#acute alcohol intoxication

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Seventeen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, DARK THEMES, Sexual Harassment, Asshole!Berkshire, Extreme Depictions of Violence, Blood, SMUT, PIV, Virgin!Reader, Loss of Virginity, Dom!Mattheo, Sub!Reader, Oral Sex, Multiple Orgasm, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Emerging from the closet, you and Mattheo shared one more fleetingly charged moment, your eyes locking in a silent exchange laden with unspoken emotions. With a subtle nod, you both returned to your seats, seamlessly slipping back into the roles you had mastered--the poised Ravenclaw and the bad, rebellious Slytherin. The transition was flawless, but beneath the composed exteriors, a storm of emotions raged.

As the game progressed and the night drew on, your eyes locked with Mattheo's from across the circle more times than you could even begin to count--and as the rest of the room remained blissfully unaware, you were acutely attuned to the dance of hidden desires, an intimate connection that thrived in the shadows.

The game of truth or dare continued, growing more wild with each passing round, until most people involved became to tired to continue. In the midst of all of this, Emily and Tom seemed to hit it off, engrossed in their own conversation which seemed to have started before you had even returned from the closet with Mattheo--and as much as the sight was slightly confusing, you were profoundly grateful for the unexpected friendship between them. It undoubtedly relieved the pressure of having to engage with Tom.

As the night wore on, exhaustion settled deep within your bones. Berkshire, thoroughly intoxicated, was gently escorted to his dormitory by Malfoy, his usual disgusting arrogance now replaced by a drunken stumble. Despite the lingering adrenaline from the evening's events, weariness tugged at your limbs, pulling you towards the comfort of your dormitory.

While Emily and Tom remained engrossed in their conversation, you seized the opportunity to excuse yourself quietly. With polite smiles and casual goodnights, you bid farewell to the remaining members of the circle. Each step you took felt heavier than the last, your energy waning with every movement. The echoes of laughter and conversation faded into the distance as you navigated the familiar corridors, the subdued glow of torchlight guiding your way.

Taking a moment to escape the confines of the castle, you stepped into the tranquil courtyard, leaning against the railing and seeking solace under the vast expanse of stars. The night air embraced you, carrying with it a soothing whisper of tranquility. Breathing in deeply, you let the cool breeze wash over you, attempting to shed the lingering tension from your bones after the intense evening you had just endured.

And in the midst of your attempts to find serenity, the peaceful atmosphere shattered like fragile glass, stumbling footsteps making their way toward you. As you glanced over, you watched an inebriated Berkshire stumble his way into the courtyard, bringing himself dangerously close to you, his usual arrogance magnified by the influence of alcohol. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, fixated on you with a disturbing intensity.

"Shit...what do we have here?" he slurred, his words laced with drunken confidence. "A little bird all alone in the night...don't you know it's fuckin' dangerous to be out here all by yourself?"

Your disgust was palpable as you shot him a withering glare. "Save your pathetic lines for someone who cares, Berkshire," you retorted, your voice dripping with disdain. "The only thing dangerous is my dwindling patience at the mere sight of you."

"Why're you such a bitch, huh?" he slurred, his words carrying the stench of alcohol. His proximity was uncomfortably close, his breath hot against your skin. "Must be 'cause you secretly like me, right?"

Your jaw clenched, a mixture of annoyance and disgust bubbling within you. His words were as repugnant as his alcohol-laden breath. The tension you had been trying to relieve was now replaced by a different kind, a sharp pang of frustration at having to deal with his inappropriate behavior.

"I suggest you find your way back to your dorm," you retorted, your voice firm despite the rising irritation. "Your delusions won't make your company any more welcome."

Berkshire's drunken persistence grated on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, his obnoxious confidence seeming to inflate with every word you uttered. Before you could process it, he closed the distance between you, his movements erratic, invading your personal space. His clammy hand shot up, gripping your jaw with a force that made your teeth clench, forcing your eyes to meet his in a cruel display of dominance.

"Why won't you just admit it, huh?" he slurred, his words punctuated by the reek of alcohol on his breath. His bloodshot eyes bored into yours, his arrogance seemingly impervious to your clear discomfort. "You can't deny the attraction, sweetheart...I see it in the way you look at me when you think no one's watching."

Your patience snapped like a taut rope. Anger flared in your chest, hot and searing. With a swift movement, you pushed his hand away from your face, your voice cutting through the night with icy precision, a steely resolve in your voice that should have been enough to ward off any sane person.

"Let me make this abundantly clear, Berkshire," you said, your tone as sharp as a blade. "There is no secret admiration, no desire, and certainly no fucking attraction. You're nothing more than a nuisance, and I have no patience for your delusions. Now, back the fuck off before you regret testing my tolerance any further."

Despite your unwavering stance, Berkshire's drunken laughter reverberated through the courtyard, a disturbing echo of arrogance undeterred by your resistance. He jeered, taking another step toward you, his movements unsteady but determined. The cold, unforgiving metal of the railing you had been standing in front of pressed into your back as he cornered you, his breath reeking of alcohol and menace.

Panic clawed at your throat, but you refused to show weakness, your eyes meeting his with a defiant glare. "Berkshire, what are you-"

Ignoring your words, he advanced further, backing you up against the railing until there was nowhere left to retreat. Your heart thundered in your chest, the weight of his aggression bearing down on you. And then, in a moment of terror, he grabbed you, his grip surprisingly strong, squeezing tighter than you had ever expected. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers dug into your arms, pain flaring through your limbs. The situation had escalated far beyond your control, and the realization struck you like a physical blow.

"Let me go," you demanded, your voice strained but resolute, despite the fear tightening your throat. But Berkshire only tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your skin, his drunken gaze wild and unpredictable. "Enzo, fuck, stop..."

"Shut the fuck up," he growled, he breath grazing over your neck as he pressed himself against you. "You're such a fucking-"

Before Berkshire could finish that sentence, a familiar voice--one usually somewhat smooth and composed, cut through the air with a terrifying intensity.

"Berkshire…if you don't get your fucking hands off of her," the threat in his tone was unmistakable, a promise of unspeakable consequences if ignored. "I fucking swear-"

But Berkshire, lost in his drunken rage, remained heedless, his eyes glazed over with a dangerous mixture of anger and entitlement. “Shut up, Riddle…she fucking wants me…”

You caught Mattheo's eyes from over Enzo's shoulder, ones that once held a glimmer of restraint now blazed with an uncontrollable anger that seemed to ignite the air around him. His usual composure shattered, replaced by a raw, primal fury.

In a heartbeat, Mattheo closed the distance between him and Berkshire, his movements fluid and almost supernatural. His hand shot out like a striking serpent, fingers wrapping around Berkshire's throat like an unyielding vice. The grip was tight, a clear message of the danger Berkshire was in.

“I warned you,” he hissed, and with a swift, powerful motion, Mattheo ripped Berkshire off of you, sending him crashing onto the unforgiving stone ground, a stunned gasp escaping his lips upon impact--Mattheo’s throat was shredded with anger as he growled, “I fucking warned you…”

You stood frozen, your lungs burning as you desperately gasped for air, your vision swimming with a heady mix of fear and relief. Mattheo, his eyes ablaze with fury, descended upon Berkshire like a vengeful deity. His arm darted out, fingers clenching Berkshire's collar in one hand while the other transformed into a merciless fist.

“Stay the fuck away from her…you don’t fucking look at her, you don’t even fucking breathe near her…do you fucking understand me?” Mattheo didn’t wait for a response, the first punch landing with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating through the courtyard like a thunderclap. Mattheo jostled Enzo in his grip, practically spitting his words against his face. “No one gets to fucking touch her…no one except me…fucking no one…”

A momentary pause hung in the air, a fleeting heartbeat of stillness, before Mattheo struck again. And again. And again. He was possessed, every punch a release of the pent-up rage that had been simmering beneath the surface, each blow fueled by a primal instinct to protect, to defend, to punish the one who dared to harm you.

Berkshire's face transformed into a grotesque mask of crimson, his features distorted by pain and fear. The courtyard seemed to pulse with the rhythm of Mattheo's anger, the sound of his blows drowned out by the rapid thudding of your heart--and it wasn't until Draco Malfoy, his normally composed demeanor replaced by wide-eyed shock, entered the fray, that Mattheo's onslaught finally came to a halt.

Malfoy, his strength surprising for someone so slender, managed to pull Mattheo off Berkshire, the latter struggling like a wild animal, his rage still burning brightly, his chest heaving with exasperated fury.

"What the fuck happened here?" Theodore dropped to his knees next to his fallen friend, a mixture of concern and disbelief etched on his features as he met your stunned eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I..." you stammered, your voice barely audible, your mind struggling to comprehend the violence that had just unfolded before you. The shock had rendered you speechless, your throat dry and constricted, words caught in the whirlwind of your emotions. "Yes...I'm okay..."

While you attempted to spit out words, Mattheo's heaving form, still seething with raw anger, ripped himself free from Malfoy's hold. With a voice that carried the weight of his fury, he spoke on your behalf, the words sharp and cutting through the air.

"Berkshire thought he could lay his fucking hands on her is what happened," his voice was cold, each word laced with contempt. "After I warned him...I warned him how many fucking times..."

Mattheo's aura, once magnetic and enticing, was now a tempest, an embodiment of wrath that crackled in the air around him. The atmosphere seemed to vibrate with his intensity, as if the very stones beneath your feet could feel his fury. It was a chilling reminder, mostly to you, that beneath the composed facade, there was a force to be reckoned with, a protector who would stop at nothing to shield you from harm--and that thought did inexplicable, disgustingly shameless things to your fucking body.

Draco Malfoy, his usual cool composure momentarily shaken, stepped away from Mattheo, his eyes assessing the situation with a discerning gaze.

"Let's get him to the hospital wing," he suggested to Theodore, his voice cutting through the tension. Nott, too, recognized the need for immediate action, nodding in agreement, before briefly meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry about him...there's no way he hasn't learned his lesson now...fuckin' sorry little prat..."

You nodded in response as the two of them lifted Berkshire, supporting his battered form between them. As they glanced between you and Mattheo, it was as though a silent understanding passed between Draco and Nott. Their glances met, a knowing look shared, acknowledging that there was something more beneath the surface of this situation. They sensed the unspoken connection, the invisible thread that bound you and Mattheo together, but they chose not to pry. Instead, they respected the unspoken boundaries, allowing the complexities of your relationships to remain your own.

Meanwhile, Mattheo turned his attention back to you, his eyes a tumultuous blend of emotions, the storm within him slowly subsiding as he registered the shock lingering in your eyes. With a soft yet determined expression, he stepped closer, his presence becoming a comforting shield against the aftermath of the confrontation that had left both of you shaken.

"Raven, I'm so fucking-" he began, his voice thick with regret and unspoken apologies.

"I'm fine, Mattheo." You cut him off, your heart pounding in your chest, the sight of his breathless, bloodied and dishevelled form doing dangerous things to your cunt--and you knew, more than anything, you just wanted to be alone with him. "Please just take me back to your dorm."

His brows furrowed in confusion, but the desperation in your eyes didn't leave room for questions.

"What-" he started to inquire, but you took a step closer, your neck arching slightly to catch his dark, penetrating gaze.

"Take me back to your dorm," you repeated. "Please."

Upon hearing the raw desperation in your voice, Mattheo nodded, his fingers gently finding yours as he immediately led you down the hall and through the empty corridor to his dorm. The moment he pushed the door open, allowing you to step inside, it felt as though the temperature in the room had increased to a million bloody degrees. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a potent mix of fear, desire, and the undeniable pull that had always existed between you, intensified now by the events of the night.

As you cautiously stepped into his dorm, your eyes were drawn to the familiar sight of the astronomy book lying open on his desk. The memory of the last time you had been in his dorm flashed in your mind--the same book, sitting untouched on his desk, an odd object in the midst of his carefully curated chaos.

"Why do you still have this out?" you questioned, your voice laced with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. Mattheo hesitated, his stormy eyes locking onto yours in a moment of vulnerability.

"Can't a man indulge in the mysteries of the stars whenever he fancies?" he retorted with a smirk, attempting to deflect the gravity of the situation. His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but the tension beneath the surface was palpable. "Or perhaps stargazing is an art reserved solely for beautiful little ravens, hm?"

"Is it because of me?" Your stare bore into him, a mix of curiosity and suspicion flickering in your eyes. “Is it because of me that you have this book?”

He didn't deny it; instead, after a long, silent moment, he simply nodded, almost impenetrably, his gaze never leaving yours. It was a silent admission, a confession that hung heavy in the charged atmosphere of the room. In that moment, the undeniable pull between you became almost tangible, the invisible thread connecting your hearts growing stronger, defying the boundaries you had desperately tried to impose.

You stepped toward him. "Did you miss me, Mattheo..."

Mattheo met your gaze, his expression enigmatic yet stoic, a mask of his usual arrogance and charm slipping back into place. His silence lingered for a moment, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Then, in a voice that held a depth of emotion he was trying to conceal, he replied, "Maybe I did, Raven..."

You moved closer, the air crackling with need as you closed the distance, your heart pounding in your chest. When you finally stood before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you dared to reach out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. His skin was warm, and beneath your touch, you could sense the subtle tremor that betrayed the restraint he was exercising. Your breath caught in your throat as you tilted your head, your lips hovering just millimeters from his.

"Don't be shy, Mattheo..." you murmured, teasing him with your fingers as you trailed over his jawline. "Why don't you show me how much you missed me..."

Mattheo's jaw clenched under your touch, his dark eyes smoldering with an intensity that matched the simmering desire between you. You sighed when his hands, strong and possessive, found their way to your hips, pulling you closer with a magnetic force that left you breathless. His restraint wavered, the barrier between temptation and surrender growing thinner by the second.

"Salazar fucking save me..." Mattheo's voice was a raspy whisper, a plea and a challenge rolled into one, his vulnerability veiled behind a facade of arrogance. "Who the hell are you..."

You leaned in, your lips hovering dangerously close to his, your eyes locking onto his with a daring intensity.

"Sorry to break it to you, Riddle," you purred, your voice a seductive melody that echoed in the charged space between you. "But I'm afraid not even your maker could save you now..." a teasing smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your breath mingling with his. "Better start counting your blessings..."

"Blessings, huh?" Mattheo's lips curved into a half-smirk, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'd much rather count the seconds until I can taste those sweet fucking lips of yours..."

His words sent a jolt of desire through you, your heart pounding in response to his brazen confidence.

"Gods, you really are a changed man, aren't you?" You murmured, fighting your smirk as his fingers tightened their grip on your hips. "You were never one to wait for permission before..."

"Raven," his voice was a low, raspy whisper, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter. "You're really testing my fucking patience here...and you should know I'm not a patient man..."

Your smirk grew, heat flushing your cheeks, your fingers tracing a tantalizing path along the underside of his jawline, now, teasingly slow.

"Maybe I enjoy testing your limits…maybe I want to see how far I can push you..." you muttered, your voice laced with playful defiance. "Or perhaps I just like watching you squirm, Riddle...perhaps I want to hear you beg for me..."

Mattheo's patience snapped like a taut wire, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and desire.

"Look at you, huh...all fucking smug..." he growled, his voice edged with playful frustration as he peered down at you. "You've kept that pussy from me for over two fucking weeks and now you want to tease me like this? Did you forget how bloody fast I can make you crumble for me..."

Your defiant facade began to crack under the intensity of his gaze, a shiver running down your spine.

"Gods, maybe I did..." your voice barely above a whisper, the defiance replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. "Maybe I need you to remind me..."

"Shit...there she is...there's my good fucking girl..." he murmured, his tone a mixture of reverence and desire. "...tell me what you want, Raven..."

A sigh of satisfaction slipped past your lips as his hands tightened their grip, his touch searing into your hips as though he was trying to hang on to his last shreds of willpower. With a trembling voice, you met his dark, penetrating eyes, wetting your lips as you let yourself drown in their depths.

"You," you whispered, your voice a husky admission. "I want you."

He exhaled. "Then fucking have me."

In a whirlwind of desire, his lips crashed onto yours, sending your senses into a frenzy. Your eyelids fluttered shut as both of you inhaled sharply through your noses, trying to catch your breath amidst the electrifying kiss. His hands, strong and possessive, tangled in your hair, pulling you closer with an urgency that matched the racing beat of your heart. Your lips parted in a soft groan of surrender, inviting him in, and his tongue slipped between your teeth with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

His lips moved over yours, claiming every inch as though he needed you to survive, and your fingers found solace in the dark waves of his hair, gripping them tightly. Mattheo responded with a primal sound, a low grunt of satisfaction that resonated between your entwined bodies. With a swift motion, he spun you around, his lips never leaving yours, walking you backwards until the backs of your knees met the edge of his bed. The kiss deepened, his mouth exploring yours with a deliberate slowness, his fingers continuing their sensual dance through your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, melting the space between you.

