of the more popular spots in Austin, and on a Saturday night it was absolutely teeming with people. Strangers lined the bar, drinking and talking and trying fruitlessly to chase down two overworked bar tenders. A mass of bodies gyrated and swayed in the middle of the room, moving to the fast rhythm of a bassline that shook the rickety old floorboards. You were lost in the midst of it, dancing alone and yet connected to the foreign bodies that crowded you from every angle, suffocating you until you were slick with sweat and sticky from spilt alcohol. Swallowed whole by the writhing, heaving pack of dancers, your every breath and movement synced with theirs.

And he’d been watching you, all night.

He’d arrived at Pip’s not long after you. And since then, he had hardly moved from the same spot across the room. He leant against the wall, one hand gripping a glass and the other propped on his hip. He looked bored, uninterested in everything happening around him, and yet every time you glanced his way those eyes were already burning a hole into your skin. The truth was that he’d never had much patience for the whole thing, but you trusted he enjoyed it just as much as you did. Knew he’d do whatever you asked him to, even if it included going to a bar and pretending you were strangers. Even when it meant him watching you dance all night, rubbing yourself against strangers, and pretending you didn’t know him until one of you finally broke.  

Your arms stretched high above your head, hips swaying from side to side as you muttered the lyrics of the song underneath your breath. Once again, you glanced back in his direction while you danced. You allowed your torso to sway with the movements of your hips, hands dropping to rest lacklustre by your sides. You offered him a quick smile, but his face hardly moved, body rigid. He lifted the glass to his mouth, playing coy, and you chuckled under your breath, closing your eyes and revelling in the heavy bass that vibrated through your body. When you opened them again he was gone, the wall where he’d once stood now devoid of his presence. You didn’t give it much thought, until suddenly a pair of hands were on your waist, pulling you back against a solid body. A gasp of soft surprise exhaled from your mouth, and you felt the hands squeeze gently. When you turned around, there was already a sly smile was painted across your lips.

The dim lighting in the bar did him no justice; casting too many shadows across his strong jawline, his straight aquiline nose, hiding the perfect shade of his dark pink lips.

He stared down at you with a simmering intensity as you pressed your chest against his. The room was hot, and sweat beaded along your hairline, but it didn’t stop you from dancing slowly against him, gliding your curves against his body, maintaining eye contact all the while.

A faded denim button up covered his chest, the thin material doing nothing to disguise the toned, strong body beneath it. The fabric was slightly coarse, and it was rough against the thin mesh of your shirt. You always loved waiting to see what he would wear, how he would dress up for you. Tonight’s shirt was new, something he’d bought specifically for the occasion, and you loved it. Your nipples hardened a little, and you smirked as he snaked an arm around your waist to press his palm to the spot in between your shoulder blades, holding you against him.

“What’s your name?” you asked over the music, noting the way his eyes drifted to your mouth when you spoke. God, he was so easy.

“Joel.” Those deep, brown eyes bore into your own, drinking in the details of your face as his hips moved slowly against yours. He was always antsy to get this part over and done with, but he played along for you.

“Are you single?” you asked, revelling in the way his mouth went to respond before his brain could catch up. The beginning of the word no formed on his lips, and you almost grinned at how loyal he was, even when you wanted him to lie.

“Yes,” he said.

“You’ve been watching me all night, Joel.”

You reached up to fix his collar where part of it had been turned up. He didn’t respond immediately, mulling his thoughts over in his head, contemplating what he thought you might want to hear.

“It’s okay,” you spoke again when you sensed he was overthinking it, allowing your hand to glide down his shoulder and over the firm muscles of his upper arm. “I liked it.”

“And your name?” he asked, almost shouting to be heard over the music. You smirked at the deep bellow of his voice; at the way it gave the pumping music a run for its money. The thick, Texan drawl of it always managed to spark a fire in your belly.

When you told him, he repeated your name slowly, as if it were foreign to him; rolling it around in his mouth, tasting out the syllables on his tongue. The hand on your back held strong, and you could almost feel the individual tips of his fingertips leaving indents in your skin.

A gyrating body jostled into you from the side suddenly, and you stumbled forward. Joel tightened his grip on you, keeping the both of you standing up right. You flashed him a grateful smile, and your eyes dipped to stare at his mouth. The urge to kiss him was strong, but you held yourself back, knowing the payoff would be worth it if you could just hold off a little longer.

You didn’t waste much time though. “What brings you to Pip’s? Y’here to meet someone?”  

A spark of desire flashed through his eyes, and his grip tightened inconceivably. Your body thrummed with excitement as you gained the upper hand so successfully, and so quickly. Joel cleared his throat, face relaxing back into a neutral expression.

“Didn’t want to come here at all,” he spoke plainly, glancing down to where your chests rubbed together. His eyes trailed over your torso, the mesh fabric of your shirt allowing him a full view of your breasts, clad in a thin lace bra. “Brother dragged me along.”

You hummed, almost grinning at the mention of Tommy, who would blush beet red if he knew what the two of you were doing at Pip’s. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he beat you to it.

“Did you?” he asked quickly. “Come here lookin’ for someone?”

You quirked an eyebrow and shook your head once. “No, I didn’t.” Bold faced lie.

His left hand rested on your hip, and he squeezed your waist once, holding your midriff solidly against his own. You could feel his heart beating, a rapid badoom badoom badoom that knocked rhythmically against your sternum. You draped an arm around the back of his neck, gripping the collar of his shirt.

“But maybe I could be persuaded,” you spoke slowly, testing the waters. “If you’re good.”

His eyes darkened a shade at your wording, and a soft exhale rushed out of his mouth, breezing against your face. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from touching yours, but he hesitated, eyes flickering back up to yours, as if asking for permission. Perfect.

You kissed him gently at first, slotting your lips against his and moving tentatively, exploring him as if it were the first time. His hold on you stiffened as he pressed back, running his tongue eagerly along the seam of your mouth. Your hand drifted from his collar to his hair and you gripped it softly, tugging on the wavy curls. Joel was taller than you, and yet he was crouching somewhat, so that your mouths would be level. Simplifying things for you; always so eager for the game to end. He struggled with it – the standing across the room, watching you, waiting for you to invite him over with a smile. But after an hour of dancing, you were willing to let him have it.

You parted your lips and allowed him to swipe his tongue greedily into your mouth. He tasted like whiskey and mint and soda water. It burnt your mouth, and inspired a dull ache in your abdomen. He gained confidence, kissing you harder, deeper, and so you sunk your teeth into his bottom lip. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make him pause. A warning.

You pulled away. “Have you been drinking, Joel?”

His chest rose and fell quickly. Lips swollen and red. You could feel him pressing against your stomach, already half-hard from just a little kiss. Poor baby, so desperate.

“Only had two.” His voice was stilted. “I drove here.”

“Good,” you nodded, gripping his hand and leading him out of the throng of dancing bodies.

“Good?” Joel shouted back, eyebrows raised.

“Good that your car is here,” you clarified. “Means you can drive us back to my place.”

Joel walked through your apartment like he’d never been there a day in his life, and you adored him for it.

He rested on the edge of your bed, nursing a cold beer that you’d swiped from the fridge for him. He stuck out in your bedroom, but you suppose he always had. The queen-sized bed looked like a double with him on it, his broad frame taking up most of the mattress. And the contrast between your floral wallpaper and his dark, masculine figure was so stark that you almost giggled as you watched him from across the room. His eyes felt heavy on you, following you wherever you moved, lest he miss a single thing. They raked over your figure, basking in the bare flesh you had on show, monitoring your hands as you removed your jewellery and discarded it. It caused a prickling heat to rise across your skin, and you liked it – the way he seemed so eager, so uncontained.

“What’re you doin’ all the way over there?” Joel asked. His fingers were long, wrapping around the entirety of the beer bottle, making it look miniscule in his grip.

You bent to take off your shoes. “I’m admiring you.”

His lips pursed, beer bottle pausing in the air halfway to his lips. When he spoke, his voice was deeper somehow. “Well, you should come over here.”