Mattheo's tongue danced a tantalizing dance inside your mouth before he withdrew, leaving a lingering connection between your lips. In that moment, silence enveloped both of you, rendering you nearly motionless, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, unsure of what to say, think, or do. You felt the undeniable hardness of his arousal pressing against your belly, causing a flicker of anticipation to ignite within you. Your hands instinctively moved towards the hem of your shirt, but he halted you with a gaze as hard as stone.

"No," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Let me."

A flush of scarlet painted your cheeks, but you nodded in silent consent, your throat tight with anticipation. His fingers bunched the fabric of your shirt, lifting it up and off of you. As you raised your arms, granting him permission to undress you further, he completed his task with deliberate care. The fabric landed on the floor with a soft rustle, discarded and forgotten, while his eyes roamed over every newly exposed expanse of your skin.

It was a ritual you knew you’d never tired of, the way he looked at your body as if it was a masterpiece, a gift he hadn't been prepared to receive.

Under the intensity of his gaze, a cascade of warmth flooded through you, your skin tingling with awareness. His hands skillfully moved behind you, unclasping your bra with practiced ease. He pushed it off your shoulders, the fabric gliding down your arms, his fingers skimming over the surface of your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question, before gracefully sinking to his knees in front of you. His warm breath ghosted over your belly, holding your stare as to ask for permission before he hooked his thumbs under the rim of your pants and panties, peeling them down your thighs, revealing your sensitive sex to him--inch by torturous inch.

A shiver rippled through your nerves, sending a thrill down your spine as his molten-gold eyes held yours with hunger that seemed to consume everything in its path. His gaze didn't waver for a single moment, even as he expertly removed your shoes and tossed them aside carelessly.  As he rose, his palms trailed over the contours of every curve, his touch igniting a trail of electric sensations in their wake. He towered over you, a commanding presence that left you breathless, and one of his hands delicately cupped your face, his thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip with a gentle intensity that sent your heart racing.

"Lie back," he murmured.

Your fingers quivered with anticipation as you nodded, succumbing to the electric tension in the air. Slowly, you eased yourself back onto the mattress, adjusting your position so you could lie flat against the soft bedding.

Mattheo prowled around the perimeter of the bed, his intense gaze scorching your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Each step he took seemed deliberate, his movements exuding a raw, primal energy. After a moment, he paused, his fingers deftly working on the buttons of his bloodied dress-shirt. With a fluid motion, he peeled off the fabric, revealing the chiseled contours of his chest. His pants followed suit, dropping to the floor until he stood before you in just his boxers.

From this angle, the sight of him made your cheeks flush and your breath hitch in your throat. The raw masculinity and confidence he exuded was both breathtaking and overwhelming, leaving you yearning for more as he loomed over the bed, the outline of his throbbing cock straining the fabric of his boxers doing unspeakable things to your body--the sight of it against the background of hard, tense muscle made you clench, and you bit your lip to hide a moan that was sneaking its way out of your mouth.

And even though you knew he noticed, he said nothing, even as his knee dropped into the mattress, even as he shifted, crawling over you, until he hovered above you, looking more fucking angelic than he ever had before, looking like a man filled with devotion, passion and need.

"Mattheo..." fear was mixing with the pull of lust. You'd never seen him like this. "Matty, I--"

"Shh," he said, pushing a strand of hair away from your temple. "Relax for me, princess..."

You drew in a shaky breath, and nodded--and his lips pressed into yours, plush and wet, before he moved, leading a tingling line of kisses down your cheek, to your jawline, to your neck. Leaning in, he caressed your throat with his warm mouth and you gasped, back arcing into him. In response, Mattheo purred, laying layer after layer of soft, wet marks on your sensitive flesh. One large hand slid down your arm while he kissed his way to your breast, nuzzling his cheek into the valley of your chest before drawing a nipple between his lips.

A cry escaped you, your hips bucking into his abdomen. "Oh, Gods..."

"Shh," he said again. "Relax, angel..."

The nickname he called only made you want to writhe more. Your mind internally fucking screaming with need. Taking a deep breath, you nodded anyway.

"My angel," he repeated, planting slow, soft kisses on your stiffening bud. "My fucking sweet little angel..."

He took your nipple into his mouth again, moaning while he suckled it swollen, his hands painting pleasure on your swathes of naked, aching skin. You whimpered, nibbling on your lip to silence any sound, hands slowly slithering their way through his messy, yet beautiful fucking hair. As you tightened your grip on his strands, a groan slipped past his teeth, and he flicked the tip of your peak with his tongue before releasing it, mouth making a hot trail along your navel, his hands massaging up and down the outside of your thighs.

"You're doing so well," he whispered into your stomach. "You're so fucking beautiful..."

"Matty..." you whined, his words creating a storm of bliss in your chest. You didn't know what else to say.

"Keep being good for me..." he kissed his way to the mound of your pussy, holding a rumble in his chest as his lips grazed the top of your slit. "Are you ready?"

Are you ready? He just fucking asked if you were ready. As you gazed at him, his pink lips glistening with saliva, eyes smoldering with desire, the answer became crystal clear.

"Yes," you said. "Yes, I'm ready."

Without further hesitation, Mattheo lowered his head between your legs, your entire body jolting in pleasure   as he licked a broad, flat band up your sex, feeling your fingers twirling in the curls of his hair. His mouth was hot and eager as he showered your folds with deep, heavy kisses, sending shivers of delight throughout your entire being. Mattheo's hands held your thighs in place as he slicked his strong tongue in between your slit, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your core. Your eyes were fixed upon him, unable to look away from the sight of him worshipping your cunt with his mouth.

"You taste incredible," he cooed, leaving soft kisses along the crease of your thighs. "You know that I thought about this little pussy everyday, don't you?"

Your breath hitched. "Y-you did?"

"Mmhm."

He returned to working his tongue along your inner-folds, gathering your juices along the tip, humming while he swallowed--he was deliberate, taking his time to memorize every bit of your pussy, to draw as much cum from your core as he could. You whined, your clit desperate for attention.

"Matty..." you pleaded, "please..."

Mattheo's gaze met yours as he hummed, sealing his lips around your swollen nub. The intensity of the pleasure collided into you, causing a wracking sob to escape your lips as your eyes closed in ecstasy. His  grip tightened on your thighs, tugging you closer to his face. As he sucked on your clit, he gradually built up the pressure, block by block, pushing you towards the peak of orgasm.

Your hips relentlessly rolled into him, urgent moans filling the air as you fell further and further toward overwhelming bliss. "Fuck, Mattheo...Gods..."

His hands left your thighs, exploring your body, gripping and kneading any inch of flesh they could find, until they finally rested on your breasts, thumbs tracing small, gentle circles on your hardened nipples.

"Oh, fuck," you said, "fuck, fuck..."

As the intensity of your pleasure peaked, any words leaving your lips devolved into incoherent wailing. You teetered on the edge, straining against a wall of unrelenting bliss that threatened to overtake you completely. Then, with two hard sucks, Mattheo eased you over, drawing out your climax long and slow against his mouth. Ecstasy consumed you, numbing your skin as your limbs shook and trembled. Every sensation was intensified as he pulled you through wave after wave of pleasure, groaning as your juices coated his lips, your core throbbing and pulsing at his chin.

It felt like an eternity before he finally released you, dragging his tongue up the top of your slit as he panted and gasped for breath alongside you. The aftermath of your intense orgasm left both of you struggling to regain your senses.

Your head rolled along the mattress, lids fluttering open, hands petting at his hair. "Fuck, Mattheo...that was..."

"Shh." He licked his lips, gaze liquefying your center, and returned his focus to your belly, kissing a steady path to your sternum, his hands still stroking at your skin. "I need you to know how much I missed everything...and I mean fucking everything..."

"Oh," was all that left your mouth, teeth pinching your lip when it began to tremble.

"From your perfect fucking tits to your filthy little mouth..." one hand started to palm at your breast, the other still gliding up your side as he inched forward. "From those delicious fucking thighs to that pretty little pussy..." he was at your neck, now, rasping into it, the heat of his body enveloping you. "Every inch of you is fucking perfect...fuck the drugs Raven, you are my insatiable goddamn addiction..."

Every syllable that escaped his lips seemed to caress your very soul, igniting a wildfire of longing within you. His words were like a spell, weaving around your heart and wrapping you in a cocoon of desire. You craved him in a way that transcended the physical, a hunger that went bone-deep. It wasn't just the touch of his skin against yours that you yearned for; it was the merging of your essence, the melding of your souls into an ethereal dance of passion. You wanted to dissolve the boundaries between you, to lose yourselves in a realm crafted solely for your bodies, where every touch and sigh was a symphony of fervor.

And as you met his gaze, there it was, in his eyes--an unnamed emotion that pulsed between you, an unspoken truth that bound you together in a way words could never encapsulate. It was a force beyond reason, an irresistible pull that drew you closer, time after fucking time again.

"You once called me a plague but fuck...you have no fucking idea..." his voice, raw with desire, clawed its way out of his throat. "I haven't even fucked you, Raven...how the fuck have you done this to me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, fingers instinctively curling in his hair. "Do you want to?..."

Mattheo hesitated, as if time itself hung suspended. His eyes searched your face, seeking the truth in your words, and then, he answered, his voice a low rasp,

"Of course I do..." he breathed. "But after what happened tonight-"

"No," you cut him off, your body moving restlessly beneath his. "After what happened tonight, I only want you more...I've never fucking wanted you so fucking badly, Mattheo...it was you who defended me, not Tom, not Zabini, you...it's always been you..."

Mattheo's jaw tensed, his eyes darkening, his chest heaving. "You want me to fuck you..." he said, as though he was trying to make himself believe it. "You want me to take your virginity..."

You nodded, a silent confirmation of your desire, but Mattheo's fingers found their way to your jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle, yet firm. He held your gaze, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation, any uncertainty.

"Say it, Raven," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "You know I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me to take your virginity."

Your breath caught in your throat, his proximity overwhelming your senses. With a shaky inhale, you met his intense gaze, your voice coming out as a mere whisper, "I want you to take my virginity, Mattheo."

"Fucking hell..." he breathed, the desire in his tone making your core scream. "You know that means-"

"I'm yours." You cut him off. "Even though all of this could fuck up my entire future, I don't care...I'm yours...I submit my sanity to the disaster that is sneaking around with you, Mattheo...I don't want the safe option, I don't want soft or subtle...I want dangerous, I want messy, I want sins...I fucking want you..."

"Salazar fucking save me..." he breathed after a long moment of staring at you, shifting himself to pull down his boxers, his throbbing cock springing free, smacking against his belly. "You really are a little fucking devil..."

You clenched at the sight of his dick, head glistening with precum, twitching insistently as he shifted, looping an arm under your neck and cradling your head, his face nestling into your neck while his other hand directed the head of his dick against your wet folds, slicking itself along your wetness, your entire body tensing at the foreign sensation.

He was so fucking big...you weren't sure if, "are you even going to fit...you're so fucking-"

"Shh, Raven." Mattheo huffed against your neck, angling back to meet your eyes, that devilish smirk plastered across his lips. "I'll make it fit."

At his words, you clenched again, unable to deny the intoxication of his primal arrogance, his eyes fixed on your face as he angled himself at your core now, the anticipation radiating off of him only fuelling your hunger, sending thrills through every inch of your body.

"Relax," he breathed, eyes boring into yours, the hand behind your head keeping you in place. "And look at me...I want you looking into my fucking eyes as you feel yourself stretching out for me..."

With a nod, you held his stare, and slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself inside of you, inch by inch, letting you gasp and wince while his thick length stretched you open, until he was fully sheathed within your tightness. The sensation was overwhelming, stretching you to your limit, beyond anything you ever thought possible, and Mattheo only seemed to grow harder with each gasp that left your lips. With him completely seated inside of your cunt, you felt him pulsing at the hilt, felt his already urgent need to cum inside of you. But instead of moving right away, he jerked you closer to his chest, his lips softly grazing yours as he brought his hand to cup your jaw.

"Are you okay?" His voice was torn, shredded, nearly unrecognizable.

You nodded, holding his eyes. "I'm okay."

"Shit, Raven..." a deep groan left his chest as he exhaled, pulling out and plunging back in as slowly and carefully as he had the first time. "You're so fucking tight...fuck..."

You mewled--between the passion in your chest and the newfound sensations between your legs, your head was spinning, something was close to bursting. His skin was so hot against you, and you gripped him tighter, another moan leaving your chest, chin shaking beyond your control, the pleasure and pain commingling in your mind as you surrendered to his skilled touch--Mattheo stared at you through it all with gleaming eyes before he smothered your lips with a kiss, burning and short.

"Is this what you wanted?" The low thunder of his voice melted in your ears, and he murmured your name. "Tell me..."

Your fingers dug into his skin, your voice torn between gasps. "Yes, Mattheo..." you mewled. "It's all I've wanted."

He leaned forward, lips feathersoft on yours, kissing you, still easing his cock into you with careful rolls of his hips. The grip at your head soothed your scalp--and you could feel it, could feel yourself blending with his body as he pushed deeper and deeper inside of you, could feel your pulses pounding in pace, could feel the unspoken, intangible harmony coiling in your blood.

"Who else can make you feel like this, hm?" His embrace constricted you, now, stilling you while he rocked deep into you, stuffing you full, his free hand travelling down your belly, grazing over your clit--and you choked, whimpered, limp in his arms. "Tell me who this tight little pussy fucking belongs to..."

The pleasure was overwhelming, earth shattering, entirely all encompassing. Your lids fluttered, your brain spinning. "Oh, Gods...oh my fucking-"

"Look at me, Raven..." he ordered, voice torn. "Look at me or I'll stop."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, nails biting into his skin, heart pounding in your throat as you felt your sanity dangerously fucking close to shattering, your entire body encompassed in a pleasure that you've never known, a pleasure that only Mattheo fucking Riddle could give you, one that burns you from the inside out, one that shatters every inch of your resolve, leaving you bare before him.

"Tell me..." he whispered, his fingers twirling your clit. You could tell he was close, too. "Fuck...fucking say it…”

"You," you mewled, lost in the melted chocolate swirls of his irises. "It fucking belongs to you, Mattheo...fuck...only you..."

"Shit..." he groaned your name, sucking at your shoulder, tongue leaving hot lines on your neck. "You love being dirty for me..." his fingers whirled your clit faster. "You love being my nasty little slut, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, Mattheo..." you wailed, body trembling beneath him. "I love it..."

"Fuck--" A feral kiss bruised your lips, his cock splitting you with long thrusts. "That's it..." he muttered your name against your mouth. "Cum--cum for me, let me feel you..."

You shattered. "Gods--Matty! Fuck..."

Euphoria rended you wide, tearing at the seams of your sanity, and you fractured, convulsing with the sheer strength of your climax. Your walls spasmed around his dick, milking him hard, and Mattheo held you, mouth meeting yours as he came, hips hitting you with every rush of rapture as he quickly followed after you, spilling his release inside your cunt. This seemed to last for minutes, the aftershocks of bliss rippling through your bodies at once while you remained there catching breath, still connected.

You were wilted, spent, a collection of skin and cum and sweat, and when Mattheo finally pulled out, he slumped down on the mattress beside you, pulling you back into his chest, nothing but the collective sounds of your exhausted panting filling the air, neither of you willing to move even though you knew you couldn't stay here all night--but your drooping lids didn't care, your body succumbing to slumber without giving you a choice.

And as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but question how a boy who once had been the bane of your fucking existence, had now become the centre of it.

———————-

Find eighteen here->

[wonderlanddreamer]

Possessive!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary - It's a dangerous game making Tommy Shelby jealous, but you play it so well.

Warnings - Smut - 18+ only. MDNI.

As you push open the heavy oak door of the Garrison Pub, a thick, smoky haze immediately envelops you, curling around your senses like a familiar cloak. The air is dense with the rich aroma of tobacco and the sharp tang of spilled ale. The dim lighting casts long shadows across the room, each corner filled with hushed conversations and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. The familiar hum of voices mingles with the clinking of glasses, creating a symphony that is both chaotic and comforting.

Tonight, the atmosphere is charged, almost electric, crackling with an undercurrent of tension and anticipation. The promise of clandestine deals and lurking danger hangs palpably in the air, making every interaction feel significant. As you weave through the throng of patrons, you exchange polite nods and murmured greetings, your practiced smile never faltering. Your eyes, however, are far from idle, darting around the room with purpose, scanning each face in search of one particular figure.

Tommy Shelby.

You find him in his usual corner, deep in conversation with Arthur and John. The dim light casts shadows across his sharp features, his piercing blue eyes catching the glint of the whiskey bottle on the table. His presence is magnetic, drawing your attention like a moth to a flame.

But tonight, you decide to deviate from your usual direct approach and indulge in a bit of fun. As you make your way to the bar, the polished mahogany surface glistens under the dim lights, reflecting the amber hues of countless spirits. You lean casually against the bar, your posture relaxed but your senses heightened, aware of the charged atmosphere surrounding you.

You strike up a conversation with a group of men gathered nearby, their faces flushed with the warmth of alcohol and camaraderie. They’re charming in their own rough-edged way, each trying to outdo the other with witty remarks and stories. Their laughter is infectious, a hearty sound that echoes through the smoky haze, drawing the attention of other patrons. You can feel their eyes on you, but one gaze in particular stands out—Tommy’s. His stare is intense, a palpable force that sends shivers down your spine despite the warmth of the room.

“Another drink, love?” one of the men asks, his voice smooth and inviting as he leans in closer, his smile broadening at your proximity.

“Sure,” you reply, a playful twinkle dancing in your eyes. “Why not?”

The banter continues, light and flirtatious, as you sip your drink and engage with the men. Their joviality is contagious, and for a moment, you allow yourself to be swept up in the carefree atmosphere. But underneath it all, you are acutely aware of Tommy’s presence, his patience visibly wearing thin. His usual calm demeanor is beginning to crack, the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior becoming more apparent by the minute.

Then, without warning, Tommy stands abruptly. The sudden movement causes his chair to scrape loudly against the wooden floor, a jarring sound that cuts through the din of the pub. He strides towards you with an unmistakable purpose, his eyes never leaving your face. The crowd seems to part instinctively, sensing the tension in the air.

“Oi, Y/N,” Tommy’s voice slices through the chatter like a knife, commanding and authoritative. “A word.”

The men around you fall silent, their jovial expressions quickly shifting to ones of unease as they recognize the imposing figure of Tommy Shelby. His reputation precedes him, and the mere sight of him is enough to drain the color from their faces. The once lively atmosphere around you is now thick with tension, a stark contrast to the light-hearted banter of just moments ago.

You follow Tommy without protest, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. The surge of adrenaline is almost intoxicating, every step you take heightening your senses. Tommy’s grip on your arm is firm but not harsh, his touch sending an electric current through your skin. He leads you through the bustling crowd, which seems to instinctively part in his wake, as if repelled by an unseen force. The noise of the pub fades into a dull hum as you move further away from the central hub of activity.

He guides you to a more secluded corner of the pub, a dimly lit alcove shrouded in shadows. Here, the air is cooler, the sounds of the pub reduced to a distant murmur. It's a place designed for private conversations, away from prying eyes and ears. You lean casually against the rough wooden wall, feigning innocence as you meet Tommy’s intense gaze, which is filled with a mixture of frustration and something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“What’s this about, Tommy?” you ask, your voice light and teasing, though your heart is racing. You tilt your head slightly, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

His eyes bore into yours, a flicker of anger and something more primal lurking in their depths. They blaze with a mix of emotions—betrayal, possessiveness, and an unmistakable hunger. "You know exactly what this is about," he growls, his voice a low rumble that resonates deep within you. He steps closer, the heat of his body palpable, until there's barely an inch of space between you.

"Do I?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow, your own voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. "Just having a bit of fun, Tommy. No harm in that."

His hand shoots out with lightning speed, fingers wrapping around your chin, firm but not painful. The suddenness of his touch sends a jolt through you, and you can feel the roughness of his skin against yours. "Fun?" he repeats, his voice a dangerous whisper that cuts through the air like a blade. "Is that what you call it? Flirting with other men right in front of me?"

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening at his possessive tone. His grip, though not harsh, is unyielding, forcing you to hold his gaze. "I didn't think you'd mind," you manage to say, though your voice is tinged with uncertainty, betraying the nerves you try so hard to mask.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. The proximity is intoxicating, his presence overwhelming. "Oh, I mind, Y/N. I mind very much," he whispers, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. The sensation is a tantalizing mix of warmth and danger, heightening your awareness of every inch of your body. "You're mine. And I don't share."

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, a heady mix of fear and desire flooding your senses, making it difficult to think clearly. "Tommy..." you begin, your voice barely a whisper, but he silences you with a searing kiss. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim, a declaration. His lips are demanding, moving against yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless, your knees weak. The world around you disappears, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.

When he finally pulls away, you gasp for air, your heart racing. His eyes are blazing with a possessive fire that both thrills and terrifies you. "Understand this, Y/N," he says, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through your very core. "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, there will be consequences."

You nod, the gravity of his words sinking in, rendering you speechless. The jealousy in his eyes, the raw possessiveness—it all leaves you reeling, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The intensity of his gaze holds you captive, making it impossible to look away.

"Good," he murmurs, his tone softening slightly as his thumb brushes tenderly over your lips, a stark contrast to the fierceness of his earlier kiss. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, and it sends another shiver through you. "Now, come with me."

The Garrison Pub fades into the background as Tommy leads you upstairs to his private quarters. His grip on your hand is firm, a silent promise of what's to come, and the anticipation is almost unbearable. Your footsteps echo softly against the wooden stairs, each step taking you further away from the lively din of the pub and deeper into Tommy's world.

Once inside, he closes the door with a definitive click, shutting out the world and leaving only the two of you in the dimly lit room. The room is bathed in the warm, flickering glow of candlelight, the shadows dancing across the walls like silent spectators to the unfolding drama. The scent of aged wood and leather mingles with the faint aroma of whiskey, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that heightens your senses.

Tommy turns to you, his eyes still burning with that possessive fire, a storm of emotions swirling within their depths. You barely have a moment to catch your breath before he's on you, his movements swift and decisive. His lips crash onto yours with a fervor that leaves you dizzy, his kiss demanding and almost punishing. It's as if he's trying to erase the memory of your earlier flirtations with other men, to reclaim you as his own.

He backs you against the wall, the firm pressure of his body pinning you in place. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your body with a desperate need that mirrors your own. The heat of his touch seeps through your clothes, igniting a fire that burns brighter with each passing second. You respond in kind, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It becomes a battle for dominance, a fierce clash of wills and desires that neither of you wants to lose. His tongue tangles with yours, exploring and claiming every inch of your mouth with a fervor that leaves you breathless.

"Tommy," you gasp as he breaks the kiss, his lips moving to trail down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and anticipation that makes your skin tingle. "Tommy, please..."

He pulls back slightly, just enough to lock eyes with you. The intensity in his gaze makes your heart race, a storm of emotions swirling within those deep blue depths. "Please what, love?" he murmurs, his voice a husky growl that sends shivers down your spine. The sound of it is electrifying, a promise of what's to come.

"Touch me," you breathe, your hands tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. The need in your voice is unmistakable, and it spurs him into action.

A wicked smile curls at the corners of his mouth as he obliges, his hands slipping under your blouse to caress the soft skin beneath. The contrast between the roughness of his calloused hands and the smoothness of your skin is intoxicating, igniting a fire within you that demands more. You arch into his touch, craving the sensation of his hands on your body. His fingers trail over your ribs, brushing the sides of your breasts before he cups them, his thumbs teasing your nipples through the fabric of your bra.

You moan softly, the sound escaping your lips and driving him wild. The primal noise seems to unlock something within him, and with a growl, he lifts you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he carries you to the bed, each step filled with urgency and desire. The world blurs around you, reduced to the singular focus of his touch, his presence.

He lays you down on the bed with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the raw intensity of his actions. His body presses against yours, the weight and warmth of him grounding you even as your senses spiral into overdrive. His hands move with practiced ease, making quick work of your clothes, each piece discarded with little ceremony until you're both bare, skin to skin.

For a moment, he pauses, his eyes raking over your body with an intensity that makes you feel both vulnerable and desired. The way he looks at you, with such raw, unfiltered emotion, sends a shiver down your spine. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice filled with a rare tenderness that takes your breath away. The softness in his tone is a stark contrast to the earlier intensity, and it makes your heart ache with love.

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs gently brushing against his cheekbones. "So are you," you reply, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. There's a moment of profound connection as you gaze into each other's eyes, a silent communication of everything you feel.

He captures your lips in another searing kiss, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that feels both familiar and new. The heat of his skin against yours is intoxicating, every touch, every kiss sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His hands roam over your curves, mapping out every inch of you as if committing it to memory. The way his fingers trace the lines of your body, the reverence in his touch, makes you feel cherished and desired in a way that words could never express.

"Mine," he whispers against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. The possessiveness in his voice is undeniable, but there's also a hint of vulnerability, as if he's afraid to lose you. "You're mine, Y/N."

"Yours," you agree, your voice breathless and filled with the same desperate need. The word hangs in the air, a promise, a declaration, a surrender. You are his, in every way that matters, and it feels right.

He slides down your body, his lips leaving a burning trail as he goes. The sensation is overwhelming, each kiss, each touch, building the anticipation, the need. He pauses at your breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking gently before moving to the other. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, your back arching off the bed, a moan escaping your lips.

"Tommy, please," you beg, your hands fisting in the sheets. The need in your voice is palpable, a raw, desperate plea for more.

He continues his descent, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of your body with a reverence that makes you feel worshipped. Every kiss, every touch, sends waves of pleasure rippling through you, heightening your senses and making you acutely aware of every inch of your skin. He lingers at your hips, his breath hot against your skin, before moving down to the inside of your thighs, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, looking up at you with eyes darkened by desire. The intensity in his gaze sends a jolt of anticipation through you. "Look at me, Y/N," he commands, his voice a low growl that reverberates through your core. The authority in his tone leaves no room for disobedience.

You meet his gaze, your breath hitching as he spreads your legs wider, exposing you completely to his hungry eyes. The vulnerability of the moment is electrifying, a mix of fear and excitement that sends a shiver down your spine. He dips his head, his tongue flicking out to taste you, and the sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, that you cry out, your hips bucking instinctively against his mouth.

He holds you down with a firm grip, his hands anchoring your thighs as he devours you. His tongue and lips work in perfect harmony, each stroke, each flick sending you higher and higher. The pleasure builds rapidly, a crescendo of sensation that blots out everything else. Your hands clutch at the sheets, your knuckles white as you struggle to hold on.

The sounds of your pleasure fill the room, mingling with the wet, erotic noises of his mouth on you. The tension coils tighter and tighter within you, a spring wound to its breaking point. "Tommy, I'm going to—" you start, but the words are lost as your orgasm crashes over you, a tidal wave of ecstasy that leaves you trembling and breathless. Your body shakes with the force of it, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

He doesn't stop, drawing out every last bit of your release until you're left quivering and spent. Only then does he climb back up your body, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring his prey. His lips capture yours in a searing kiss that tastes of your release, the erotic flavor of it making your head spin.

His body presses against yours, the heat of his skin a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room. He positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. The sensation is maddening, a promise of what's to come. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with need, his breath ragged.

"Tell me you're mine," he demands, his voice rough and filled with a desperate need that mirrors your own. The command is both a plea and a declaration, a need to hear the words from your lips.

"I'm yours, Tommy," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. The words hang in the air, a sacred vow that binds you to him in ways words alone could never fully capture.

"Good," he growls, his eyes boring into yours with a possessive intensity that makes your heart race. The raw emotion in his gaze is both thrilling and terrifying. "Because I don't ever want to see you with another man." His words are a promise and a warning, and they send a shiver of excitement through you.

With that, he thrusts into you, filling you completely in one swift, powerful movement. The sensation is overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and pain that has you gasping for breath. Your body tightens around him, adjusting to the feel of him inside you, the stretch and fullness almost too much to bear. He pauses for a moment, allowing you to acclimate, his forehead resting against yours. The intimacy of the gesture is almost as intense as the physical connection, a moment of shared breath and heartbeat.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through your very core. Each syllable seems to resonate within you, reinforcing the bond that ties you together. "And I'm yours."

"Yours," you echo, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as you pull him closer. The need to feel every inch of him, to be as close as possible, is almost overwhelming. His skin is hot under your fingertips, every muscle trembling with restrained power.

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one eliciting a moan from your lips. The friction, the heat, the way his body fits so perfectly with yours—it's intoxicating. Each movement is measured, as if he's savoring every moment, every sensation. The slow, deliberate pace allows you to feel every inch of him, the way he stretches and fills you, the way your bodies move together in perfect harmony.

The pleasure builds with each thrust, a slow burn that intensifies with every second. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body arching to meet his, desperate for more. His hands roam over your body, touching, caressing, exploring.

"Tommy," you gasp, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable level. Every fiber of your being is on fire, your senses heightened to a point where you can't bear the thought of anything but more. "I need... I need more."

"More?" he rasps, his voice rough and tinged with the same desperate need that pulses through you. His pace quickens in response to your plea, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more insistent. "I'll give you more, love. I'll give you everything."

With a subtle shift, he changes the angle of his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. The sensation is electric, a surge of pleasure so intense it feels like your body might shatter from it. Your back arches off the bed, your cries filling the room as you cling to him, your nails leaving marks on his skin. The friction, the heat, the relentless rhythm—it's all too much and not enough at the same time.

"God, Y/N," he groans, his breath coming in ragged gasps, each exhale a testament to the effort he's pouring into every movement. "You're perfect. So perfect." His words, spoken in that deep, gravelly voice, send shivers down your spine, adding another layer to the overwhelming pleasure.

His thrusts grow even more urgent, his body moving with a primal rhythm that speaks to an instinctive need to claim and possess. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and his groans, creating a symphony of raw, unfiltered desire. Your surroundings fade away, leaving only the two of you, locked in this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

The relentless rhythm, the way his body fits so perfectly with yours, the way his every movement seems designed to drive you wild—it all pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Your muscles tighten, your breath hitches, and you feel the tension coiling inside you, ready to snap.

"Tommy, I—" you try to speak, but the words are lost in a cry of ecstasy as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. It crashes over you, sweeping you away in a torrent of pleasure that leaves you trembling and breathless. Your body convulses around him, every muscle contracting in a symphony of sensation that leaves you reeling.

He follows soon after, his own release ripping through him with a force that leaves him gasping. He buries his face in your neck, his moans mingling with yours as he pours himself into you, filling you completely. The sensation of him coming inside you, the warmth and the intimacy of it, only heightens your own pleasure, prolonging the waves of your orgasm.

For a moment, the world stands still, the only sounds the ragged breaths and pounding hearts of two souls lost in each other. The intensity of the connection, the way your bodies and spirits seem to merge and become one, is almost overwhelming.

He collapses on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight off you, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace. His body is hot and heavy against yours, his skin slick with sweat, but the feeling of him so close, so intimately connected, is comforting. You wrap your arms around him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back.

As you both come down from the high, the world around you slowly comes back into focus. The harsh sounds of your shared ecstasy fade into the gentle cadence of your synchronized breathing. He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. The intensity of the moment has given way to a softer, more intimate connection.

"You're mine," he says again, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. The possessive edge is gone, replaced by something deeper, more profound.

"And you're mine," you reply, your voice equally soft, filled with the same raw emotion. Your fingers trace the lines of his face, committing every detail to memory—the curve of his jaw, the slight stubble on his cheeks, the way his eyes soften when he looks at you. Each touch is a silent promise, a reaffirmation of the bond you share.

He rolls to his side, pulling you with him so that you're nestled against his chest. You can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds you in the present. His fingers continue to caress your skin, a soothing contrast to the passionate frenzy from moments before. Each gentle stroke sends a ripple of warmth through you, a silent conversation between your bodies.

You lay there in the quiet, the world outside forgotten, as you bask in the afterglow of your shared intimacy. The room is filled with a serene stillness, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets and the occasional murmur of contentment. The air is thick with the lingering scent of your lovemaking, a potent reminder of the connection you've just shared.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, his voice a gentle plea that tugs at your heart. The vulnerability in his tone is disarming, revealing a side of him that few ever get to see.

"Always," you promise, your voice filled with unwavering conviction. You press a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips.

As exhaustion begins to claim you, your eyelids grow heavy, and you nestle deeper into his embrace. The steady beat of his heart against your ear acts as a comforting lullaby, its rhythmic thump grounding you in the present and lulling you towards sleep. His fingers continue their gentle caress, tracing lazy circles on your back, each touch sending a shiver of warmth and security through you. You shift slightly, looking up at him with a sleepy smile.

"What's that grin for?" he asks, a playful glint in his eye.

"Just thinking about how lucky we are," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "And how anyone else would be jealous to have what we have."

He chuckles softly, the sound a warm rumble in his chest. "Damn right they'd be jealous," he says, his tone taking on a possessive edge. "I see the way people look at you. They'd have to get through me first."

A soft laugh escapes your lips, the sound filled with the remnants of your shared passion. "Ever the protector," you tease, your fingers tracing the contours of his cheek.

"Always," he replies, his voice steady and sincere. His eyes hold yours for a moment, the intensity of his gaze speaking volumes that words could never capture.

You let out a contented sigh, feeling the weight of the day lifting off your shoulders. The challenges, the uncertainties, the mundane worries of life all dissolve into nothingness. All that remains is the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart. As sleep finally takes you, a simple, undeniable truth settles in your mind: you have each other, and that makes all the difference.

Thank you for reading.

This was my first attempt at smut so please be kind.