“Would you like that?” you straightened up, smiling sweetly.

“Yes,” he responded. His voice was measured, quiet. But you could tell he was frustrated by your relaxed demeanour. It was always the way it went. Joel was so impatient. He knew what was going to happen, knew what awaited him, and he couldn’t fucking stand the tension build up.

“Maybe if you’re good,” you winked, padding over to where he sat. You stood over him, knees brushing against knees.

“I can be good,” he spoke gruffly, depositing his beer bottle on the ground with a gentle clink.

“Is that so?” you asked softly, pulse quickening. He nodded, wiping his palms on his jeans before splaying them on the bed beside him. A slick heat had formed in your underwear, the near-ruined material sticking uncomfortably to your skin. “You’re gonna do what I want? Whatever I ask of you?”

You could see the way his jeans tightened over his crotch, cock clearly straining against the rough material at your words. He swallowed, nodding again. Slowly, so slow it was painful, you leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. His scent filled your nostrils and you inhaled it deeply, sighing against his mouth as everything that was Joel Miller invaded your senses. Your tongue flicked against his mouth and then you were dragging it past his lips, over his teeth, rolling it against his own tongue. A warm, heavy hand gripped the waistband of your pants and long fingers fumbled with the button, but you pulled back, tutting as you shoved his hands away from you. He looked dejected, wet lips parted as he frowned up at you.

“Take your clothes off,” you ordered softly, and he grunted, but did as you asked. “And then lay on the bed.”

Making quick work of it, he stripped out of his shirt and jeans, tossing them haphazardly into the corner of the room. Finally, he tugged his briefs down, before laying back on the mattress.

Splayed on the bed, not a single inch of Joel Miller was left to the imagination. His body sunk into the soft blankets on the bed, and his cock stood at painful attention. It gave you pause, as he stared at you, and you stared at his cock. He was big—bigger than most guys you’d slept with in the past—and he knew it too. Had always been proud of the fact. His tip was ruddy and swollen, with a small pearl of pre-come resting on his slit, taunting you. A thick, pulsing vein travelled down the side of him. You thought about how he would taste, in that moment. How heavy he would be on your tongue, how your jaw would ache, and you’d struggle to breathe as his tip glided against the back of your throat. You were salivating just thinking about it.

“You like what you see?”

You simply took your clothes off in response. Taking your time, you dragged your shirt over your head before peeling your trousers off, underwear following it and landing in a pile on the floor until you stood naked as the day you were born. Joel watched closely, dark eyes monitoring your hands as you removed layer after layer. His gaze dipped to the spot between your thighs, and you saw his cock twitch.

You straddled his thighs, resting just above his knees and taking care not to make contact with his length. As soon as you settled above him his hands rested naturally on your waist, gripping and kneading the flesh beneath his palms. You decided to allow it, just for a moment, as your gaze travelled down his chest and the dark smattering of hair there, past his happy trail, all the way to where he wanted you the most.

His hips shifted on the mattress, cock bobbing against the soft flesh of his tummy and leaving a shiny smear where the tip brushed his skin.

“So handsome,” you traced your fingers over his stomach. “You’ve got such a pretty cock, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he grunted, eyes trained on your hands as they wandered toward his hips. The power you felt in moments like this were unmatched. With this broad, strong man laying beneath you, completely at your mercy, hanging on the precipice of your every word. Even if he struggled to admit it, even when it seemed like he was using all of his will power to let you have your fun, you both knew that you were in charge. And it was invigorating.

“Yes,” you implored, your heart warming at the way his chest seemed to puff with pride at your words.

Your fingertip traced alone his hipbone and he shivered at the featherlight touch, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. “So pretty and thick. I love it like that, you know? When it’s so big that it hurts at first. No matter how wet I am, there’s still that sting.” You dug your nails into the soft of his upper thigh to emphasise your point. He didn’t respond, eyes darkening as he watched you.

“So big that it fills me up until it’s like I can’t breathe, and I’m so cock drunk that I can’t focus on anything except you and how deep you are.” You placed your spare hand on your lower stomach, splaying your fingers. “When I can feel it here.”

Joel’s breathing had started to labour, chest rattling as heavy exhales drifted through parted lips. His hands dragged from your waist to the crease where your thigh met your hips, and his grip was bruising. You knew he loved it when you talked like that, knew it drove him crazy. And you couldn’t deny it made a fresh wave of heat roll through your stomach to think about him stretching you out just right.

“And I love this,” you continued softly, dragging your fingers from his thigh to graze the moustache that rested above his top lip. He smirked at that, tongue darting out to swipe at your fingers. Your stomach tensed at the feeling of the wet muscle touching you, pussy fluttering around nothing, devastatingly empty. 

Joel whispered your name against the palm of your hand. Smiling, you traced the tip of your index over his lips before pressing down, watching it slide easily into his mouth. He closed his lips around the digit immediately, grazing his teeth over it before sucking gently.

“Oh, you’ve got such a pretty mouth,” you said. “You gonna show me what you can do with it?”

He moaned around the digit, strong hands pulling your hips forward so you were edging your way up his torso.

“Mmh,” you hummed lowly, dragging your soaked finger from his mouth. You tapped it once against his left hand and gave him a sly smile. “But none of this, okay? I don’t want to feel your hands on me, not for a second. Do you understand?”

Joel’s brow furrowed, eyes dimming as he slowly pried his fingers away from your flesh, lowering his hands to rest in the sheets.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” he asked softly, tongue swiping out to wet his lower lip.

You nodded, using your knees to shift further up his chest until you were hovering just above his collarbones. Joel’s eyes darted between your thighs, and a soft sigh left his lips as he gazed at the way your lips had parted ever so slightly, giving him a glimpse of your glistening core. When you paused there for a moment too long, he looked back up to your face, expression almost begging you to movepleasejustmovejustalittlebitcloser.

So you put him out of his misery; rested your knees on either side of his head before lowering your aching cunt to meet his mouth.

Joel groaned in relief as his nose buried itself in your hair, tongue darting out to swipe between your soaked folds. You gasped in delight, rutting yourself against him in encouragement. The coarse hairs of his moustache scraped against your clit and you whined at the sensation, reaching up to rest your hands atop the headboard.

Joel licked a firm stripe up your core with the flat of his tongue, and your shoulders tensed as he set to work. He wasted no time setting a hard and fast pace, letting out messy groans as his tongue rubbed firm circles around your clit. You exhaled heavily, teeth biting down on your lower lip. He dragged his tongue to your entrance and dipped it inside you, so quickly that you flinched, before he was back to rubbing your clit, swiping the tip of his tongue back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He was so overzealous, so hungry for it; exhaling hot air against you while he lathed sloppy kisses against your pussy.

“Hey,” you rasped, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. Joel didn’t let up, simply flicking his tongue across your clit again. You jolted, tightening your grip in his hair and inching your hips away from his face. “Hey.”

His eyes flashed open, lips parting as his mouth tried to follow you when you pulled away.

“Wha—?” he couldn’t finish his sentence as you took his bottom lip between your thumb and index finger, squeezing it once.

“Slow down,” you said firmly. His cheeks flushed. “Moving that fast, a girl might start to think you’re trying to get it over with as quick as possible.”

Joel shook his head in a daze, mumbling a meagre apology against your fingers. Those big browns gazed up at you, wide and sad, reminiscent of a Labrador being told off for eating his dinner too fast. You pressed back down over his face, murmuring a gentle reminder for him to go slow.

He was soft then. Meticulous. Calculated. Every lick, every suck, every graze of teeth, was thought out and purposeful. You could feel more slick oozing out of you as his tongue massaged the flesh between your clit and your entrance.

“That’s it,” you praised breathlessly. “That’s perfect, doing—ohh—doing so well for me.”

Within minutes he had you on the edge, holding the headboard in a white-knuckle grip and grinding down against his mouth as breathy moans fell from your lips. It was reverent, the way he ate you out like it was his favourite thing to do in the world. And as liquid fire began to twist in your stomach, and your thighs burned with the intensity of holding yourself up above him, you could swear you felt him moving. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you bit down on your lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape you at the sight of him.

The muscles of his long tanned legs were tense, the soft flesh of his hips flexing as he thrusted upward subconsciously, his leaking cock desperately seeking for contact but being rewarded with nothing but the humid air of your bedroom.  

You thought about how easy it would be to turn around. To lean down and take him in your mouth. To slide your lips over his head; to taste his salt while his tongue glided through your folds. Just the thought had you careening over the edge, body jerking as you gasped and sighed and grinded the swollen mess of yourself down against his face. Joel moaned gratefully, dark eyes flicking open to watch you as you came. You could feel him everywhere; his facial hair scraping against your twitching inner thighs as his nose bumped against your clit and his tongue lapped at your entrance, sucking and swallowing down everything you had to offer until you were gasping and prying yourself away.

On shaking legs, you made your way back down his body. As you moved, you rubbed your pussy against his torso, smearing a shimmering trail of your slick across his skin. Joel let out a brief, wrecked moan, stomach tensing as you passed over it and then lifted yourself up. His pink tongue darted out to swipe at his lips, savouring the glistening remnants of your taste. Resting on your knees, you hovered above him, smiling breathlessly.

“Fuck.” You admired the sight, pouting your lips out teasingly. “Made such a mess on you, I’m sorry, baby.”

“Jesus.” His voice was pained. “S’perfect.”  

“And it’s all for you,” you hummed, trailing a finger absentmindedly over his collarbone. “You looked so pretty like that. All messy haired and fucked out while I rode your face. So good for me, I’m tempted to let you go down on me all night.”

“I want to,” Joel exhaled heavily. A soft blush had risen across his chest, and he glowed under the shower of praise. “Think about it all the time.”

“Is that right?” you asked demurely.

“S’right,” he mumbled. “Think about the way you taste. About spreading you out and spending hours with my head between your thighs.”

The words were so hot they almost made you forget about the game you were playing.

You looked down, brain shifting gears and mouth going dry at the sight of your puffy lips hovering so beautifully close to the tip of his cock. He was so hard it looked painful. Stiff and pulsing, the vein down the side of his length visibly throbbed. Pre-come dripped down his length, pooling at the base of him.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, and Joel looked down, groaning at the sight of you so close to where he was just aching. With a soft gasp, you noticed yourself begin to drip. “Look at that.”

Together, you watched a strand of your slick drip out of you, and land directly on the tip of his cock. Joel’s entire body jolted, and a pitiful moan escaped his mouth at the first stimulation he’d received all night. On instinct, his hands rushed forward and gripped your hips, stomach tensed as he thrusted upward into the air. You could see it in his eyes, the burning desire to grab you and pull you close, roll on top of you and just split you open. But this was your night, and you were the one calling the shots.

You tutted softly. “I said, hands off. Don’t make me tie them to the bed,” you clipped. He cursed, hands dropping immediately. “Mmh, you’ll do whatever I tell you to, won’t you?”

He whispered your name hoarsely, lips shifting below his wet moustache.

You ignored him, smiling at the way his cock twitched whenever you spoke. “So needy, so fucking desperate for me to touch you.”

“Yes,” he admit to it through gritted teeth. “God, fuckin’—please. Anything, I’ll do anything. Need to feel you, please baby, I need it.”

You hummed quietly, pondering as you gazed down at the sweaty mess of a man beneath you. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls, huh handsome?”

His lips parted, harsh exhales rushing past chapped lips. “Only you,” he said firmly.

The corner of your mouth twitched up and you gave an approving nod, admiring the sincere gleam in his eye.

“Good boy,” you murmured. He groaned softly, eyes almost closing at the words. “But I’ve decided I don’t think I’ll use my mouth on you tonight. Or my hands, for that matter.”

Joel frowned, lips curling into a deep grimace as he twisted the sheets in his fists.

“Because,” you continued. “All I want your cock to feel, all night, is my cunt. Nothing else. Do you understand?” 

His jaw slackened and then he was nodding, muttering yeahokayyesyes.

“Yes what, Joel?”

“Please,” his voice cracked.

A wide grin spread easily across your face as you shuffled down the bed, settling your knees on either side of his waist.

“You such a tease,” he groused under his breath.

“Uh-huh,” you chuckled darkly. “And we both know you love it.” He stayed silent, knowing you were right, and watched as you splayed a hand across his stomach, using his body for leverage as you—finally—pressed your folds against his cock. Joel’s stomach tightened as you glided along his length, spreading your slick from his head to his base.

“Can I…?” he trailed off, eyes darting from your face and to where the two of you were touching. You nodded once, unable to look away as he reached down to grip himself, strong fingers wrapping around his length and squeezing once while he notched his tip at your entrance. The lingering sensitivity from your previous orgasm had you shuddering at the contact, walls contracting at the thought of him finally being inside of you.

You pushed his hand away swiftly, placing it back onto the bed. A harsh gasp ripped from your throat as you sunk down on him, gravity taking away any chance for your body to adjust to him slowly. The stretch stung a little, and your mouth hung open, spilling breathy whines.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard Joel exhale, voice ragged.  The muscle in his jaw moved underneath his skin, the muscles in his arms straining as he focused all of his willpower on not fucking touching you. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered. “Y-you’re so deep, stretching me out so good, just how I like it.” You tightened around him and a deep groan tumbled from Joel’s mouth, lids fluttering as his eyes all but rolled back into his head. You wiped the sweat off his forehead and cupped his cheek in your palm.

“Talk to me, honey,” you ran the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone. “Tell me how it feels.”

He grunted, heady brown eyes opening to peer up at you. His hips flexed beneath you and you bit your lip to stop from crying out at the way his cock shifted inside you. Slowly, knees painful from the pressure, you lifted almost entirely off him, before sinking back down. And then you did it again, and again, setting a deliberately unhurried pace and never once taking your eyes off his face.

The room already smelt like sex, a heady mixture of sweat and come, and a warm fog settled over your mind as the moment enveloped you.

You rotated your hips in a circle and delighted in the way he slammed the palm of his hand down onto the bed, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip. His eyes were half-shut, vision drifting to the ceiling as his head sunk into the pillow behind him. Within a second your hand tightened on his face, fingertips pressing gently into either side of his jaw, angling his face back towards you. His eyes flashed open, fully alert now.

“Look at me,” you whispered. “Wanna see those pretty eyes on me while I fuck you.”

He groaned at the words, pushing himself up into a seated position so your chests were almost touching. The new angle made you moan, and you loved the way the softest part of your stomachs brushed against each other every time you lowered your hips against his. Maintaining your hold on his face, you knocked your forehead lightly against his, nudging his nose with yours.

“Come on,” you urged, speeding up the rhythm just a little. “Tell me, baby, I—fuck—I wanna hear you. Do you feel good?”

“Yes,” he choked out. His voice was rough and wanton with need, and he wet his lips quickly upon hearing it. He almost looked shy, with his flushed cheeks and pouted swollen lips.

You hummed, hand drifting from his cheek to hover over his neck. Joel stiffened, nose pressing against your cheek as his head dropped forward doggedly. You let your fingertips graze the side of his neck, thumb brushing over his Adam’s apple.

“Is this what you want?” you murmured.

“Yes,” he repeated against your skin and you grinned, applying soft pressure on either side of his neck.

He moaned a low, tortured sound in response, and you leaned back to watch his mouth hang open as the sensation heightened everything he was feeling. With your free hand you stretched down to take one of his off the bed, and placed it firmly on the plush globe of your ass cheek. Joel’s eyes shot open in surprise, hand tightening instinctively.

He squeezed, gripping the flesh so tight it had you gasping, taking full advantage of the new freedom he’d been afforded. He used his hold to push you up and down faster, quickening the pace of your hips. And every time he bottomed out, he held you down on him for a second longer than you’d planned to allow, ensuring you felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein as he throbbed inside you, pressing against the deepest part of your core. You could already feel bruises forming where the tips of his calloused fingers squeezed you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Until you began to notice the signs, that is – the way his jaw slackened and his eyes glazed over. Relaxing your grip on his neck, you instead stroked your fingers along the skin there, feeling his thrumming pulse; listening to his hoarse laboured breaths; watching the way the rise and fall of his chest had rapidly increased. His cock twitched inside you.