🖤

[forthewomenonly]

Possessive

Warnings: NSFW, smut, GAYS, Amber Freeman x fem reader (implied no pronouns used), daddy kink, dubcon, fingering(r receiving), oral(r receiving), toxic relationship, Amber’s kinda bitchy in this one a/n: Had fun writing this one, enjoy my loves! Amber Freeman is the epitome of possessiveness. You knew it, she knew it, hell, everyone in Woodsboro must have known it from the way she had her arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Her fingers digging into the flesh of your hip, the other hand grasping her cup of liquor in an ironclad grip, head poised ready to stare daggers at anyone who so much as dared to look in your direction.  “let’s go home baby” she purrs in your ear. It wasn’t a suggestion it was a statement, you would be going home whenever Amber wanted, of course you would. You always did exactly what she asked of you. There was a double meaning to her declaration, she wanted you home and away from prying eyes, nearly as much as she wanted you home and naked in her bed. “Few more minutes  Am.” you mumble out. The alcohol clearly settling in your system as your plead is barely coherent. But Amber hears it. Of course she does. Her hand snaps down to look at you, eyes narrowing as she takes in your slightly intoxicated figure. Wordlessly she drags you through the front door ignoring your displeased grumbles as she all but pushes you into the passenger seat of her car, buckling your seat belt.  “What the fuck Amber, I don’t want to go home yet!” you snap at your girlfriend as she starts the ignition. Her hand stills on the car keys, turning her head slowly to meet your gaze. She’s angry you can tell, and suddenly you’re sobering up, acutely aware of your seething girlfriend. “You’re lucky I even let you go to that fucking party.” she says through gritted teeth, her knuckles turning white as she grips the steering wheel impossibly tight. “Take me home Amber.” You spit out, unsure of where this false sense of confidence is coming from.  “We are going home brat.” she counters. “No, not your home. My home.” She remains silent. Part of you wishes she would say something just so that you could gauge her mood. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t acknowledge you and stays eerily silent. Amber tunes out your protests as she speeds past your house. You should have known better anyway. When she pulls into her driveway she swiftly exits the car, basically carrying you into her house as you struggle against her arms. She drags you upstairs, throwing you on her bed. She towers over to as you push yourself up onto your elbows. Amber pushes herself onto you kissing you with fervor, you moan surprised and subconsciously buck your hips up into her own. She takes your shirt off and starts unbuttoning your pants before you push her back by her shoulders. “I’m not letting you fuck me tonight tonight Am, I’m mad at you.” you say with indignation. A fake pout graces her lips, mocking you “oh baby you’re mad? Not gonna let Daddy make it up to you?” you whimper in response but don’t say anything as you stare at her blankly. Amber sighs heavily before removing your pants and underwear in one swift motion.  “How about this then, I’ll stop...if you’re not wet.” You’re suddenly all too aware of the burning heat pooling between your thighs and you’re positive that you’re absolutely soaked at this point. Amber recognizes it too as her hand resurfaces from your slick heat.  “Oh would you look at that! You’re fucking dripping all over my sheets baby!” she says not at all surprised.  “So messy” she tuts, as she leans down coming face to face with the place you need her most. Your body shudders and your eyes shut close as you feel Amber exhale into your cunt. She licks a stripe up your lips, flexing her tongue when she reaches your pulsing clit. You grind your hips down onto Amber’s face and she presses her hand on your waist to keep you still, her other hand teasing your hard nipples through the fabric of you bra. Once she’s done playing with your chest, Amber moves her free hand and pushes two fingers inside of you.  “Oh f-fuck Daddy please” you moan loudly. Amber groans into your slit and curls her fingers, abusing the spongy spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling back into your head.  “You wanna cum?” she asks rhetorically lifting her head up. She knows the answer, she can feel your walls sucking her fingers in deeper. “Yes” you gasp out “needa’ cum, need you to make me cum please.” Amber redoubles her efforts leaving you squirming underneath her desperately grinding into her hand, letting her finger-fuck you as she pleases. She presses her thumb harshly onto your reddened clit. “Go ahead baby, cum for me” and you do. Gushing all over her hand as she fucks you through your orgasm.  Amber falls down onto her bed beside you, pulling you to her chest, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, and softly running her fingers through your hair. She doesn’t apologize for making you leave the party early, she doesn’t have to. Amber was fiercely jealous but you loved her. You loved everything about her. After all, what’s a good partner if not a little possessive?

[vrtualirl]

𓏴⠀⠀༝༝⠀𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝓗𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 ! . 𓌔𓌔

Table of contents ⋮ Mikage Reo, love motel, drunk sex, bar, prostitute reader, bribed sex, dry humping, clothed sex, hairpulling, hickeys / lovebites, claw marks, thigh fucking, having sex while on the phone, blowjob, unprotected sex, porn without plot, fucking in the car, semi-public sex, aged up Reo, and gender neutral reader ♡

Summary ⋮ In which, Mikage Reo goes to a bar with his teammates after they had won a soccer match. Unfortunately, for him, he had gotten intoxicated over the drinks, and decided to hire a prostitute that works in the bar just for tonight. All while renting a love hotel just for the both of you.

Note ⋮ Minors do not interact. But anyway, arigathanks @cyberlovesalcohol for the request laughs.

★ ─── 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃 through the dimly lit bar, his vision blurred by the intoxicating effects of the alcohol coursing through his veins. The pulsing beat of the music thrummed in his ears, a dizzying cacophony that seemed to mirror the chaos swirling in his mind. He leaned heavily against the counter, his chin resting on the polished wood as he groaned in frustration. The bet he had made with his teammates now felt like a cruel joke, a challenge he had foolishly accepted in a moment of drunken bravado.

As his teammates, Chigiri Hyoma and Nagi Seishiro, announced their departure to the bathroom, Reo waved them off dismissively, his words slurring together in a jumbled mess. "Reo, me and Nagi and are gonna go to the bathroom for a moment." Chigiri's voice seemed to echo in the haze of Reo's intoxication, the red-haired male patting Reo's shoulder to get his attention. Reo merely grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes struggling to focus on the faces of his friends as they left him alone at the bar.

With a heavy sigh, Reo pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to alleviate the throbbing pain that pulsed behind his eyes. As he shifted uncomfortably on his stool, he became acutely aware of the growing arousal that strained against the confines of his pants. The alcohol had lowered his inhibitions, leaving him in a state of desperate need, but the presence of his teammates in the bathroom made it impossible for him to seek relief on his own.

Reo's gaze wandered aimlessly around the bar, his intoxicated mind grasping for a solution to his predicament. Suddenly, his eyes landed on a figure leaning against the wall, scrolling idly on their phone. As the person glanced up, meeting Reo's half-lidded stare, a flicker of recognition sparked in Reo's alcohol-addled brain. "Oho? Hey cutie. What's up with you?" the stranger asked, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

"Hi.." Reo managed to slur, his words barely audible above the din of the bar. The stranger chuckled, pocketing their phone as they appraised Reo with a knowing smirk. "You want something from me, or something?" they inquired, their tone laced with a seductive promise.

Reo's gaze raked over the stranger's form, his intoxicated mind fixating on the alluring curves and the tantalizing glimpses of skin revealed by their clothing. "Yeah.. You," he blurted out, his inhibitions lowered to the point of recklessness. The stranger's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by a calculating gleam. "And what do I get in return?" they asked, holding out a hand expectantly.

With fumbling fingers, Reo pulled out his wallet, extracting a stack of bills that far exceeded the usual fee for such services. The stranger's eyes widened at the sight of the generous offering, a slow grin spreading across their face. "Alright, alright.. I'm in, then." they purred, snatching the money from Reo's grasp.

As the stranger led Reo away from the bar, weaving through the throng of patrons with a practiced ease, Reo's heart raced with a heady mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The alcohol had lowered his defenses, leaving him vulnerable to the temptations of the night. Little did he know, the stranger had their own agenda, one that would leave Reo questioning the true nature of their encounter long after the haze of intoxication had lifted.

Reo's heart raced as the stranger led him through the dimly lit alleyway, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat that simmered beneath his skin. The alcohol coursing through his veins had lowered his inhibitions, leaving him vulnerable to the temptations that lay ahead. With a sudden surge of boldness, Reo pulled the stranger back, his intoxicated mind taking control. He guided them to his car, his hands trembling with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

As they approached his car, a sleek and luxurious vehicle that spoke of wealth and status, Reo felt a flicker of lust. This was not the usual setting for his clandestine encounters, but the promise of pleasure overrode any reservations he might have had.

Reo's heart raced as he guided the mysterious stranger into the backseat of his luxurious car, the plush leather seats enveloping them in a cocoon of intimacy. The stranger's skilled hands roamed over Reo's body, teasing and caressing with a practiced ease that sent shivers down his spine. Reo's breath hitched as the stranger's fingers brushed against the straining bulge in his pants, his hips bucking involuntarily in search of more friction.

With a deft motion, the stranger unzipped Reo's pants, freeing his throbbing erection from its confines. Reo groaned, his head falling back against the headrest as the cool air of the car caressed his heated flesh. The stranger's tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate path along the underside of Reo's shaft before swirling around the sensitive head, teasing the bead of precum that had formed at the tip.

Reo's fingers tangled in the stranger's hair, guiding their head as they took him deeper into the warm, wet cavern of their mouth. The stranger's tongue worked in tandem with their lips, creating a delicious friction that had Reo's toes curling in ecstasy. Just as he was about to lose himself completely in the sensations, his phone buzzed with an incoming call, shattering the intimate atmosphere.

With a frustrated groan, Reo answered the call, his voice strained as he tried to maintain a semblance of composure. "Hello..?" he managed to gasp out, his hips twitching as the stranger continued their ministrations.

"Reo? Hey, we just went back from the bathroom and we didn't find you. Where are you?" Chigiri's voice filtered through the phone, concern lacing his tone.

Reo's mind raced, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for his absence. "H-haah.. I'm about to head home.. I got too drunk, so I'm leaving early, fuck.." he managed to choke out, his grip on the stranger's hair tightening as they hollowed their cheeks, increasing the suction.

Chigiri laughed, oblivious to the compromising position Reo found himself in. "Oh, I see. I'm pretty surprised you left Nagi behind though. He's whining on how he wants to go home with you because walking is too much of a hassle, he says."

Reo gritted his teeth, his free hand clenching into a fist as he fought to maintain his composure. "Y-yeah, yeah.. Just head him home.. I can't go back.. I-i'm busy."

As the call ended, Reo let his head fall back against the headrest, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. The stranger's tongue traced the sensitive underside of his shaft once more before engulfing him fully, their head bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm that had Reo seeing stars.

Lost in the haze of pleasure, Reo surrendered himself to the moment, his inhibitions lowered to the point of recklessness. The stranger's skilled mouth worked him closer and closer to the edge, their tongue and lips coaxing him towards a release he desperately craved. With a final, muffled moan, Reo's body tensed, his hips bucking as he spilled himself into the stranger's eager mouth, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him in an overwhelming tide.

As the last tremors of his orgasm subsided, Reo collapsed back against the seat, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. The stranger released him with a final, teasing lick, their lips curving into a satisfied smirk as they wiped the remnants of his release from their chin. Reo watched through hooded eyes as the stranger tucked him back into his pants, their fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Reo just couldn't get enough of you. His hands gripped your shoulders tightly as he whined, "M-mmf.. More, more please. I want more.." He was already completely wrapped around your fingers, and you two had only just met. You awkwardly blinked at him, before letting out a small, amused laugh. "Alright, alright," you hummed, sitting back in the car. However, you were caught off guard when Reo suddenly moved to the front seat. "What're you doing?" You hum. With a few quick motions, he switched something and pressed a button. "Auto driving mode." he replied so casually, as if it was no big deal. You sweatdropped, realizing just how incredibly wealthy he must be. Your own car didn't even have such an advanced feature. The difference in your wealth was stark.

But you tried not to dwell on it too much. After all, you were getting paid handsomely for this job. As the car smoothly transitioned to auto driving mode, Reo returned to the back seat with you. His hands gripped your hips possessively as your arms encircled his neck. He pushed you down onto the plush leather seats, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. At the same time, he began grinding his hard cock against your clothed bottom, seeking delicious friction. You moaned into the kiss, your body already responding to his touch.

Lost in the haze of lust, you didn't even question where Reo was driving you both to. His tongue delved into your mouth, making you gasp for air. He rolled his hips against your thighs, wondering how incredible you would feel clenching around his throbbing shaft. Breaking the kiss, he trailed his tongue along your neck, leaving a path of hickeys and love bites in its wake. You tugged at his hair, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you.

Reo knew he needed to wait until they reached a nearby hotel before taking things further. He couldn't risk his parents finding out about this tryst in the morning. Groaning, he squeezed your plump thighs, appreciating the softness of your skin. His other hand roamed over your curves, tracing every dip and contour of your body. He was drunk on your scent, your taste, your touch...

Suddenly, the car came to a stop. Reo glanced out the window and spotted a love hotel nearby. They must have arrived at their destination. He quickly pulled his pants back up, not wanting to risk getting caught with his pants down. Taking your hand, he practically dragged you out of the car, locking it behind you. He strode purposefully towards the front desk, using his black card to pay for a night's stay. Your eyes widened at the sight of it - you had suspected he was rich, but carrying around a black card so casually? He was loaded.

"Here are your keys, enjoy," the receptionist said with a knowing smile, clearly recognizing a couple looking for some privacy. Reo didn't waste any time, hastily dragging you to your assigned room. He pinned you against the door, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss as his hands groped your body. Fumbling with the keys, he finally managed to unlock the door and push you inside, locking it behind you.

Wasting no time, Reo stripped off his clothes, eager to get his hands on you. He tugged at your clothing impatiently as he dragged you towards the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded garments in your wake. Finally naked, he sprung his hard cock free, groaning at the sight of your exposed body. He teased your clothed hole with his leaking tip, rubbing against it for delicious friction. He also ground his shaft against your closed thighs, thrusting between them and coating your skin with his precum.

Unable to hold back any longer, Reo came all over your thighs and stomach, marking you as his. He sighed, finally removing your underwear so he could sink into your tight heat. Gripping your hips, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, pushing his tip against your entrance. You clung to him, moaning as he stretched you open. You moaned, forming claw marks on his back as he slid inside, your walls clenching around his thick shaft.

"M-mngh─ fuck.." Reo groaned, slowly sinking into your warmth. "H-haah.. S-so warm, and tight," he praised, savoring the exquisite sensation of your walls clenching around him. He began to move, rolling his hips against yours, fucking you raw. All you could do was moan, tugging at his hair as he took you right there on the hotel bed, lost in a haze of passion and desire.

.

.

.

.

.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the hotel room. You groaned softly as you stirred awake, your head feeling fuzzy and your body aching all over. Your thighs in particular throbbed with a dull soreness. Blinking blearily, you reached out to pull back the sheets, only to realize you were completely naked. For a moment, you were disoriented, unsure of where you were. This was definitely not your bedroom.

As your vision focused, you took in your surroundings - the plush carpet, the expensive-looking furniture, the faint scent of sex still lingering in the air. Memories of the previous night came flooding back. Right, you had taken a job as a prostitute and spent the night with a wealthy stranger, fucking him senseless in exchange for cold hard cash. Just another typical night on the job for you.

But as you sat up and looked around, your eyes widened in shock. The bed was absolutely covered in stacks of crisp bills, more money than you had ever seen in one place. Holy shit, this guy was loaded! You couldn't believe it. Sure, he might have fucked you so hard you could barely walk now, but this kind of cash could keep you afloat for almost a whole year!

A slow grin spread across your face as you reached out to grab a handful of the bills, relishing the feel of them in your hands. Maybe getting pounded into oblivion by some rich dude wasn't so bad after all, if it meant waking up to a king's ransom like this. You chuckled to yourself, already thinking about all the ways you could spend your newfound wealth.

Sure, your body might be sore and aching, but your bank account was going to be looking mighty fine after this. All in all, not a bad night's work for a prostitute like you. You stretched languidly, enjoying the pleasant burn of well-used muscles, and reached for your clothes. Time to hit the road and see just how far this cash could take you.

[divine-misfortune]

Give me a glass of your innocence

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Mountain/Rain

Tags: Intox - Rain's drunk and Mountain's encouraging him to drink more, exhibitionism/public sex, trans masc Rain, mean Mountain, vaginal fingering, trans masc character engaging in self feminization

Words: 1,805

Summary: Rain’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, leg bouncing under the table with a growing restlessness. 

“Lily pad,” Mountain passed behind his chair, scratching lightly at the water ghoul’s scalp before dropping heavily into the seat beside him. Rain found himself starting to keen into the brief touch, gone just as quick as it came. Leaving him frustrated and disappointed enough to slump down in his seat, taking another sip from his drink to quell the feeling and fuel a new one. “You’re shaking the whole table. Going to spill all of that hard work if you don’t sit still.” 

”That’d be too bad huh,” he swirled the wine, eyeing Mountain at the edges of his vision. “Would be so dumb and careless of me.”

Or

Rain's a slutty drunk and we're making him worse - inspired by @askingforthesun and @miasmaghoul with this post because it's been haunting me with a vengeance since i first saw it

Read below the cut or on Ao3

Could have been rose wine, but it was more likely dandelion. Remembering the difference between the two tastes had gotten a little difficult after a third, generously poured glass. It had been quite a while since he’d had either, memory distant. Rain did however remember Mountain tutting over the little yellow flowers springing up in the flowerbeds with the warming weather. 