“C’mon,” you whispered. “Tell me.”

“M’so fuckin’ close,” he garbled out mindlessly.

“Yeah?”

 “Y’feel so good,” he gasped, words slurring together. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, s’like you were made f’me.”

“Mmm, I know,” you hummed, dropping your hand to press down over his stomach. The muscles contracted under your fingers, tensing over and over again as you moved along his cock. “But you can’t come yet, Joel.”

His eyes snapped to your face, lips silently forming your name.

“I mean it,” you warned in a low voice, hips never ceasing their movement. “I’m not done with you.”

“You can fuck me again,” he shook his head. His face all but crumpled, pupils blown so wide that his eyes were almost entirely black. “Can fuck me as many times as you want, do whatever you want with me.”

You grinned breathlessly. “I know.”

“Please,” his voice cracked, abdomen tensing as you sunk down on him with a particularly heavy thrust. A high-pitched moan left your lips as you grinded your clit against the coarse hair at his base. “M’so close, darlin’.”

“No, Joel,” you admonished quickly, tone clearly too condescending for his liking.

Anger flashed across his face. Sharp and fast, but impossible to miss.

“Fuck you,” he hissed. You clenched around him without meaning to, the fire in your abdomen burning hotter as you watched his patience wane.

Swallowing down a moan, you gave him a measured look, and stopped moving entirely, relaxing your thighs against his.

“That’s not very nice,” you ground out. Joel’s expression loosened, panic glinting in his eyes. “What ever happened to southern hospitality, huh sugar? Do you think you deserve anything if that’s how you’re going to talk to me?” Not waiting for a response, you lifted your hips up, and his cock began to slide out of you painfully slow.

“No, no,” his hands lifted off the bed, hovering warily in the air over your thighs. “Wait, m’sorry, fuck—”

You ignored him, lifting up until you were completely separated. You gasped in unison at the loss, and you fought against the voice in your head that told you to just forget it – to end the entire charade. But you held strong.

“Is that any way to speak to a woman?” you teased, resting your ass on the meat of his thighs. The corners of his mouth were downturned, eyebrows furrowed as he stared despondently at you, face the picture definition of frustration. His length hung heavy in between you, glistening with a thin layer of slick and pre-come.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated softly, and your stomach twisted at the earnestness in his eyes. He meant it, and you knew that. Your sweet, kind, loving man… so quick to temper. And forgiving him too fast would be just setting a bad example.  

“You know I can do this without you,” you lied dolefully, stroking a hand along the damp skin of your own thigh. “You’re nothing special, y’can’t do anything I couldn’t do just as well to myself.”

His frown deepened at your words, hurt flashing across his features. But he knew better than to speak in that moment – knew better than to dig himself into an even deeper hole by trying to argue.

“I want you to watch me,” you ordered sternly, fingers stroking thoughtfully through the coarse hair on your mound. “And if you touch me, or yourself, I won’t make you come tonight. Not even once. If you want to touch yourself so badly, be my guest, but you’ll be finishing yourself off.”

Dark eyes flashed down, jaw flexing as he watched your fingers dip to slide between your folds. You let out an exaggerated sound, gaze trained on the way his eyes devoured your movements. You spotted the muscle in his bicep tightening and loosening intermittently, and noticed that he was gripping the bedsheets so tight that you almost worried they would tear.

Moving carefully, you trailed a finger to the apex of your core and began to run circles over your clit, humming genuinely as the pleasure that had been building inside of you was reignited.

It used to make you shy, the way you touched yourself. The way your brain would run hazy with pleasure, and your hands would take on a mind of their own, grazing over your body as you shivered beneath your own touch. But now? It made you feel fucking formidable. The way you squeezed your breasts, made yourself gasp as you pinched and rolled your nipples. To rub a hand over your lower stomach and press against the soft flesh there, putting pressure on all the nerves underneath the skin to stimulate your g-spot. You were greedy, never stinging away or pulling back from what you knew felt good. It was intoxicating, knowing every intricate part of what made your own body tick. And you knew for a fact that it was like a drug to Joel to see you touch yourself. 

His dark eyes glared at your fingers, awestruck as he watched your movements, tongue swiping greedily over his lips as if in an attempt to taste you again. And when you moaned, he did too, soft groans slipping past his lips and hands fisting in the bedsheets as he watched your fingers disappear inside yourself over and over again.

“That’s it,” Joel said roughly. “Add another finger for me, wanna see you stretch yourse—.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, refusing to do as he asked. He grunted, lips pursing closed. “You like watching me like this? Seeing how I touch myself?” He moaned his assent, raking a hand through his unruly curls.

You were already so high strung, so pent up, that it didn’t take long for you to bring yourself to the precipice. And as you approached to your end, expression contorting in pleasure, Joel’s eyes dragged upward to focus on your face instead of your pussy. Devastated, his eyes flicked once back down to your slick fingers, unsure of what he wanted to see more, before steadfastly holding eye contact with you. And as the high washed over you in sharp, twitching waves, he held your gaze, eyes raking across your features and delighting in the way your jaw hung open in a stupor. 

You rode the waves of your pleasure for a moment, only the stopping the ministrations of your soaked fingers when your clit began to burn with oversensitivity. Your eyes slowly flicked open to find Joel’s gaze still trained on your face, although his expression was lax now. His lips formed a small, somewhat dazed smile, and you felt heat rise in your neck at the way he stared at you. All lust forgotten for a moment, he simply watched.  

“What’re you lookin’ at?” you teased softly, your own mouth lilting into a grin.

“I’m admirin’ you,” he repeated your words from earlier in the night, and you huffed out a short laugh.

“You were so good, Joel,” you responded kindly, leaning forward on trembling legs to cup his face. “So patient, let me fuck myself on top of you and didn’t try to touch me once. Did everything I asked, just like you said you would.”

“Of course,” he murmured, turning to press a chaste kiss to the inside of your palm. “I’m sorry.”

Confusion flitted through you, and then you relaxed, remembering the way he had cursed at you. “It’s okay, honey. Why don’t you c’mere?”

Still smiling, he pushed back into a seated position, this time pressing his chest flush to yours. You looped an arm around his neck, toying with the short curls at the base of his neck as he lined himself back up to your entrance. Once he was in position, he gave you a quick look to check in, and in response you simply sunk your hips over him, letting him fill you to the brim once more. He sighed in relief, forehead pressing against yours.

Tilting your chin forward, you dragged your lips lightly across his, kissing him for the first time in what felt like hours.

“Where do you want to touch me?” you asked.

“Everywhere,” he breathed into your mouth.

Your fingers tightened on the back of his neck, tongue trailing lazily along the seam of his lips. “Then touch me, baby.”

His hands were on you in a second. Calloused palms running over the skin of your back, your shoulders, your hips, fingers gripping flesh for leverage as he began to fuck up into you. He had always been an attentive lover, with a keen eye for attention to detail. And it was never as apparent as when he was touching you. Because as he held you against his chest, dragging you harshly over his cock, he did everything just the way you liked it - the way you did it when you were touching yourself.

His palm pushed on your lower stomach, applying pressure there to intensify the feeling against your g-spot. And when your hands drifted to touch your breasts, his hands came up to cover yours, and you squeezed them together until he brushed your hands away to twist and play with one of your nipples, mouth dropping to flick his tongue against the other.  

It was intoxicating. Both of you so drunk on the feeling of each other, of finally throwing out the pretence and just being together, that you found yourself hurtling towards the edge faster than ever.

As if he read your mind, Joel’s mouth left your breast, face pulling back to watch you, saying “I’m not gonna last.”

“It’s okay,” you panted heavily. “You can—I want you to come.”

“Need to feel you,” he frowned, shaking his head dizzily. “Want to feel you come around me, please.”