Sweet on his tongue, warm down his throat, honey muddling his brain. 

He hummed softly as Cumulus leaned over the table with the bottle in her hand to fill up the small empty space he’d created in his glass, giving him an all too perfect view down her tank top. It was impossible not to notice she wasn’t wearing a bra - but he was acutely aware. Fixated in fact. If his hands were not both firmly clasped around his glass to keep it steady for her he might have reached out to feel the weight of them filling his palms. She would have melted. Probably would have dropped the bottle, suddenly weak kneed having to brace against the table to keep herself partially upright. 

Rain’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, leg bouncing under the table with a growing restlessness. 

“Lily pad,” Mountain passed behind his chair, scratching lightly at the water ghoul’s scalp before dropping heavily into the seat beside him. Rain found himself starting to keen into the brief touch, gone just as quick as it came. Leaving him frustrated and disappointed enough to slump down in his seat, taking another sip from his drink to quell the feeling and fuel a new one. “You’re shaking the whole table. Going to spill all of that hard work if you don’t sit still.” 

”That’d be too bad huh,” he swirled the wine, eyeing Mountain at the edges of his vision. “Would be so dumb and careless of me.”

The earth ghoul cocked an eyebrow, immediately picking up on that tone. Not a whisper, sort of a purr. Spoken quietly enough to keep every sound just between them, a rather boisterous cackle from Cirrus hiding the words as they slipped carefully off his tongue. It all almost had Mountain’s droopy ears perking up. 

“Such a ditz like this sometimes, would be such a bad girl.” 

Both brows shot up towards his hairline and Rain hid his growing smile behind the rim of his drink before taking another sip. Purposefully longer than the last. Surprise shifted to suspicion, an expression that normally would have sent his stomach dropping to the floor but it was hard to take such a look seriously with that subtle blush dusting the crooked bridge of his nose. He liked to think it was his doing, not the alcohol. 

“Wouldn’t I?” He tipped his head, turning his upper body towards him as he knocked their knees together lightly. The first touch was always his favorite when it came to Mountain, watching something spark to life in his eyes in real time was beyond gratifying. Encouraging.

“Mhm…And you know better than that, don’t you?” Asked without the desire of response but Rain was never one to hold his tongue, let alone when the liquor made his lips that much looser. 

“Of course I do.” Rain nodded truthfully, but being bad was much more fun. 

“Then act like it” Mountain warned, voice still gentle for the moment but Rain picked up on the finely sharpened edge beneath the surface. 

A large hand settled on his knee to stop his ceaseless fidgeting, the weight of it was suggestion in his opinion. It was only when Mountain gripped his leg did it feel like a command. Rain glanced to it then back to Mountain’s face, turned away from him to answer an odd question from Aether across the table. Easy conversation while he slowly dug his nails further and further into the bare skin of Rain’s thigh. 

He tried to draw his thighs together to test Mountain, biting his lip when the earth ghoul jerked his leg back to where it had been without sparing him so much as a glare. Another attempt had Mountain tugging his leg over his knee roughly, held open and exposed. His shorts were little, and he hadn’t bothered with underwear. The fabric had already started to dampen, he had an awful habit of getting wet too easily after a few drinks but Mountain managed to stir his distant, quiet arousal in one motion. A loud and insatiable need prodded to life. It wouldn’t take long for him to entirely soak through the thin material already clinging to his cunt.

“Can’t you sit still?” Mountain sighed, his attention returned to him and his squirming. 

“Can’t help it…” Rain pouted, slowly tracing his index finger over the prominent veins in Mountain’s hand. “Hard not to fidget, nothing to focus on.” 

He watched Mountain’s eyes drift south, staring a beat too long between his parted thighs. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated in a way that made his little cock twitch properly to life. 

“Course you can’t focus,” he sneered. “You start drinking and all you can do is think with your cunt.” Practically rolled his eyes, “show me what’s distracting you princess.”

Rain sunk further down in his seat and hooked his fingers under his shorts, pulling the fabric away from his mound. Mountain hissed, thinning threads of slick stringing it to his cunt before he dragged it to the side to put himself on display. 

His tdick was obnoxiously hard. Dusky and proud, jutting out from between his lips. Mountain licked his lips but still held his scowl firm. Rain whined softly, head falling against the earth ghoul’s shoulder as the overly air conditioned air washed over where he burned the hottest. 

”Touch it?” He mumbled, nuzzling his cheek into the soft flannel of Mountain’s sleeve. ”See? Needs you.”

“Hells…You’re so fucking easy, just a needy girl aren’t you?” 

Nodding again, he brought two fingers down to spread himself open. They both watched it visibly clench and drool onto the wooden seat.

Mountain’s gaze flicked away for half a second. Sweeping over the dining room and more importantly, the other ghouls around them. He’d always been selfish, wanting to keep the water ghoul - tipsy or sober - entirely to himself. Even now, surrounded by their pack, the musky scent of lust rolling off of him in waves, Mountain wanted to keep a drunk and horny Rain his secret. When his attention returned, they focused entirely on his glistening sex like a starved animal eyes its next meal. 

He flicked at his clit and Rain flinched with enough force to send a fat drop of wine sloshing over the rim of his glass and onto the floor. It earned him one harsher and Rain was smart enough not to jolt, the muscles in his thighs tensing, tail lashing.

”Wasteful.” 

“I’m sorry” he breathed, eyes fluttering as Mountain pinched his dick experimentally before beginning to stroke it between his fingers. Not much motion to it, just enough to be an incentive. 

Rain returned his glass to the table before he could spill any more. 

“And why are you sorry?” 

“Cause I was dumb, thinking with my cunt.”

”First smart thing you’ve said all night.”

Two calloused fingers dipped inside of him as Mountain let out a pleased rumble, even wet as he was they still felt too thick to take so quickly and Rain wanted to be forced to take something thicker. He fought to swallow the pitched, feminine sound trying to fight its way out of him. Anyone else, Rain wouldn’t have bothered trying to be a modicum of quiet but he knew Mountain. Anything above a whisper and everything would stop abruptly, left untouched until Mountain decided to remind him the importance of silence. This was what his brain itched for, riskily teetering on the edge of punishment for the sake of pleasure. 

If anyone were to drop a napkin, a fork, what have you, and crawl under the table to retrieve it they’d see Mountain knuckle deep in Rain’s cunt. Teasing at that special little point that sent his brain fizzling. Spreading his hole open with his fingers to quietly remind Rain of how empty and useless his pussy was without something to fill it. Making an absolute mess of his seat and the floor beneath it. And Rain couldn’t keep the thought out of his head when Mountain let up on his inner walls long enough to think, someone seeing him so filthy - would they be able to help themselves? Would they just have to crawl closer and seal their lips around his fat clit until he broke and cried out to the room. 

Rain curled around his arm, clinging to him while he paced his shaky breathing. 

“Mount-“ He whimpered, muffled against his bicep. Mountain shushed him.

”Good girls are seen, not heard, yeah?” 

Mouth opening, he felt the strain in his vocal chords just as Mountain zeroed in on that bed of nerves. Petting slowly and methodically until the words melted and dripped away. He nodded again, earning a little chuff. 

He reached across the table and picked up the newest bottle they’d popped open. Mountain had lost count of how much of his stash they’d dipped into between the nine of them. It would be a hell of a lot of work and quite a while before he could replenish it to its former state. This one was mostly full, only emptied to the point where the neck of the bottle began to widen into the body. He held it up to the light, admiring the color for a moment before dangling it in front of Rain’s blissed out face. His glassy eyes struggled but managed to focus on it just as Mountain tipped it over his half empty wineglass, filling it to the brim. Full enough Rain wasn’t sure he could even pick it up without spilling it all over himself and the floor. 

Mountain kissed the top of his head. A display that looked sweet, like Rain was just a little too cuddly and sleepy from an abundance of drink, but Mountain mumbled into his hair, “You’re going to sit here quietly, keep dripping around my fingers, and finish this bottle for me. If you can manage that, I’ll let you crawl under the table and spend the rest of the night choking on my cock…Doesn’t that sound nice, raincloud?” 

With shaking hands, he reached for the overfilled glass and met Mountain’s eyes as he brought it to his lips. Batting his lashes before tipping back a good quarter of it in one go. 

Mountain slipped a third finger into him with a hum of approval. 

“You make such a perfect drunk little bimbo, Rainy…Now keep drinking, you’re cutest when you’re sloppy.” 

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. iii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | gif credit

chapter summary: Somehow, you realize you've accidentally ended up spending almost every weekend for the last month and a half with either one, or all of the Millers. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.7k chapter warnings: some angst, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, suggestive thoughts (but no smut), referenced parental neglect, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues (shocker!) & a fear of intimacy. a/n: this chapter is so disgustingly sweet it might give you a cavity. truly. but its also a little self-indulgent because joel is in my dream blunt rotation :/ please be patient with updates because i have a career/social life/apartment, and am a perfectionist! i promise i will always (try) to make the wait worth your while. Also, here's a link to the song Joel plays on guitar, since it's not on Spotify so I couldn't add it to the playlist.

-April 19, 2003- 

“Well, that was awkward.”

Obviously, Joel thinks to himself as Sarah turns to watch the retreating form of her teacher, while Joel stares straight ahead at the crowd in front of him. At first, he had thought she was just being polite. It was the right thing to do, to say hello to a parent and a student if you see them outside of class. But…they were seeing each other at a bar. And she’d asked him to dance. 

We just got here, maybe later? Joel can’t even remember what he had said, something along those lines. It wasn’t a flat-out refusal, but he had been acutely aware of Sarah’s eyes boring into the back of his head from where she sat beside him, and he sort of blacked out, couldn’t recall what had caused her to get the hint, to walk away. 

Joel grunts an affirmation to Sarah, and drums his fingers against the tabletop. There’s a dance floor full of people in front of him, all under various levels of intoxication, all of them dancing. 

“Do you believe me now?” Sarah asks. 

“I never said I didn’t believe you.”

How he had allowed Tommy and Sarah to talk him into coming here tonight, he’s not sure. Probably, it had something to do with how much he loved them both. How he would, ultimately, do whatever they asked if he knew it’d make that happy. But still, honky-tonking is the last thing he wants to be doing at the end of a long week. 

There was pretty much only one decent bar in town, so he wasn’t exactly shocked he had run into someone he knew. Everyone came here – to dance, to drink, to eat, or to drown their sorrows. To see their friends, or even to find someone to take home for the night. And over the years, as a frequent customer, Joel had used this place to do all those things.

Tonight was special though, a little more family friendly. It was swing night. It happened once a month, and Joel had always made a point to take Sarah a couple times a year. When he was young, his mother had taught him and Tommy to dance, and he felt it was only appropriate to pass the skill along, even if it was almost obsolete. He hoped Sarah would be able to do the same someday, if she ever had children of her own. 

“Will you dance with me, at least?” Sarah asks.

“Of course I will,” Joel answers.. “But let’s wait for Tommy, he’s ordering our drinks.”

“You mean your drinks.”

“No, you got a Shirley Temple.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. It’s the same expression that Joel has only seen her use recently, and he actually prefers it less to the eye roll. This time, he’s glad it hasn’t come with a question from her, because when it does, it’s always a little more frightening. “Come on, you know that’s not the same.”

Before Joel can respond, he’s cut off by Tommy’s voice. 

“Look who I found.”

This is what he and Sarah have been waiting on, and Joel turns to sees Tommy with all three of their drinks in hand. Over his shoulder, there’s a woman who looks vaguely familiar, wearing daisy dukes and a plaid shirt. After a second, he realizes it’s you.

Most of the time when Joel sees you – from across the street, of course – you’re in a power suit, a pencil skirt. Sometimes, it’s more casual – athletic clothes. There was also that black silk robe he can’t seem to shake from his memory. But this is so…different. It’s clear you’re trying to blend in with the crowd, but you don’t. Not because you’re not pulling it off – you definitely are, effortlessly – he’s just pretty sure if he walks into any room you’re in, his eyes will always be drawn in your direction. 

Joel doesn’t see, but rather feels – Sarah recognize that you’re in front of her, because when she does, she’s tapping him on the arm before he can utter a greeting. “Dad, can I get out and say hi?”

He’s standing to let her out just as you step closer to the table, and you come chest to chest. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hi, Joel,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your eyes remain locked on his just a moment too long, before Sarah is wrapping you up in a hug, and you’re focused on her when she draws back. “How are you?” you ask. 

Joel doesn’t hear Sarah’s response, because his brother is pressing a drink into his hand - a Jack and Coke, same as what you and Tommy are drinking. 

“Sit down, please!” Tommy encourages.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “This looks like a family thing, I don’t want to-” 

“Please!” Sarah exclaims. 

“What she said,” Tommy seconds Sarah’s sentiments.

For a second, you seem to contemplate the offer, and then you accept the invitation, sliding into the booth across from where Sarah has settled back next to her father. Joel makes eye contact with his brother, sitting next to you. Tommy’s eyebrows are raised suggestively, and there’s a playful smirk on his face when he tilts his head in your direction. Joel gives him nothing, already irritated by his brother’s goading. 

“Is that a Shirley Temple?” you point to Sarah’s drink. When she nods, you continue. “I haven’t had one of those in forever,” you say. 

“Want a sip?”

“Sure,” Sarah slides the glass across to you, and you sip from the straw, pondering. “I should’ve gotten one of those instead. They were my favorite growing up.” 

“Can I have a sip of yours?”

“No,” you and Joel say at the same time. 

“You’re not gonna like it,” he adds.

“You always say that, but how can you know?”

Joel sighs. “Okay, fine. Try mine.”

Sarah seems pleased to get what she wants. When the bitterness of the whiskey registers, the triumphant expression leaves her face completely. 

“Told you,” he says. Sarah grimaces, accepting defeat, and returns to her beverage. 

Tommy leans forward, urging Joel to start making conversation as if this is a date and it’s his responsibility. But before he can think of anything, Sarah pipes up. 

“Guess what?” she asks you.

“What?”

“My teacher’s here.”

“Yeah?” you ask. Joel takes a long pull off his drink, hoping it’ll loosen him up a little. 

“Yeah, she tried to hit on my dad.”

Joel feels the cocktail of whiskey and soda get caught in his throat.

“Oh….” you sound intrigued, and you lean forward. He wonders if this is the dynamic between you and Sarah when he’s not around. Like you’re two friends, engaging in some harmless gossip. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between him and Sarah. 

Sarah bobs her head once. “She has a thing for him. I can tell.”

“What makes you think that?” his brother joins in, moving closer to Sarah, crowding you between himself and the wall and putting his elbows on the table. Joel feels a flash of envy when you shift your attention towards Tommy.

“She just asked him to dance.” Sarah looks over her shoulder, nods her head towards the woman in the corner of the bar who’s probably already focused on his table anyways. Joel already knows what you’re seeing. Miss Davis is pretty, bubbly, outgoing. Probably about your age, if he had to guess, though it’s hard to say how old you are. He imagines he has ten years on you, give or take a few. And for all intents and purposes, Sarah’s teacher is the type of woman he should be interested in. 

“She’s pretty,” you say it like you’re appeasing Sarah, but you’re looking directly at Joel. He’s not sure why you kind of frighten him a little. You’re sweet, he knows, even if you’ve tried to tell him otherwise. But there’s something else there, enigmatic and alluring, that continues to draw him in. 

Tommy chimes in. “So are you gonna dance with her, Joel?”

“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says dramatically. Her face drops for a second, though, her shoulders slumping as she angles herself towards him, lowers her voice. “I mean, if you want to, that’s fine, I guess. But I….I don’t know.”

Joel is taken aback by how long this conversation has gone on with absolutely no input from himself. Not to mention how honest Sarah is being. She doesn’t usually have much to say about his choice in women – he can usually just tell what she thinks. For her to express something so directly makes him realize how serious she is. But at the moment, he can’t find words to assure her everything will be fine. 

It must be his lack of response that causes you to lean across the table and speak to Sarah. “You know, that’s valid,” there’s a tenderness to your tone. It dawns on him that you’re trying to comfort her. “It is kind of a conflict of interest.”

“Right?” Sarah perks up, just slightly, you’ve given her some support. “It’s one of those things you said you had going on at work the other day an….an ethical…” 

“An ethical dilemma?” you finish her thought.

“Ethical dilemma! That’s it.” Sarah turns back towards Joel. “I think it's an ethical dilemma.” 

For just a split second, he wonders why he’s been letting his already-precocious child hang out regularly with a lawyer. He’s accidentally creating a monster. But thankfully, Joel is finally able to find his voice. “There is no ethical dilemma, because I wouldn’t ever consider it.”

That seems to placate Sarah, and hopefully everyone will decide to drop it. Joel catches your eyes, and there’s something akin to wistfulness there, chin propped on your hand, before you blink once and focus back on Tommy, who's asking you a question. “So, are you here alone?”

“Is it that obvious?” 

“Not at all,” Tommy smirks, not dropping his eye contact with you. “...It’s just surprising, is all.”

Joel stiffens.