“I will,” you swore. “Come on, give it to me.”

“It’s yours,” he whimpered, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you to him. “Fuckin’ take it, it’s yours.”

His hips begun to falter in their movement, and you picked up the slack with ease, rotating your hips against him to maintain the pace he’d set. His cock jumped inside of you in quick, jerking movements, and as soon as you felt his hot release inside you, your own orgasm hit like a freight train, walls pulsing around him, sucking him in as deep as you could take him. Your vision blacked out for a second, the intensity of multiple orgasms finally catching up to you and making you almost lightheaded. Extended moans and laboured breaths mingled in the air, forming a raucous symphony as you rode out your highs. Sweat beaded across his temples and dripped down the hard lines of his face. Your lower half shook with the intensity of it, thighs bracketed firmly against the outside of his hips. Joel sung your name, wet lips pressing the word into the flesh of your neck and repeating it there, embedding it into your sweat-soaked skin like it was all he knew how to say anymore.

“Fuuck,” he dragged out once your hips stopped moving, his teeth nipping gently against your pulse point.  

“Oh honey,” you murmured, head lolling forward to peck his forehead. “Don’t tell me you’re throwing in the towel? I seem to remember you saying something about how I could fuck you again, and do whatever I want with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” his shoulders shook as he laughed quietly, keeping his face hidden in the crook of your neck. “Give me a damn minute.”

Although you could feel his length softening inside of you, and a mix of both of your come was steadily seeping out past his girth to make a mess of your thighs, you didn’t move just yet. And Joel seemed more than content to stay put, his strong arms enveloping your body almost entirely as he held you against his chest, breaths slowly beginning to even out. You shifted your head to the side to peer at his face, smiling when you saw that his eyes had indeed fallen shut.

“Lay down,” you encouraged quietly, letting out a quiet huff of surprise when he simply fell backwards into the mattress, dragging you down with him. Adjusting your legs to rest more comfortably on either side of him, you laid your head against his collarbone, pressing soft kisses to the burning skin of his chest.

“Just a minute,” he mumbled in assurance, although his eyes stayed closed and his breaths deepened.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly. “Can I get you some water? Something to eat?”

He hummed; eyes cracking open to peer blearily at you. “Water sounds about right.” You nodded, moving to get up from the bed, but he held you down, palm solid on your lower back. “Not just yet though,” he added quickly. “Just stay with me for a minute.”

“Okay baby,” you kissed his collarbone, allowing him a few more minutes of rest before you forced him to drink a litre of water and allow you to clean him up. His fingers mindlessly traced a pattern onto the skin of your back, stirring goosebumps across your flesh.

Slowly, a smirk slid across your face and you tilted your chin up to gaze at him once more. “Just saying though—you should probably get out of here before my boyfriend gets home. He’s pretty quick to anger, and I have a feeling he’d kill you if he found out what we just did.”

Joel groaned loudly, hand reaching up to press over your mouth and muffle your laughter. “Jesus, do you ever stop talking?”

[merakiui]

That new Azul card…..you said ‘single dad on vacation’ vibe and I just wanted to say yessss!!! But also single dad! Azul that starts daydreaming about knocking up the cute little life guard he met.

Or oooor!!!! Maybe you’re a waitress at some restaurant he visits on the first night of vacation with his kids….you were so nice talking to his daughter so sweetly the whole night. Stopping by his table and (just doing you job-) flirting with him???? and now he can’t get you out of his head :(( going back almost every night for dinner just to see you. Just to keep feeding into his delusion that you might like him….even just a bit :(((

OOOOOO yes yes!!!! Maybe you work at the resort’s poolside bar and restaurant and so he sees you whenever he brings his kids to the pool or goes there for dinner. You’re so sweet and pretty, and by some miracle you wait on his table whenever he’s there. His kids adore you, excitedly babbling about what they did today or how they’re going to spend the day swimming and pretending they’re hunting for treasure in the pool’s deep end. You match their enthusiasm with genuine sweetness, smiling at them and wishing them luck on their treasure hunt. You also add in a teasing tone, “Make sure to give your dad a break every now and then,” and if that doesn’t knock Azul sideways it’s the way you wink at him that does. Perhaps you only meant it to be more friendly, but in Azul’s mind you were clearly flirting with him.

Azul isn’t a fool, but he is delusional (which is arguably worse) and so he likes to imagine he might have found love at this tropical resort. It feels dreamy, the type of thing that might happen in a novel or a film, but by the third night of vacation he can’t get you out of his mind. And when his kids are asleep, though the self-conscious part of him says you’re just being nice, he slips down to the bar in hopes of seeing you. Much to his fortunate luck, you’re working a night shift, mixing drinks and chatting with those sitting at the bar. You’re beautiful bathed in the glow from the colorful light strands hung around the bar. For a moment he could’ve mistaken you for a flashy fish attempting to lower his guard with a pretty, colorful display. He’s drawn in at once, taking a seat on the closest stool, and he watches you flit around.

God, what he’d give to be able to know just a little more. Enough to show you sides of himself. Enough to charm you. And you seem so tender and motherly when you interacted with his kids. Maybe you wouldn’t mind having a few of your own? Is marriage your thing? Or would you just prefer to call him your boyfriend and act like a married couple? Will you mind the fact that he has two little ones? Surely not, considering you seem to be a natural in dealing with children. You’d look cute pregnant; he’s certain of this. He can imagine it so vividly: you, so round and gravid at only seven months, waddling into the kitchen, hungry as anything, and he’s there preparing a big breakfast for you. And his kids are helping, insisting they do so because they want to “serve Mama a yummy meal like how she served us when we were on vacation.”

He’s pulled from his thoughts by your greeting: “Getting some much-needed solo time in?” He nods dumbly because you just have that effect, and you giggle and slide him a drinks menu. As he scans the list, you add in that teasing drawl, “The little guys wearing you down too much?”

Azul smiles and peers at you from over the menu. He matches your playful demeanor when he says, “I thought I’d sample the drinks on my own time. Without the kids, as one does.”

Oh, he’s a loser. The embarrassment claws at the back of his neck at once. Who says that? He should’ve just said yes. And why did he have to sound so business when he said it? Azul’s out of his element. Flirting isn’t really his forte, at least not when he’s faced with the object of his affections. But you don’t seem revolted. Rather, you tilt your head and smile, offering him some recommendations. He chooses one of your recommendations, trusting your tastes.

You delight in such wonderful conversation with him. At first it was about his vacation; how he’s liking the area, what he’s done, any notable things happen? He shares what sounds most captivating. You listen and nod along, only pausing to tend to another customer every now and then. But you always come back to him—always—and you tell him to continue his story and he does. You add some of your own commentary in when it’s necessary, and he doesn’t realize he’s been smiling so cheerfully until he’s paid and bid you farewell. He’s walking the path back to his hotel room, filled with fuzzy feelings and the warming tinge of alcohol, and he checks his reflection in his phone and—goodness, it’s late. He stayed until closing, didn’t he? But he’s smiling, and his face hurts because it’s the most he’s ever genuinely smiled before in a long time. And his pupils are dilated, nearly eclipsing his irises. He feels like a fool experiencing his first love.

He has a few days left of vacation. Surely he can charm you before he must return home with his kids. Surely… and if not, he recalls the Leeches have connections here. But that’s the last-ditch, desperate effort and he doesn’t intend to fall back on that. He can win your heart the sweet way. He’s determined!

[cogimiun]

kaname date is a canon cuck who radically altered his physical appearance bc he gets more pussy as a blond

[entnoot]

Some Lucanis sketches, I’m obsessed with him and his weird goth bird mullet 🗡

[strafepanzer]

I AM SCREAAAAMING!!!!!!

Deceiving the Duke | 2 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 3.2k of 30k words | 2nd of 9 chapters

summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a lady’s maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

The next two days were a whirlwind of activity.

Camie’s dresses arrived, neither quite your shape nor your height, and they required a significant amount of modification to make them wearable. Mrs. Utsushimi helped you select one appropriate for the Monomas’ ball, and you focused all your effort on readying it in time, working into the late night to rework its shape, letting out some seams and taking in other hemlines.