“Oh, well…” you smile a little. “I’m just trying to get to know the town a little better. Trying to engage in the community, I guess. But…I’m not sure if I am doing that great of a job fitting in.”

“You are,” Joel interjects, and maybe it’s a little forward, but he’d rather say it before Tommy does. “That’s a nice flannel.”

“Thanks,” You look down at your oversized plaid shirt – the sleeves rolled up to the elbows – that hangs open over a tight white tank top. Joel can see a sliver of the black lace bra you’re wearing that pokes out above the low neckline. He wonders what it might feel like to press his face there, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, but does not allow himself to entertain the idea for very long. Not the time. “I actually had to go and buy it because I didn’t own any plaid. And by the looks of it,” You gesture towards the dance floor. “I need to invest in some cowboy boots, too.”

“One thing at a time, right?” he asks, and you agree.

“So what are you all doing here? Family outing?”

“We actually had to drag this one kicking and screaming out the door,” Tommy points to Joel. 

“You did not,” Joel defends himself.

‘We kinda did,” Sarah says. “Do you know how to dance?”

You shake your head no, look at the people twirling and dipping and dancing in pairs. “Not like that.”

“It’s really easy! I can teach you. My dad taught me.”

“Cute.” Joel looks towards Sarah, and catches you staring instead. Your eyes flit back immediately to his daughters. “But I’m not sure I’ll be any good.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sarah says like it’s already settled. Joel knows he’s spoiled her, that she ultimately gets what she wants. He worries sometimes that others won’t find her quite as endearing. 

“Sarah,” he warns. “You’re making it sound like she doesn’t have a choice.”

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass. “It’s okay. You can teach me. Might as well learn, if I’m trying to fit in.”

Sarah seems satisfied.

“Joel tells me you grew up in New York City.” Tommy says it, and Joel notices you raise your eyebrows at the implication. He’s talked to Tommy about you. And now you know. He’s pissed at himself for doing it, but at the time he’d been drunk, a little more chatty and vulnerable than usual, and had mentioned you more than once. Too much to be a coincidence. The issue was, Joel had never expected you would talk to Tommy again. If he’d known you would, he wouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t want to imagine the damage he had done when it was just the two of you, alone at the bar. But even now, he’s completely at his brother’s mercy. 

“Yep,” you nod. 

“You don’t have much of an accent,” Tommy remarks. 

“Not everyone has them.” 

“That’s fair.”

“I did, uh, go to a boarding school in a different state, though, so I wasn’t around it too much.” 

“Boarding school?” Sarah turns to Joel.

“Basically you live at school,” you answer her question. ”Kind of like college, but earlier. I started going when I was nine.”

Sarah frowns. “Wouldn’t you miss your family?” 

“Yes, and I did.”

“So why would you go?”

“Well…” you trail off, shift your weight. “It wasn’t up to me. My dad worked a lot, so it made sense.”

“What’d he do for a living?” Asks Tommy. 

“He’s a criminal defense attorney....owns his own firm and it does pretty well, so…” you shrug. “He was very busy.”

“And that’s why you’re a lawyer? To work for your dad?”

“At one point, that was the plan, yes."

“What happened?”

The question appears to make you uncomfortable, you cross your legs and glance down at the table. “Uhm….pass.” Joel sees your face go blank for a split second before you look up with an easy smile. It’s like the desolate look you’d been wearing was never there, and you point to your drink. “I’ll need a few more of these if you want that story.”

“Might as well order another round,” Tommy flags down a waitress.

You have one more drink, but you don’t really touch it as the four of you continue to talk. Joel has two more, and Tommy has three, because he’s Tommy, and also not driving. Both you and Joel also have to vehemently refuse his request to do a round of tequila shots. 

After a while, Sarah gets bored, then insists on teaching you to dance. You agree, but seem awfully reluctant. Joel wants to pull you aside and let you know that you don’t have to entertain everything Sarah offers, but once you’ve stood up, and he watches her arm link through yours as you both walk to the dance floor, he can’t bring himself to intervene. 

He’s never seen Sarah be so taken with someone before, and he’s filled with a vague sense of regret. He always thought that she was content with just him and Tommy. Maybe she has always needed more. It’s partially his responsibility, Joel thinks –  what could he have done to stop her mother from leaving? Even if he could’ve stopped it, they would’ve been a miserable couple…which might have been more damaging to Sarah than her mother not being around at all.

Once you’re long gone, Joel can sense what Tommy is thinking before he even opens his mouth. 

“Shut it,” Joel says before he can even hear his brother's ribbing. 

“I wasn’t even gonna say anything about that!” Tommy raises his hands, but Joel knows he’s lying.

“We should go over there,” Joel says. He trusts you, but in a bar full of drunk people isn’t interested in being far away from Sarah for too long. Both he and Tommy abandon their booth to mosey their way towards the dance floor. 

Sarah has taken you into a back corner, far away from the band playing, where the crowd has thinned a little. There’s room for him and Tommy to lean up against the wall and watch you both. 

Both your hands are clasped with Sarah’s, and she’s teaching you the counts, the steps, while you study the way that your feet move.

Joel has a feeling that if it weren’t for his daughter, you wouldn’t have hung out with his family for so long. It’s just like the hike, and as usual, he feels more like a third wheel than anything else. You’re right that you do look a little out of place here. Maybe you don’t belong,  but he likes it. You’re wearing a pair of beat up hi-tops, which are a sharp contrast to Sarah’s baby blue cowboy boots that are covered in rhinestone butterflies. He’d gotten them for her for Christmas that past year, and she only wore them during special occasions like this.

Joel is doing the best he can not to think about the way your legs look in those fucking daisy dukes. All on display, and he wonders what it might feel like to drag his tongue up the soft skin of your inner thigh, feel you quiver and whimper as he works his mouth closer to– Enough. He’s disgusted with himself for thinking about you like that right now. 

“Dad, look!” Sarah says, and it seems you’re catching on all right, but none of it looks graceful. Sarah’s trying to lead – which she has never done – so she falters often, and also can’t quite reach all the way above your head when she tries to spin you around. “Oh no, look at his face!” Sarah points. You turn his direction, and Joel realizes he has to neutralize the grimace that has crept onto his visage. “We definitely aren’t doing good.”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” you turn back to Sarah, assure her. “You’re a good teacher.” You’re being nice. Too nice, humoring her and laughing it off, even if she’s making a fool of you both. But you don’t seem to mind, because it’s making her happy. 

All of the sudden, the toe of Sarah’s boot catches on the scuffed wood floor and she lurches forward. Joel immediately pushes himself off the wall as though he could close the space and catch her before she faceplants, but he can’t, and he can already see a vision of himself sitting in the emergency room at 2 a.m waiting, while Sarah holds an ice pack on her nose. But you reach out before the image is fully realized, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Careful!” You warn. And even though you shuffle forward with the weight of her, you keep her from falling. Once she realizes she’s safe, Sarah giggles and throws her head back, her eyes catching your own. 

He’s not sure what makes him do it. It could be the liquor, the way you look, the unspoken pressure from Tommy. Or maybe he’s just been wanting an excuse to be closer to you. Most importantly, at this rate, he feels like Sarah is going to hurt herself and also you in the process. Regardless of what the reason is, Joel decides to step in. He walks onto the dance floor.

“Alright,” Joel says once he’s gotten closer, looking at Sarah. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

“What?”

He halts in front of his daughter, jerks his hand. “Move. I’m takin’ over.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, but smiles a little, and drops her hands from your shoulders. Joel offers you his hand. “You mind?” 

You look between Joel and Sarah, and she gives you an encouraging nod. “He taught me, he does know what he’s doing.”

“Well okay,” you take Joel’s hand. “You better not embarrass me,” and then you actually fucking wink at him. Already overwhelmed by the delicate weight of your hand in his palm, it almost sends him over the edge. He’s lucky he’s in public, with his family, because he doesn’t think he’d behave himself otherwise.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joel answers. “Besides, I don’t think anything could be worse than what I was just watching.”

You giggle, and step forward when he tugs you just closer to dance, taking you fully in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sarah dragging Tommy onto the dance floor. Everyone is taken care of.

You’re smart. And because of it, you’re a fast learner. Even people who can’t really dance can usually figure this out, himself included. But in Joel’s opinion, it’s always been less about getting the steps right, and more about who’s keeping him company. 

And you’re great company. 

Eager, willing, gentle…soft. He’s embarrassed at how long it’s been since he’s been this close to an adult woman, and normally he might be a little nervous, but instead, he just feels…comfortable. 

But Joel is a selfish man. He always wants more. Wants the band to play a slower song, so then he’d have an excuse to pull you closer. Wind an arm around your waist, whisper things in your ear that no one else could hear, and feel your breath hitch when they register. But this isn’t really the dance for that, and the rest of his family is just steps away. He’ll have to compromise – which he doesn’t like. 

“I’m going to dip you,” Joel says, matter-of-factly.

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” he insists. “It’s essential.”

“I seriously doubt that.” 

“Look,” he tilts his head to Tommy and Sarah, and the latter is laughing as she pitches all her weight backwards into his arms. He nearly drops to one knee to catch her, she’s still so petit, but their form is actually pretty good. And they aren’t the only people in the room doing it. 

“Okay,” you say, and give him a warm smile for a split second before becoming stone-faced. “But if you drop me-”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Joel drawls.

He puts his arms around your waist, one of them catching the middle of your back, the other on a patch of exposed skin on your hip – your tank top has ridden up slightly with all the movement. You dig your fingers into his biceps, cling to him like he had hoped you would.

And even when he draws you back up, eyes locked with your own, your grip remains the same. You stay close. 

“My turn,” Tommy interjects, and Joel can’t help the dirty look he gives him over your shoulder. He’s playing the annoying little brother, doing everything he can to piss him off. His brother wants to see Joel break, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction.

Plus, Joel is happy to dance with Sarah, which is the whole reason they came here in the first place. She’s so excited to be there, and he wonders if there will ever be a time when she’s too grown up for things like this. He hopes not. 

He ignores the sound of Tommy’s laugh mingled with your own. You were not laughing that much with him, and that causes a pang of jealousy. Joel doesn’t like acknowledging it, but he’s always resented Tommy for his ability to be the charismatic one, the charming one, the happy-go-lucky one. Even when they were kids. That’s what it’s like to be the oldest sibling. Never as fun, always more practical, more serious, the voice of reason. Always in service to their siblings, all in the name of love. 

Eventually, you and Sarah are back dancing together, and since you’ve had some practice separately, it’s not as sloppy as before. It allows Joel and Tommy to return to their post against the wall, just out of earshot.

Joel feels his brother’s eyes on him as he watches you and Sarah. “Dude,” he finally gives in, looks over at Tommy. “Just ask her out already.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Tommy-”

“You’re into her.” 

“Maybe,” Joel says, because he knows it’s pointless to lie. “But she’s got a boyfriend.”

Tommy elbows him. “So what?”

“I know you’re alright bein’ a homewrecker but I-”

“It makes sense Joel. She’s fuckin’ smart, and funny, and pretty. And Sarah fucking loves her-”

In any other situation, he would’ve acted weeks ago. But he’s starting to understand why he’s dragging his feet. Tommy’s right. Sarah adores you. Joel will fuck something up, it’s inevitable. And when you decide you never want to speak to him again, Sarah will lose you too. He’s already let her down enough. 

“I should’ve never fuckin’ told you–”

“Take her to drinks, to the movies, dinner, show up at her house with a bottle of wine, hell, something. If you don’t ask her out already, then I will.”

Joel punches his brother on the shoulder. It’s not enough to incite an actual fight, but it’s definitely not playful. “Ow!” Tommy grips at his arm. “What?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, he rolls his eyes. 

“Speaking from experience, I’m surprised you haven’t already,” he raises an eyebrow.

“Once, Joel. That was one time. Will I never hear the end of it?”

“No,” Joel says. “And I see what you were doing tonight, too. Don’t think you’re slick.” he hopes to change the subject, and it seems to be working. 

Tommy sets them back on track. “Well, I was just trying to get you to wake the fuck up and see what’s in front of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens when Sarah grows up? Goes to school, leaves the house? Then, what are you gonna do? You’re just gonna be alone?”

“You are treadin’ on some mighty thin ice, Tommy,'' Joel hisses. ““You barely know this woman-”

“I’d like a family, too, Joel. When that happens I won’t be able to keep you company anymore. You might want someone else. And maybe it’s not her, fine. But there should be someone.”

For as much as he hates to admit it, Joel knows Tommy is right. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 25, 2003- 

It’s six at night. and you’re already in your pajamas. 

A couple years ago, you would’ve thought that was pretty sad. These days, it’s only a little sad. You prefer things this way. That’s the perk of being an adult living alone. If you want to put on pajamas before the sun sets on a Friday night, you can. If you want to get stoned on the back porch of the house you bought yourself, you can. If you want all those things to happen while you watch the sunset and listen to yacht rock, you can. And you’re going to. 

You’re toying with the new digital camera your brother bought for you. Vincent likes to argue with you, but he always feels guilty after a conversation gone wrong. Rather than use his words, however, he just buys you gifts. You had apologized over the phone a few days ago…this was his way of doing the same. The shutter clicks as you snap a photo of your backyard, and you look at it in the viewfinder before discarding the camera on your coffee table.

Martini is on the porch with you, doing that thing where he stands just out of reach but chirps at you until you pet him. When you reach out, he moves away. He’s not great at accepting what he wants. Maybe it’s why he’s sort of the perfect cat for you – you’re the same. 

You light your bowl, and you’re mid-inhale when you hear someone call your name. 

“Hey!” 

At this point, you’d recognize Joel Miller’s voice anywhere. You don’t want to admit it’s because you’ve tried to commit it to memory, daydreamed about how it might sound for his smooth lilt to read you a book until you fall asleep, or listen to him take a phone call in the other room. 

Realizing it’s him, you inhale sharply, forgetting what you’re in the middle of and taking a much bigger hit than you had intended. You begin choking violently on the smoke while simultaneously scrambling to hide your piece and the related paraphernalia sitting out, and manage to do so just in time for him to round the corner. 

You scramble to hide your bowl under the pillow of the outdoor couch you sit on, just in time for Joel to appear at the screen door. 

“Hey,” you say, covering your mouth. Your throat burns, and you cough again. Stay cool, stay calm. Everything is good. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I tried your front door and you weren’t answering, so I thought I’d see if you were back here.” It’s hard to see him from here, through the door, and he’s backlit by the sun that’s shimmering behind his dark hair, catching it in a golden halo. 

You rise to open the door, and when you do, he continues. “I’m here to pick up Sarah’s soccer jersey.”

Right. Of course he was. She had left it a few days before, and you had assumed she’d come get it before her game on Saturday but it didn’t dawn on you until now that she ever had. 

“I would’ve sent her, but she’s at a sleepover tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, standing in place. You’re trying so desperately to act normal, words evade you.

Joel squints at you, a slight smirk on his face. “I didn’t catch you off guard or anything, did I?’

“No, no, not at all,” you lie. “Come on in.”

Joel steps over the tiny dish of cat food you’ve left on your back step for the stray you feed, and into the screened-in porch. Now that he’s under the dim light, you get a better look at him. A loose-fitting flannel hangs open over a worn green t-shirt that barely meets the top of his jeans. His hair is damp, like he’s just showered, and he smells clean. In any other situation, you’d want to climb him like a tree, and he’s not even trying. But right now, you’re just doing your best impression of a sober human that is definitely not doing anything illegal. The truth is, you should’ve made him wait outside.

“This is nice,” Joel says, looking around. And you really wish he wasn’t because you notice that you left the clear plastic baggie containing your weed out on the couch. It sort of blends in with the green floral pattern, so you hope for the best, because there’s no way for you to sneakily grab it without drawing his attention. “I didn't know this was back here.”

“The last owners added it on,” you say, because that was the type of thing the realtor had said to you about the features of this house. And you supposed a carpenter or contractor would probably be interested in it. It was a good distraction.

“I can tell. Looks new,” he looks up towards the wooden beams that span the ceiling. The top of the porch is still covered, so during the few times it’s rained, you always sit outside to listen.

“I’ve got her jersey in the kitchen,” you tell him. “Wait here.”

It doesn’t take long for you to pick out the bright blue athletic gear from your pile of dry cleaning. It stands out against all your neutral-colored pantsuits. Joel has his back to you when you return, one of his hands clenched into a fist. 

“Here,” you say, and he turns. 

“You had it dry cleaned? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kind of wasn’t sure if it was safe to run through the machine,” you explain. “But now that I’m thinking about it….it wouldn’t make sense to give a bunch of 11-year-olds dry clean only jerseys.”

“It wouldn’t. But it’s probably more convenient than scrubbing the grass stains out yourself.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Unfortunately. But again…thank you.”

“Of course.”

This is where Joel should leave, walk across the street, and go home. And he does, well, at least, he starts to. He steps away, reaches for the handle to your back door, and then pauses. “You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “The Watsons were tellin’ me the other day you’ve been complaining about a family of skunks living under your house?”

You freeze, recalling the lie you’d come up with on a whim when your sixty-year-old neighbors had started asking too many questions. 