Caroline helped as well, though she mostly only knew embroidery, but she saved several hours unpicking stitches, and covering over some of your hasty needle work with neat little embroidered embellishments.

In addition, Caroline had you practicing all manner of things. She had you stumbling around the sitting room, trying to learn an overwhelming number of dance steps. She herded you into the kitchen to observe table manners, how to sip from a spoon and how to select the appropriate silverware for a course. She tried to impart tips on how to move with elegance and propriety, how to curtsy and when and to whom, proper fan etiquette and conversational etiquette.

Your head swam with the unbearable volume of new information— a thousand ridiculous little nothings that apparently added up to everything.

By the time the Monomas’ ball arrived, you were exhausted, having barely slept or eaten a thing in days. You helped the Utsushimis dress and did their hair, then spent an inordinate amount of time struggling with your own. Caroline helped you match a choker with a small paste diamond to your gown, a pale blue muslin dress which bared entirely too much of your neckline for your comfort.

“Good,” Mrs. Utsushimi pronounced when she met you at the doorway, your stomach churning with anxiety. “You look the part, at least.”

This did not help ease your nerves whatsoever. As the carriage pulled into the Monomas’ drive, you had to suppress a wave of nausea.

Inside, things were even worse. The reception room was stuffed with more nobility than you had ever seen in one place. They were all awash in contrasting shades–the men all marvelously outfitted in dark tailcoats, the women in a posy of pale-colored gowns that practically glowed in the candlelight. Jewels sparkled off of slender necks and at the point of every ear, and the soft pad of boots and slippers against the wooden floors created a sort of murmuring undertone that dampened the sound of the space.

Immediately overwhelmed, you clenched your fingers, still raw from sewing. Your calluses caught the inside of your evening gloves and you winced.

You did not belong here.

Caroline helped take your mind off of things by showing you where to collect a dance card, which you quickly filled with nonsense names to prevent you from having to stand up with anyone, though you doubted you’d be asked. Then you followed the Utsushimis nervously to a conspicuous place on the edge of the dance floor, where Caroline could be seen clearly by any prospecting gentleman.

It was a great relief that at least you did not also have to try to tempt a husband, as the very thought of trying to converse with a gentleman made your skin crawl. You did not envy Caroline, whose whole future had to be decided in this one season, who would have to live with her deception exposed shortly thereafter.

Your place in the crowd meant you were also exposed to the other members of the gentry, however, and you were quickly descended on by all manner of Machiavellian mothers, scouting out the new debut to determine if you posed any sort of danger to their own daughters’ prospects.

“You must be Camie,” a woman in an extravagantly outfitted gown bore down on you. It was so begotten with lace and ribbon and netting that you could hardly make out the shape of the woman underneath. She looked friendly enough, but you had been warned by the Utsushimis never to trust a placid expression.

Your heart climbed into your throat, panicking at being so addressed.

“The Lady Cathleen Bate,” Caroline hinted to you, and you dropped a curtsey, hoping you’d gotten it right. Mrs. Utsushimi did not look upset, at any rate.

“Lady Bate,” you said, trying to control the nervous timbre of your voice. It came out high and strangled anyway.

“I must say, you don’t look a thing like your mother and sister,” she observed, and your heart beat double time.

Fuck, obviously you didn’t look anything like the Utsushimis. Why had any of you thought this was a good idea?

“I…take after my father’s coloring,” you supplied hastily, praying to any god who’d listen that she’d never met the man before his passing.

She made a thoughtful noise, a cross between a hum and a harrumph. It was loud enough that it summoned the attention of the other ladies nearby, and very quickly you were inundated with questions and evaluative once-overs by every scheming mother this side of the ballroom. They practically ran through a checklist of your qualifications, sussing out whether you played piano forte, what sort of needlework you did, what kind of education you’d had, and a laundry list of other incredibly pointed questions that made you feel like you could only ever supply the wrong answer.

Caroline and Mrs. Utsushimi did their best to help field questions and to give answers where your obvious lack of formal education became a hinderance—really, how many oblique references to Sophocles in the original Greek did one need to make before they concluded their training was superior to yours?–but it was all too overwhelming.

Mrs. Utsushimi seized an opportunity when the next question about your appearance came your way. She tried valiantly to draw attention away from you with a dramatic retelling of her husband’s demise, waving her fan as theatrically as she wielded her handkerchief.

The moment everyone’s attention was turned towards her, you took your chance.

You ducked away from the gaggle of women, worming your way out of the crowd. You tried to take care not to arouse notice, as you’d been informed an unmarried girl wandering about without a chaperone was much too bold. You beelined past the refreshments table, unable to help lifting a glass of lemonade and several apricot cakes for your troubles, and headed for a promising door on the opposite side of the room that you thought might be a closet.

It turned out to let into a library—quiet, dark and still. You could just barely make out the shape of a few low armchairs and spines of the books by the silvery pool of moonlight spilling in through a row of heavily-curtained windows.

You rushed in, and quickly shoved the door closed behind you. A wave of cool relief sent you slumping against it. Shifting your spoils to one hand, you yanked down a glove with your teeth, annoyed at how constricting the fabric was, how hot and clammy it had made your hands, then made quick work of the other one.

“Fuck,” you muttered again, delighting in the rudeness of the sound. Even twenty minutes in this company had been too much–you didn’t know how anyone could bear it. Camie herself would have never lasted. “Oh fuck…what have I got myself into?”

“I’m told it’s called a library,” a low voice intoned from the other side of the room, and you screamed, reflexively flinging your handful of snacks in the direction of the voice.

A tall silhouette ducked your apricot cakes, and the silence that followed could only be interpreted as astonished.

All hells, you were so deeply unqualified for the scheme you’d embroiled yourself in.

“I—I didn’t see you—oh, I’m sorry—” you said, watching the figure take a step towards you. The crack of light from under the door highlighted one grey eye and a mop of white hair, a sliver of fair skin. A man.

The proper thing to do would be to leave. You’d been informed to be caught alone with a man was the height of impropriety–-and here one was. But the thought of going back out there made your stomach churn, and you clutched at the door handle uncertainly.

“You’re not…Lord Monoma, are you?” You asked.

The man’s silver eye narrowed in on you. “No,” he said. His tone was low and smooth.

Well at least you hadn’t offended your host, then.

Before you knew what you were saying, the plea was tumbling out of your mouth. “Please let me hide out in here! I’ll give you anything for use of this room. If I have to go back out there I will die.”

There was another moment of stunned silence, and then the man asked, strangely, “I may go, then?”

You squinted at him in the dark. What in hell was that supposed to mean? You weren’t the gatekeeper of the doorway. And of course he should go, for propriety’s sake.

You quickly stepped aside, gesturing to the door and hoping he could see it in the dim. “All yours, thank you for your generous aid in my time of need.”

But the man made no move to leave, and that silver eye stayed fixed on your face. “You’re certain,” he said flatly.

Just what was he getting at here? Could a girl not get alone time with a glass of lemonade?

“Sir–my lord–I’m not sure of your address, I apologize—” you fumbled. “You may stay or go, but I quite require use of this room. If you will excuse me…”

But he still made no move to leave. “And no one is going to…happen upon us here?” he said, his tone even lower and more disbelieving.

Your anxiety spiked. “You don’t think they will, do you?” You asked worriedly. If you were subjected to one more derisive sneer over your inability to read two thousand year old Greek, you would die of humiliation. You quickly moved towards the drapes at the window, inserting yourself behind one.

“If they look for me, you don’t think I’ll be noticed here, do you?” you asked.

There was only silence again, completely judgmental in its ringing emptiness.

If you were really a lady, you supposed you might feel vaguely offended that a man should treat you thus. But you weren’t here to matchmake, so he could do whatever he liked. You shrugged, sliding down the wall to pull your knees against your chest, and took a sip of your lemonade, thankful you hadn’t flung that at him too.

How embarrassing.

The curtain was suddenly tugged back, however, and the man stared down at you. In the moonlight from the window you could just make out two glittering eyes, the straight line of a handsome nose.

“Who are you?” he asked lowly.

“Camie Utsushimi,” you offered, then wondered if you should have made up another name.

Rudely, he did not offer his name back. “Who are you hiding from?” he asked.

“Lady Cathleen Bate, and every other mother who wants to know if I’m to steal their daughters’ prospects out from under them. As if I could, as if I would!” You said moodily.

The man contemplated this in silence. You sipped your lemonade as he seemed to come to some kind of decision.

He made a sort of long sighing sound out of his nose, then offered quietly, “I too, wish to avoid such judgements…”

His tone was flat, but sincere. You recognized the statement for the peace offering it was.

“We can share the hiding place then,” you allowed. “But you must not tell anyone.”

Those eyes glinted in the moonlight, almost speculatively. “You have my word.”

You handed over your single remaining apricot cake to cement the entente. “An honor doing business with you then, sir—or, my lord…?”

His gloved hand brushed your own as he took the cake from you, and he paused, staring down at your bare fingers.

Your face warmed. Right, the gentry were strange about the intimacy of bare skin.

You quickly shoved your gloves back on, cheeks heating, searching for something to fill the awkward silence.

“So, whose daughter’s prospects are you stealing?” you asked stupidly.

The man coughed suddenly, which sounded suspiciously like it might be covering something like a laugh.

“I rather thought gentlemen were the prospects,” he allowed.

You supposed it would be rude to tell an actual gentleman that he and his ilk should hardly consider themselves such, considering how needlessly troublesome this whole marriage market affair was.

“Yes, well,” you said vaguely. “In that case, make sure you’ve brushed up on your Ancient Greek so your wife may accurately test into your coupling.”

Those eyes glinted down at you. Reflecting the moonlight, they were both pale, but you almost imagined they were different colors—his left eye looked a little bluer, perhaps due to the angle he held his head at.

“Must there be a test?” he asked in that low voice.

“Of course. How else do couples converse, if not in Ancient Greek?” you asked.

Those eyes creased, as if the man were smiling. He said something, a string of sounds you couldn’t place—until you realized.

You rolled your eyes, taking an angry sip of your lemonade.

“Yes, a wonderful party,” you answered, as if you’d at all understood what he’d said.

A huff of breath left him, and you knew you were being laughed at.

“Rest assured, I am entirely unsuitable for marriage,” you informed him. “Not a lick of piano forte in me either. Luckily I’ve just been introduced to several young ladies I might recommend to you.”

“Ah” the man said, somewhat knowingly. “This is your debut, then.”

You were struck again by how low and warm and beautifully smooth his voice was. You wondered if his face was just as beautiful as his voice.

“Yes,” you answered, your mind flicking back to the flock of pecking hens back in the ballroom. Then a thought struck you.

“Who are you hiding from in here?” you asked.

The man was quiet for a moment, as if weighing his answer. “...The mothers of the very ladies you’ve threatened to introduce me to,” he said finally.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “They’re bloodthirsty, I will give you that.”

His eyes crinkled a little again, perhaps with another small smile. “I’ve seen their like only once before.”

“Where?” you asked gamely.

“The War for All,” he answered, and another laugh burst out of you.

You shouldn’t have laughed—the War for All, an incident from nearly a decade ago, had been the closest the country had ever come to its downfall. Princess-Regent Momo Yaoyorozu had newly come to power, only to meet a coup from a faction of detractors, attempting to install would-be Prince Shigaraki in her place. The capital had been under siege for nearly a year, before a group of the princess’s allies had helped defeat him–and the princess had spent the next few years consolidating her power, flushing out Shigaraki’s remaining supporters.

It was rude to compare marriage-minded mothers to the like of Shigaraki’s forces.

And yet also perhaps not entirely inaccurate.

“May you meet similar victory on this battlefield,” you told the man.

A clock chimed in the corner of the library, startling you. The remaining lemonade sloshed in your glass.

You sighed, listening to the clock strike eleven. You’d have to reunite with Caroline and Mrs. Utsushimi soon, lest they come looking for you and discover you tucked away in this den of iniquity with a strange man.

“Speaking of battles, I believe it’s time for me to rejoin this one,” you said, getting back to your feet. Standing this close to him, you realized the man was rather tall, and he smelled horribly good–like crushed pine, and the powdery starch that had probably gone into his collar points.

As you made your way around him, he offered his hand, surprising you.

“It was good to meet you, Miss Utsushimi,” he said, the use of Camie’s last name startling you a little. Right, you were supposed to be impersonating a member of the ton. You’d spoken perhaps a little too freely in the dark of this secluded room.

“You as well, sir–lord—?” you said, placing your hand in his, realizing he’d never told you his name.

He raised your hand, pressing his mouth to the back of your hand in a proper greeting. You flushed nervously, the heat of his mouth searing through the fabric of your glove

“Shouto Todoroki,” he said.

Your hand froze in his, your heated blood suddenly icing over.

Oh sweet gods above, you knew that name.

The Utsushimis, as any group of women on the marriage market did, gossipped endlessly about suitable members of the ton. You knew a little about most of the available gentlemen, knew who would be an acceptable catch, who would be an excellent catch, and who would be the catch of a lifetime.

Shouto Todoroki—His Grace Shouto Todoroki, that was—was the catch of any lifetime. He was a duke, about your age, who’d grown up in the very company of Princess Yaoyorozu herself. He was rumored to have fought for her in the very War for All you’d been jesting about, and he was also rumored to be the only suitor being seriously considered for her hand, when she finally deigned to marry.

There was almost no more powerful man in all the country, and you’d flung apricot cakes at him!

You grasped the wall, suddenly feeling woozy.

Lord Shouto made a noise of concern, and the fingers around yours tightened.

“Are you well?” he asked.

You quickly steadied yourself, tugging your hand out of his.

“I–yes,” you said hastily, cringing at how strangled the words had come out. “I really must go, my lord.”

With that, you flung yourself towards the door, tearing it open as though the devil himself were behind you. You winced as the light of hundreds of candles seared your retinas.

You couldn’t help but take a quick glance back at Lord Shouto, which turned out to be the worst mistake of your life. In the candlelight from the door, all his features were suddenly thrown into clarity–and he was the most horribly beautiful man you had ever seen.

He was tall and packed with lean muscle, and had a face like a Greek sculpture—the kind the very Ancient Greeks you were so beginning to loathe would have carved. His eyes were bright and mismatched as you’d thought, his mouth soft and sensuous, and his collar points framed a strong, handsome jaw.

You barely allowed yourself enough time to take in his distinct mop of two-toned hair, before you bit out something strangled and fled, back into the ballroom.

Back to safety.

It was unbelievable luck that no one seemed any the wiser to your escapade as you returned, your nearly-empty glass of lemonade providing your excuse. You slotted yourself in between Caroline and Mrs. Utsushimi and returned to fielding invasive questions, trying to calm your nerves.

You resolved to put all of this behind you, and stay in line for the rest of the season, lest you run a risk like this one again.

You would be good, and you would keep Camie and her family’s reputation clear.

And yet for the rest of the night, you couldn’t help that feeling that a pair of eyes was watching you. And you hoped desperately that you hadn’t already ruined things.

[heavenbarnes]

need our simon to come home from deployment IMMEDIATELY 🫶🏼 | p1 p2 p3 p4

your older bf!simon comes home from deployment at dinner time on a tuesday.

herb alpert on the kitchen radio, knife tearing through a bunch of parsley, garlic and onion simmering on the stove behind you.

simon can hear it- smell it through the mail flap.

smells like home.

your ears prick at the sound of the door swinging open, the hinges alerting you to a secondary presence. back tensing for just a moment before you hear steps you could pick out in a lineup.

he sees your fluffy slippers first, then your little shorts, then his t-shirt. finally, he’s met with wide eyes and the kitchen light hits the curve of your face so nicely.

simon could cry.

you already were.