“Well, it does smell a little over here.”

“Uh-huh,” you give him nothing.

“Something like that….you should really call animal control. Get rid of the problem,” Joel’s facing you now, eyebrow raised. 

“If I call animal control…they’ll just kill them,” you answer. “And I don’t want that. So…I think I’ll just have to live with it.” 

“That’s fair,” Joel says. “But you know, Sarah’s over here all the time, and I’ve never heard her mention it.”

At this point you know he’s just fucking with you. But years of remaining stone-faced through business negotiations and family dinners has prepared you for this, so even if you’re a little stoned, you’re not going to let him win. 

“Yeah, it sounds like a coincidence. But they’re never around when she’s here,” you say, in your own defense. “Ever,” you add for emphasis. 

“I guess that’s good.”

You both stare at each other for a second, and your blood buzzes slightly because even though this is just a playful standoff, you’ve never made such intense eye contact with him. It feels electric. After what feels like an eternity, Joel lifts his hand from his hip, and you see what he’d been holding in his fist, now pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He raises an eyebrow.

When you see the plastic baggie dangling in front of your face, you purse your lips. “Alright, you got me,” you lift up your hands, but snatch the bag from him. 

“And here I thought you were such a good girl.”

You don’t even want to acknowledge the full body chill that runs down your spine at the sound of those two words, coming from him. Snatching the bag back from him, he gives you a cheeky smile. “If you give me a hit, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your jaw drops, and you look up at him. “Oh, you’re trouble.”

“I’m not the one lyin’ to my neighbors.”

“And I’m not the one snooping through my neighbors' things.”

“It was right out in the open.”

Joel doesn’t seem bothered at all. But it’s Texas, so you can never be sure. “Okay, fine,” you say. “If you want….I could roll us a joint. Unless you have other plans.”

“The alternative is a house to myself for the evening and some chores, so…yeah. Whatever you’d like.”

“Great.”

Joel follows you to sit on the couch. As you settle on opposite ends, he speaks up. “So you think you could explain to me why my daughter keeps tellin’ me she wants to be a lawyer?”

You snicker. “Believe me, Joel. I’ve tried to talk her out of it already.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. Probably a more lucrative career than what I’m doing. She’s really taken a liking to you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her warm up to anyone so quick.”

“Well, I’m the first adult she knows that’s not an authority figure.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“I remember being that age,” you look down at your work. “It’s nice to have someone older to relate to, who you can talk to without being afraid of getting a lecture.”

“She probably needs it,” Joel says. “She told me you talk about girl stuff. I’m not so great at that.”

“I don’t know,” Your tongue darts out to wet the edge of the paper and finish rolling the joint. You put it between your lips, and rummage through the drawer of the coffee table to find your lighter, gesture between the both of you. “This is about ninety percent of how I spent my time with my friends at her age…and so far you’re doing alright.”

“Now you’ve got me worried about what’s going on at that sleepover.”

“Okay, well, I was maybe a little older. And with her? You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you shake your head. 

He rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes glow with the reflection of your lighter as it’s flicked on. “I don’t know.”

“She’s fine, Joel,” you say, bringing the lighter closer and shielding the flame from the calm breeze of the evening. “She’s great. Really.”

“She is,” he agrees. You inhale, let the smoke settle in your lungs for a moment, before exhaling. You take your time, feeling warm from the weed and the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, and he accepts the joint when you pass it over.

“I really didn’t really expect this from you,” he exhales, studying your handiwork before taking another puff. “You’re pretty buttoned up.”

“This is hardly rebellious.” Instinctually, you like the idea that he thinks you’re buttoned up. Deep down, however, you don’t actually want him to.

He looks so dreamy, the smoke curling though his eyelashes, tracing along his defined jaw, and then up, up, where it settles and shifts under the porch light, before disappearing completely.

Martini, who has been in hiding, hops up on the couch, and Joel reaches out, your cat nuzzling its face into his palm. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he mumbles. And then, like some sort of magic, the cat plops down on Joel’s lap. 

“I do…but…” you say out loud, then trail off because you’re in such shock. You glance up at Joel, who looks confused. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen him do this.”

He passes the joint back to you. “Do what?”

You take a final puff, and then put it out in an ashtray. It’s only about half smoked, but you can get into it later if either of you wants to. Plus, you’re more interested in what’s unfolding in front of you. “I kinda want a picture of this.”

“What?”

“I’ve had him for five years and he’s never sat on my lap like that,” you say, and you can’t keep the resentment from dripping into your tone. “What makes you so special? I’m a little jealous.”

“Of me? Or the cat?”

Something honey-thick drips down your spine at his words. You can’t conjure a witty response, opting instead for: “Shut up.”

You snap a couple photos while Joel’s still laughing, one hand on his chest, the other on Martini’s back, and then put the camera down, and lean against the back of the couch, curling your feet underneath you. 

“You’ve got a nice view of the sunset,” Joel says softly.

There’s a distant fear you might never get to see him like this again, and you want to take him in fully before you drag your eyes to see what he’s looking at. Your backyard slopes down into a small patch of woods, the sky opening even wider to let in the aureate light. 

“I know,” you agree. “It’s why I spend so much time back here.” The high continues to settle over you, strokes your shoulders, tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Surprised you like things that are so peaceful…being from the city and all…”

“The city is peaceful,” you say, thinking of the leaves swirling from the trees in the fall, and the snowflakes falling onto your family's porch in the winter, melting on the tip of your nose as you lean over the balcony to see the glittering lights below, car horns and engines and sirens piercing the darkness, white noise. “In its own way.”

“You miss it?”

“Everyday,” you say. 

“What do you miss the most?”  

“Uhm…probably the bagels,” you lie. Well it’s true. But it’s not what you miss the most. You think of your brother, flopping onto your bed on a Saturday night – a rare weekend when you visit home – and you’re trying to read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for school but he’s begging to take you around the corner to get a milkshake. It’s the image of him you’ve so desperately tried to cling to and the recollections you share with him have only gotten more and more unpleasant as time goes on. “The bagels here suck.”

“Really?” Joel seems amused by that. 

“And uh…I don’t know. It’s part of me. I have a lot of friends there, a lot of good memories,” you smile to yourself, lean forward towards him. “I had this apartment before I graduated, right? It had the best view of this little Italian restaurant, and I’d sit and watch people through the windows, eating and talking. I was supposed to be studying, but…it was great. I loved it.”

“What’re you doing here, then?” Joel asks, and you look back at the sunset. Here you are, waxing poetic and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. “You runnin’ from something?” You look over to find he’s staring at you. Like he knows you aren’t being honest, and he’s asking you to stop lying.

So you do the only thing you can think of, which is to ask him a question in response. “What makes you think I am?”

Joel considers this for a moment. “I don’t know. I grew up in Austin. All my friends are here, my family. If I ever moved someplace else….it’d have to be for a good reason. And even if I did, I’d be lonely.”

You stare down at the floor. “Maybe I am.” Lonely? Or running from something? The answer is both, you know, but you’re not going to clarify. “My family. Things are pretty fucked. I thought distance would help, and it does, a little. But….that shit still follows you anyways. They’re always with you, no matter what.”

Joel nods. 

“But… I have a life here. When I lived downtown, I definitely did. I don’t mind the quiet, and….I have friends.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a boyfriend, don’t you?”

Why would he think that-oh. You had tried to forget it, the morning he’d caught you still wrapped up in your robe – not the fluffy fleece one you liked the most, but the one you specifically only wore when you had guys over, cause they loved that shit.

“Oh, right,” you say. “Bradley. Yeah, uh. He’s…he’s….not my boyfriend. But…” you shake your head. “It’s a little complicated.”

“I’m sure it ain’t that hard to explain.”

“I mean…” you avoid his eyes. “He’s kind of an asshole, but we’re not really commited to each other in a meaningful way. Plus, he’s not around that much which is kind of perfect…for me.”

“Really?”

“Less to worry about,” you answer, purse your lips. “But…I don’t know. I sorta wish he got my heart rate up a little more.”

“He’s not your type?”

“I don’t really have a type,” you shake your head. “I like what I like.”

Joel rasps. “I feel the same,” and he’s made sure your eyes are on him when he says it.

You swallow, nod, smooth your hair back. “Anyways. Why’re you asking me all this?”

Joel doesn’t seem to find an answer right away. You narrow your eyes at him, studying his face, looking for something that will give him away. It’s a trick you’ve learned…silence…a bit of skepticism. It makes people uncomfortable. And Joel shifts his weight, squirming beneath your gaze. Until something in his face shifts, and he smiles….just a little. 

“So that’s where Sarah learned that.”

“Learned what?”

“That look you’re giving me.”

“What look?” 

“Like you can see right through me.”

“Can I?” You narrow your eyes further.

“You’re tryin’ to.” 

He’d done a good enough job of avoiding your question, and you’re not gonna ask him again, and instead opt for a different one. “So what about you, then?” you poke his knee with your foot.

“Oh, I’m not answerin’’ that.”

“What? I just told you, that’s not fair.”

Joel runs a hand along his jaw, ponders. “Most women don’t want to be with a man who already has a kid so…things on that front are not always easy.” 

“I have a hard time believing that. I mean, don’t you have an upcoming date with Sarah’s teacher or something?” you tease.

“That’s not happening,” he assures you. “But….I work so much these days I don’t have the capacity for much. So I get what you mean, sometimes it’s easy to not get emotionally involved but…I’ve never really been great at that.”

“You’re a relationship guy?”

“I mean, Tommy has been pestering me about this lately. Says at this rate, once Sarah’s grown, I’ll end up old and alone. Annoys me to hell, but he’s right. I wouldn’t mind…some kind of companionship. Someone to tell you you’ve done alright at the end of the day.” 

“You sound awfully romantic,” you at him blink slowly.

“I can be, when I want to.” Joel rolls his eyes. “But right now…I think I’m just stoned.” 

That makes you giggle. So he’s just being honest. “I didn’t really see much great come from settling down when I grew up, so I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist when it comes to love. What you’re saying….it’s a nicer way to think of things.”

You rarely connected with the men you dated. You chose to date douchebags, to date cheaters. It was better that way, to know up front what you were getting yourself into. The best ones didn’t ask for much, just the odd fuck here and there for a couple months, and you’d step away when things were no longer fun, if they evewere to begin with. 

Actually getting married, settling down, didn’t feel like a real possibility for you. So you’d never allowed yourself to indulge in what seemed like a fantasy. Some women aren’t meant to be a part of a family. Your father had told you once – during one of few times he’d attempted to comfort you after your mother didn’t call on your birthday – as if it excused his own neglect. 

“Yeah, and it hasn’t all been bad. I mean, I’ve had a couple good girlfriends over the years. They were sweet, fun. I enjoyed the time I spent with them, they just…never made it through the real litmus test.”

“Sarah?”

He nods. 

“It would be hard, I imagine. For her. Accepting someone new into her life.”

“Yeah.”

“You really care about her,” you say. “About how she feels. It’s nice.”

“I’m doin’ my best.”

The way he talks about Sarah makes you nauseated. It’s something pure, and you can’t help but feel bitterly nostalgic. 

“I wish my dad would have been like you.”

It slips out, and you immediately regret it. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten stoned with someone else, and you’ve forgotten your filter. And even though you’ve already divulged more to him about you than you normally would, this feels like too much all of the sudden. 

This isn’t something you can backpedal, and before you know it, Joel is leaning towards you. There’s concern written in his features, he wants to comfort, and you thank God for what happens next, or it all would’ve been too much.

His shift in weight causes Martini to jump off his lap and sprint to the door of the porch. He stares at you and then meows. 

Even though Joel isn’t touching you, you have to tear yourself away from the hold he’s got you in. ““I gotta let him in, or he’ll get annoyed.”

You move to open the door, and the cat slips inside.

“Is that a guitar in there?” Joel asks, catching a sliver of the gleaming body in the dim light.

“Yeah.” 

“You play?”  He questions, and you come to sit back on the couch. 

“Not anymore. It’s more of a decoration. How about you?” 

“A little.”

“A little?”

“A lot.” Joel smiles, looks at the ground like not sure why he’s telling you this. “I actually uh, used to want to be a singer.”

“What?” you ask. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Joel shakes his head. 

“Joel, what?” you put a hand on his arm and lean forward, then look at the guitar.

“Why not?”

“I was…young when I had Sarah. And I had to do something that could actually help us get by.”

“Okay well, you have to play me something, then,” you rise to step inside and retrieve it off the wall. 

“No, no-”

“Come on, please?” you ask. “Don’t be a tease.”

Joel just stares as you bring the guitar out to him. 

“Although this might be out of tune…” you strum once, and wince at the tinny sound it makes. “Definitely it is.”

“Here,” Joel takes it from you. “I can do it.”

It takes him a moment, but he’s plucking the strings in a way that feels so instinctual, purposeful, you can already tell he knows what he’s doing. Once he’s finished, he strums a few chords, and everything is magically in tune. 

“Alright,” you prompt, when he hesitates. “What are you gonna play me?”

“You know any Neil Young?”

“Of course,” you answer. 

Joel nods once, looks down at the guitar, and starts playing. You’d recognize the opening chords to anywhere, but he somehow makes them sound even moodier, and bittersweet. 

Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say…

He can sing. You’re taken aback. You’re not sure what you expected, but it’s definitely better than that. Deeper, raspier, and now you have new information about him that’s going to bounce around your brain when you’re bored during meetings at work, while you’re lying in bed at night, trying to sleep. 

Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…

You shift your weight, sling your arm over the back of the couch, and rest your chin on your hand. Suddenly, you’re feeling a little tired. He’s all-but putting you to sleep and, somehow, that feels like the highest compliment you can give. It could be because you’re stoned, but you feel warm all over. You close your eyes, just listen, until he’s finished.

Even after he’s finished, you keep your eyes closed, settling. Until you feel something graze against the back of your hand. Joel’s. He’s matching your own pose, facing you, but reaching out…

“That was nice,” you say, earnestly. You’re good.”

Joel smiles bashfully, tugs your hand from beneath your chin and pinches your index finger between two of his own. Your nails are painted a glittery purple, and Joel studies them. Sarah had painted them earlier this week when she’d hung out after school, and had picked out the color. 

“So are you,” he shifts closer. 

He’s not quite close enough to kiss you himself. But it’s enough…he’s just giving you the chance to lean in, to close the gap. The proximity makes you dizzy, and you’re a little overwhelmed. It’s too much. It’d be too much. You can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do to you.

“We should be good, then,” Gazing at him from under your lashes, you pull back just enough. It’s not a rejection, and you can tell he doesn’t see it that way either. There’s a mutual understanding, you’re on the same page, but you aren’t quite sure what it is. The warmth of Joel’s hand leaves yours, and a part of you is filled with regret.

And then, like it never happened, the two of you spend another hour talking. He’s engaged, intuitive, thoughtful, funny. By the time he excuses himself, long after the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, you feel like he’s an old friend. An old friend you want…badly, but, you know him on a level you hadn’t before.

“Gotta be up tomorrow for a soccer game, otherwise I’d stick around,” Joel says as you’re guiding him to the front door.

“It’s alright,” you say. “You’re welcome to do this anytime.”

“You sure?” he tilts his head, leaning against the doorframe on his way out. “You might regret offerin’ that….”

“I won’t.”

--

part iv

taglist: @yaskna@venomous-ko@lomljigg@yeehawbitchs@ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done@melancholicmelanin@reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer@superflymaterial@mikkorantanev@zbeez-outlet @nadja-antipaxos @strawberri-blonde @jabbajambler @ponyboys-sunsets @kyuupidwrites @r4efromvenus @loveatfirstsight-atlastsight @korianderbandit @nicoleoeoeoe @hotgirlsshareaccounts @madisonred88 @crustyrustydusty @sflame15-blog @issybee0611 @darkemeralddiamond @grandmana @totallynotastanacc @ay0nha

[aheckinmess]

Chapter 1/? of Top Shelf, a bartender Sukuna AU that was inspired by someone on Instagram (@pikkufrog). It started out as my take on bartender Sukuna and has gradually devolved into a fic idea. Since I finished chapter 1, I figured I'd post it.

Read on AO3.

Tags: Ryomen Sukuna, Ryoumen Sukuna, Sukuna x Reader, Sukuna x You, Female Reader, Soft Sukuna, Bartender Sukuna, Bartender AU, Canon Divergence, Might Devolve into Jujutsu Sorcery, Who Can Say?, Reader is Drunk, Shameless Flirting, Alcohol Consumption, Sukuna's House Makes an Appearance, Sukuna Collects Skulls, And Also Books, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Yuji Will Eventually Make an Appearance, Somewhere in This Series, Suggestive Themes, Suggestive Content, Reader Gets Hit On, But Nothing Actually Happens

Word Count: 2,169 words

Summary: After a long, difficult week, you find yourself at your favorite bar, people watching and appreciating the view. The view being Ryomen Sukuna, the local bartender. With a little liquid courage, you find yourself flirting shamelessly until he invites you to his place. What happens afterwards is a bartender and bookstore barista trying to find balance among their chaotic lives.