“oh my god, si”

he doesn’t really want to touch you with his outside clothes, tactical gear smelling like the back of a cargo plane and you’re so soft and lovely he’s afraid he might mess it all up.

but there’s nothing stopping the way you leap at him across the kitchen and swing your entire self around him and he’s forgetting what he’s wearing and he’s wrapping his arms around you like he knows you won’t break.

his tongue is immediately in your mouth and he’s taking one gasping breath and filling his nose with the scent that’s overwhelming him.

simon realises right then that the house smells like dinner but you smell like home. you are home. he’s home.

when he finally lets you let him go you’re telling him to leave all his gear by the washer and you’ll sort it all out tomorrow but right now he needs to sit down so you can feed him.

he’s back in the kitchen with a sweatshirt and shorts on and he’s never found his own clothes so comfortable. maybe it’s because he can smell you on the fabric.

you’d only been cooking enough for one but at this point, you’re so happy to have him home that you’re plating up the whole thing for him as he sits at the dining table.

his chair scrapes back along the floor and he’s patting his thigh, simon eats his tea with you curled up in his lap telling him everything he’d missed.

apparently, old-mate next door broke up with his missus and it was quite the scene.

apparently, they finally finished the roadworks on the junction at the end of your street and there was no longer a blur of orange cones on the drive to work.

apparently, there was going to be a barbecue at the house down the street and the two of you were invited. you might make a salad to take with.

you could’ve been reading him the phonebook and simon would be a happy man. his hand was holding under your thigh and your face was in the crook of his neck.

he was home.

dishes done (together) and tea steaming on the coffee table in front of him, simon isn’t sure this couch has ever been this plush. he could melt into it, as long as it was just like this.

bare feet up on the ottoman and one arm wrapped around your side as your head lay against his chest. you could hear his heartbeat and he could hear the football you’d recorded for him whilst he was away.

deployment was fucking rough, seen and done things he didn’t even want to think about. but this is what he comes home to.

you.

you who curls up in his lap and idly twirls the drawstring of his shorts round your finger.

you who offered up all of your food to him to fill the pit that’d been growing in his stomach over the weeks.

you who couldn’t give less of a fuck about the football on tv but watches in quiet contentment for the sake of being closer to him.

you who doesn’t ask once about what happened while he was away but will always listen without judgement if he needs to get something off his chest.

ideally, simon would like to give you the world in return. then again, he doesn’t think even that’d be enough.

instead, he takes you up to your shared bed and, miraculously, he doesn’t fall asleep as soon as his back touches the mattress.

he could, very easily, but instead he pulls you down on top of him and gets his lips back on yours. the kiss when he came through the door had been passionate but it’d been fleeting.

simon had kept it like that, knowing if he spent a second longer with your tongue on his then he’d have you over the kitchen bench and that wasn’t what he wanted.

really, he wanted this. the full weight of you on top of him and your hips rolling messily against his as his hands went up underneath your his shirt.

he wanted to run his fingertips along your bare back and feel skin so soft he almost couldn’t remember the things his hands had done just last week.

he wanted to map out every spot, every freckle, every ridge across your shoulders and commit it to memory so the next time he had to up and leave he could trace you like a constellation in the night sky.

truthfully, simon didn’t want to leave next time. he wanted to get the call from price and tell him that he was sorry but he couldn’t do it any longer. he now had something- someone to live for and he just couldn’t gamble odds like he used to.

he wasn’t entirely sure he’d still hold the sentiment on the other side of blowing a load so simon put those thoughts in the back of his head and decided he’d work them out on tomorrow morning’s run.

right now, simon felt the soft skin of the inside of your cheeks and your spit tastes like the nectar those gods harped on about and he’s pulling hard on your hips as he rolled something hard between them.

you were moaning, whimpering, whinging into his mouth while you ground yourself into the hard line of his cock. raging erection didn’t even cover it and his head was tipping back as a-

yawn, deep and all consuming broke from his throat.

simon was fucking knackered.

exactly what he didn’t want to happen was happening in front of him, you were sitting up and cooing at him so fucking sweetly.

“si, you’re exhausted- we’ll go to sleep”

strong grip around your waist was anchoring you to the spot so you couldn’t climb out of his lap like you were currently trying.

“sweet’art”

you could hear it in his voice, he couldn’t even lift his head off the pillow. you conceded, however, letting him rub soft little circles into your hips.

“jus’ gimme’ one and then we’ll sleep”

laying back down against his chest, you felt the air woosh out of him as you relaxed your body on his. face fitting into the crook of his neck like you were made for him (you were) with a hand running along his collarbone.

“we’ve got tomorrow”

you knew it was futile, he was already slipping your shorts to the side. head tilting just a little to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“and i need you tonight”

settled.

you felt one large hand lift you up as his other freed his cock out his shorts. just enough, just enough to get the job done because any extra effort was going to render him unconscious.

bringing a hand to his mouth, he spit in his palm quickly before rubbing it along the head of his cock. deep groan rumbled beneath you as you felt him pressing against your entrance.

“lift y’top up, sweet’art- wanna’ feel y’on me”

you did him one better, leaning up enough to slip the shirt over your head and onto the floor. forcing him to hold his arms up for just a second, you pulled his sweatshirt off and discarded it in the pile.

bare chest to chest, you could feel simon shudder beneath you. snaking one arm under his armpit and the other around his ribs, you snuggled in tight as you felt him slip right in.

that’s all he wanted.

weeks of photos, videos, imagination to go off of. this was all he ever wanted. you so close to him that it was entirely possible to imagine the two of you as one. that there was no version of reality without you together in it.

lazily rolling his hips up into you as you met him halfway, rolling yours back down to share half of the load. simon’s arms wrapped around your back, keeping you close and keeping you moving against him.

“sorry love, s’not gonna’ be a long one”

you could only respond with a whimper, gently nodding your head into his neck as your lips press soft little kisses into the skin. you didn’t need a long time, you just needed him.

unable to help yourself from noticing the couple new scratches he’d come home with, your fingers idly traced along them as he sucked in a breath at the feeling.

what you wouldn’t give to keep him home and keep him safe.

a thought for another day as you felt yourself constricting around his cock, grinding yourself into his lap as firm muscle rubbed against your front.

tiny little gasps flitted from your mouth and into his ear, you could feel his body tensing up beneath you. it wasn’t just with sheer tiredness, you knew this man like the back of your hand.

left hand coming out from under where you’d buried it behind his back, you ran the tips of your fingernails down simon’s chest. you stopped at his nipple, gently scraping along the peaked flesh until you heard him.

“need y’to cum right now f’me please”

slipping your other hand between the two of you, you let your fingers wander against yourself until you could feel the tide breaking in the pit of your stomach.

body clenching involuntarily, your mouth dropping open against his skin. no doubt drool pooling against his collarbone as you came with a pathetic whimper. hips bucking a little crazy in his lap as his hand ran the length of your back.

“god that’s it, sweet’art”

simon went rigid, gripping you tight like you might go somewhere as the dams broke and he filled you up. hot and sticky and dripping out of you and onto the waistband of his shorts.

he fell so still the only way you’d know he was still alive was the rise and fall of his chest beneath you. his arms were already starting to fall limp around you.

coming back from the bathroom, slipping off the rest of your clothes and adding them to the pile. simon wasn’t asleep, there were no snores, but he had been rendered totally immobile.

pulling the remainder of his clothes off for him and settling in beside, you pulled the sheets up over the both of you as his arm began drawing you in.

draped across him, you could feel his lips pressing against the crown of your head.

“m’gonna’ rock y’world in the morning”

you snorted a little laugh, nuzzling in closer as his breathing starts to even out. no use in replying, snorings about the only answer you’re going to get.

not that you’d mind.

he was home.

[nesscuro]

my take on a ‘hedwig and the angry inch’ -ified rockstar lestat 🧛‍♀️🩸

…a film which is a required viewing for s3 i’m afraid …incredible movie . i love cinema

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price and Carol Ohmart

The House on Haunted Hill (1959) dir. William Castle

[maryjayden]

men WILL get pregnant. #KeepPounding