Chapter 1: A Shot in the Dark

After a long day of work, there’s no better way to wind down than to people watch at the bar. Dulling your mind with a few drinks loosens your muscles and stifles your insecurities. At the end of the counter, your eyes wander over the bartender you see regularly this time of day.

Damn, he’s hot. You sip the rest of your margarita and rest your head in your hand. As your head gets heavier, your gaze lowers from his face to his broad shoulders, roams down, and settles on the curve of his ass. His fingers stretch inside the cup he’s cleaning, his back to you. Do me like that.

“Enjoy the view?” Soft lips tilt up into a smirk as he steps over, leaning across the dark wood. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, darling. Have a rough week?”

Your cheeks darken to match his hair, but you stretch across the counter towards him anyway. 

“It’s been long. Dealing with people is frustrating.” You pout.

He laughs as he finishes cleaning the glass and sets it down. He mutters something that you miss as you get distracted with the tattoos on his chest, peeking out of his button-up. A soft whine whistles through your nose before his finger tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

“Can I get you anything to drink, (Name)?” 

“An amaretto sour and a shot of tequila.” You lick your lips, acutely aware of how easy it would be for him to wrap his fingers around your neck. Hot! I need to calm myself before I do something I regret. 

You do your best to behave. But it is entirely unfair just how much his clothes strain against his body. The black fabric practically screams with his every move. 

“Here. If you’re going to gawk, you can at least use your words to tell me how good I look.” Sukuna taunts, tapping the counter to regain your attention. You throw back the shot without hesitation as your fingers ring the rim of your drink.

“But I wanna hear you talk.” You admit, holding out your open palm for his. You’re pleasantly surprised when he places his hand in yours and lets you trace the patterns of his tattoos. “Your voice makes me melt.” Oops…where’d that come from?

You can’t say you regret it, because it’s the first time he doesn’t meet your eyes as his cheeks flush bright pink. His hand twitches in yours.

“You’re too cute for your own good.” He pulls his hand back and drums his sharp nails on the countertop. “Here. Let me get their drinks and then we’ll talk.”

Your eyes follow him down the bar until you feel someone sit beside you; a tap on your shoulder pulls your gaze away from Sukuna and onto a red-haired stranger. “Mm?”

“I noticed you were over here looking lonely, pretty thing.” His voice is calm and smooth despite his obvious intoxication. “You wanna get out of here?” He winks.

You shake your head, trying to shove aside the immediate instinct to call back the bartender. I am perfectly capable of handling a drunk on my own. “I’m not really interested, thank you.”

“Ah, understood. Figured I’d shoot my shot, though.” He tips his head and struggles to get to his feet. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous, for what it’s worth.” 

“Thank you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

While Mr. Red Hair might be a perfect gentleman, his friend mutters something to him before wandering over himself. You deliberately turn towards Sukuna, trying to make it obvious who you’re interested in.

“You’re not interested in my buddy, huh? Can’t blame you. He’s a scrawny fellow. Not a lot to offer.” A gravelly voice speaks over your shoulder.

You ignore it.

Mr. Blonde & Buff doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“You’re not ignoring me, now, are you?” He growls, shoving your shoulder to look at him.

You wobble dangerously in your chair, hand flashing out for the counter when something steadies you from behind. Strong, warm, tattooed arms keep you from sprawling into the floor.

“That’s enough, Riku. Either go back to your table or get the fuck out.” The unspoken or else hangs in the air, dripping from Sukuna’s voice and the way he braces his shoulders, like he’s prepared to kick ass.

And damn, if it isn’t hot.

“Tch. Whatever.” He grumbles several obscenities as he stumbles over to his seat, not even glancing back in your direction.

“Sorry about that. Riku’s…well, an asshole, to put it lightly.” Sukuna sighs, pulling his hands away and gliding around the counter to stand across from you. “Are you alright?” 

“Why’d you let go? You can stay here.” You whine, chasing your straw with your tongue before taking a long drink. It gets warmer as you look up at him, hanging on his every word.

“I wasn’t sure if that might make you uncomfortable. You’d already voiced your disinterest to the other two.” He smirks, resting his chin on his fist. “I don’t make you uncomfortable?”

“No. I told them no, because I like your company better!” Your chair wobbles under the passion of your movements, but somehow you manage to keep from toppling over like an idiot.

“My company, huh? Why’s that?” 

“You’re an asshole, but you’re a respectable asshole.” You yawn, stretching out your back.

He barks out a laugh, causing the head of every drunk to swivel in his direction. Sukuna’s not exactly known for being full of mirth.

“A respectable asshole…” He grins and tucks a strand of your hair back in place. “So, can this respectable asshole ask when you’re free to come by my place?” 

“Can I come by later tonight?” You ask. “I don’t know that I’d be able to make my way home in the dark anyway…but if you’d like I can–”

“Tonight works.” He purrs, face marginally closer to yours. “I don’t get off for another thirty minutes. Think you can wait that long?”

“I’ll wait.” You agree, swallowing thickly. “If you keep getting that close to me, though, I’ll have no choice but to kiss you.”

Is it you, or does he move even closer? The tip of his nose almost meets yours as he looks down at you. The red of his eyes glistens under the dim bar light, pulling breath after shuddering breath from you. Your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You’re quite bold after a few drinks, aren’t you?” He chuckles.

“Not bold, just a warning of what you’re in for if you keep looking at me like that.” You murmur, aching to claim his lips and wipe that smirk off his face.

But you don’t. You wait for thirty minutes like a good girl, in and out of focus as you watch him clean up and get ready to leave. He disappears behind the employee door and comes out soon after.

“Ready, love?” He extends his arm while swinging his keys around his finger.

You get up from your chair, but forget about the step down from the counter. You fall straight into a pair of muscular arms as he catches you. You’re certainly not complaining.

“Watch your step.” He snorts. “As often as I’ve seen you in here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

“I needed to feel numb.” You explain, leaning your head against his chest as his arm comes around your waist. 

He guides you out of the bar, leading you to a car. Your stomach turns as it copes with the alcohol in its system. I could use some carbs.

“You got any french fries?” You ask, swinging his arm between the two of you. 

“That’s right, you didn’t eat much tonight. We’ll grab some on the way to my place.” His fingers comb through your hair. “Anything else you want?” “You.” It slips out before you can help it. 

“That can certainly be arranged.” He whispers in your ear, thumb grazing your side. But he pulls back and loosens his grip on you. “But it’ll have to be when you’re sober enough to remember it.” 

If he was sexy before, he becomes a hundred times sexier to you with that admission alone. He helps you into his car and starts the trek to the nearest fast food chain and orders some fries. When you offer your money, he rolls his eyes and hands the cashier his card.

“If you won’t let me pay, at least take my money.” You shove it back at him.

“You pay me money all the time to make you drinks. Allow me to return the favor.” He swats the money away. “Put that back.”

“But I don’t make you drinks!” “No, but you’ve made me very amused this evening.” 

You both get your order and when he tells you to dig in, you stuff your face full of fries. Your head lulls against the leather seat with your eyes closed in ecstasy. Truly, carbs are the superior food group.

By the time he opens your door at his house, you’ve inhaled a full serving of fries and gulped half of your water. He takes the food and you follow him inside.

Dark red walls greet you in the living room, with lavish furniture that matches his personality. A dark brown leather sofa sits adjacent to a matching recliner, and a coat rack with a cow skull on top stands in the foyer.

He catches your appraising eyes and smiles.

“I have a bit of an obsession with animal skulls.” He nods to the mantle decorated with skulls of more variety. “They’re interesting to me. But I keep my library down this hall. You enjoy reading, don’t you?”

“Mhmm!” 

He takes your hand and leads you into a room filled top to bottom with colorfully illustrated spines. His shelves all match and he’s got them organized neatly with added trinkets here and there for decoration. You vaguely remember telling him last week about your new favorite manga when he steps over to his large collection with you.

“As you can see…there’s your favorite.” He gestures to an entire row of the Hotel of Villains series. You instantly finger the 4th book, pulling it out and gaping at the cover. “I’ll warn you, once you get to the 8th volume, things start picking up. You won’t want to put it down.”

You’re too enthralled with the cover in front of you before you sling your arms around his waist, voice muffled as your face gets squished into his chest.

“Thank you.” You whimper, tears draining from your eyes. You tend to get a little more emotional when drunk. “I’ve been waiting so long to read the rest…and my favorite character is trapped so I’ve been so worried.”

“Heh. Dasuko is your favorite?” Sukuna smiles crookedly.

“I know he’s the big bad villain but he’s such a respectable one!” You whine, turning away self-consciously. In the world of fandom, you’ve learned there’s no telling how anyone will react to your favorite characters.

“Mm, I guess respectable assholes are your type, huh?”

You hide behind your hair, trying to get your sludgy brain to decipher whether he’s just teasing or being serious.

“Hey, hey,” He tilts your chin up at him. There’s a growing smile on his face. “I’m not shaming you. I think it’s cute that someone so soft would fall for someone so…feral.” His eyes shine under the glow of the light. “He’s one of my favorites too.”

You smile up at him before his hand rubbing your back reminds you that he’s still wrapped in your embrace. You set the book back, before you sway into his chest. Your fingers search out his exposed skin and you paw at him.

“Do you mind if I stay?” You purr sweetly.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow and takes your hands in his.

“You may stay for a place to sleep. But I will not take advantage of you. Any woman would choose me with a hazy mind. Only women who understand my worth and power would choose me while sober.” He croons.

You’re of a stubborn disposition, though, and feeling a bit whiny as your mind fogs. You slide to your knees and look up at him in hopes to change his mind. 

“(Name).” He speaks, voice thicker but still resolute. “No.”

You huff, but try on a compromise.

“Fine. But…can I at least have a kiss?” You ask, forcing yourself back up into a standing position, giving yourself an indulgent look at his mouth. I’ve been dying to kiss you all night…all week! Please say yes.

“Mm,” His gaze flickers to your lips and back to your face. “One little peck, and then off to bed with you.”

It’s short and brief, but those soft lips tap yours as he bends down to kiss you. He pulls back almost as soon as he’s started, and you whimper when he does.

“Come. Let’s put you in bed.”

Part 2 coming soon!

[moonbeamsandmayhem]

MDNI 18+

a/n: some dom/sub undertones, slight body dysmorphia but eddie is having none of it, fingering - if i missed anything please let me know ;)

You laid back against Eddie’s chest, eyes closing as he kissed and gently nipped at your neck.  He relished in the way your steady breathing would occasionally hitch as he would suckle skin between his lips and teeth, then lath the hot marks with his tongue.  You could feel the ghost of a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

“Rough day?” he murmured between kisses, lifting his head. He captured your chin with his hand, cupping it gently so he could look you in the eye.

“Mhm.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head.

He ran a calloused thumb over your bottom lip, “Words, babe.”

“No… or at least, not yet.”

“Anything I can do?”  He was looking at you, deep brown eyes searching your gaze, his tone utterly serious.

You held eye contact for a beat, your breath catching again.  “I want to forget for a while…”

Another beat.

”I can help you do that...”  He gives you a devilish smile, all mischief and mayhem.  “You want me in control, hmm?  You want me to fuck your brains out until you can’t cum anymore, babe?  Is that it?”  A kiss.  “Until you’re screaming?”  And another. “No thoughts, just pleasure?”  Before you could even string together a response - he devours you.  

The kiss is frantic and messy and full of heat.  He tastes of fading mint, tobacco, and stolen sips of alcohol combining into an intoxicating array.  You kiss him back with equal fervor, tongue gliding and teasing over him, daring to nip at his lips.  Your hands grip the denim vest and his fingers thread into your hair, tugging just enough to sting.  His eyes flash and you feel a shiver run the length of your spine.

You exhale a shuddering breath, a soft note of desperation in your voice as you break apart, “Yes, Eddie.  Please.”  Your cheeks color.  Your core throbbed, the wetness between your thighs damn near unbearable.

Eddie nods, mission clear.

“You beg so sweetly, doll.  Can’t wait to hear more before the night is out.”  He wets his lips.  “Strip.  And take it slow.  I wanna enjoy the show.”  He presses a last fleeting kiss to your cheek before laying back and lighting a cigarette as you move from his comforting embrace.

You suddenly feel yourself go shy, even after all this time; as if a spotlight had been shone right on you.  No matter how many times you made yourself bare for Eddie Munson, you were acutely self-aware of your body.  The stretch marks that adorned it and any other ‘flaw’ you deemed to nitpick that day.  But Eddie was having none of it, immediately sensing the change in your temperament.  He stamps out the newly lit cigarette and moves to you.

Wordlessly, he helps you lift the shirt up and over your head and then undoes your bra with ease, tossing it aside.  You couldn’t quite meet his eyes and Eddie hums in disapproval.  He grasps your chin tilting your head back to look at him.  “No hiding.”  Rough fingers trace over the stretch marks on your stomach, eliciting a soft whimper from you.  “You’re goddamn gorgeous.”  He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “And you’re all mine.”  His hands work their way up from your waist, back over your stomach, and stopping short, just under the soft, plush, curves of your breasts.

“If I reach down and slip my hand into those pretty panties, are you gonna be soaked?”  His thumb swipes over a nipple, brow lifting inquisitively.

“Y-yes.  All for you.  Every last drop.”  You felt yourself clench around nothing, the anticipation causing you to squirm a little in his grasp.

“Fuck, and that’s just from me talkin’ a little dirty to you?” He let out a soft whistle, hand slipping past the waistband of your skirt, fingertips dancing over the evident dampness.  He coos whispering a sweet nothing then bites down hard on your neck.

The suddenness of it rocks you, sending a jolt to your cunt.  “Holy shit.”

“Language.”  He chastises sucking hard, before attacking the rest of your chest.  His mouth was warm and wicked, leaving marks all along the swell of your breasts that would surely be there for weeks, but Eddie didn’t seem to care.  He pulls your underwear to the side, a lone fingertip dipping passed your lips, running from your entrance all the way to your clit.  He wraps a secure arm around your waist, kissing slowly and sloppily along your jaw.

“Stand here and take it, babe.  I want you to cum just like this, half-naked and desperate and so fucking beautiful, clinging to me like a god damned lifeline.”  Another finger adds itself to the mix and you bury your head against his neck, a string of curses spilling from your lips as he slips both of them inside of you.  He lets them rest there as his thumb draws slow circles around your clit.

“Eddie…” You whine pathetically.

“What?” His lips brushed over your temple; you didn’t have to see his face to know he was grinning like a maniac.  He loved watching you slowly go to pieces.

“Please - please.  I need you.” His fingers curl just so and your knees buckle a little.  

His grip tightens. 

“You have me.”  He laughs breathily as his fingers began to move, lewd, wet, sounds filling the air.  Normally, you would have been embarrassed- mortified, even.  But it was a relief to have him finally give your pussy the attention it needed.  You claw at his still-clothed back, moaning his name, blindly finding his mouth and kissing it messily.  You look at him from beneath your lashes and your breath catches.

Eddie was flush with pale pink, his eyes dark as they stared into yours.  His lips parted in awe, as he found the spot that turned your moans into desperate screams.  His thumb moved faster as he felt your walls begin to flutter against his fingers. “Not yet.  Don’t you fucking dare.”  His thumb and fingers still and you slump against him, trying to reign yourself in.

“E- Eddie? Why? I was s-so close.” You whimper into his shoulder, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.  He ‘shushes’ you softly.

“I know baby, I know.  But it’s too tempting to play on the edge.  To have you begging…” He groans and you can feel the evidence of his own arousal pressing up hard on your thigh which only adds to your longing. 

You both stand there in your bedroom, the sun’s burnt orange light spilling in and washing over you.  You breathe each other in, waiting for your hearts to stop their frantic beat.  Then, and only then, when Eddie was satisfied that your high had nearly ebbed away, did he start to move his fingers again.

He did that four more times; catching you just before your knees gave way, with the promise that the next time he’d let you cum.  But cruelly, he’d just leave you there, teetering on the edge, watching your beautiful eyes shine with tears.  He kisses away the ones that would spill down your cheeks and swallows the moans when it all becomes too much. 

“Cum for me.”  He growled.

His thumb worked overtime, his lips capturing yours as you finally came around his fingers, gushing over them as your walls fluttered and kissed his knuckles.  The white hot pleasure ripped through you mercilessly, taking over every fiber of your being.  You couldn’t think all you could do was submit to absolute abandon.  “Oh God!” 

“No God here, just the devil, sweetheart.”

tagging: @wroteclassicaly

[writing-whump]

Drunk at New Years

Arnie gets drunk on New Years after a fight with Hector. Angst, vomiting, comfort.

Hector was worried.

For the last couple of hours he alternated between angrily pacing the room and dialing Arnie's number. It was half three in the morning on New Years and Arnie was not picking up.

When he got back, Hector would tear him into two pieces.

It was the first New Years Hector and Arnie fought. Really, it was rather rare for them to fight at all.

Hector was acutely aware his brother was human since he was very small. You could simply not treat a human kid like you would a pup. Since that realization settled in, Hector couldn't help but feel Arnie was incredibly fragile. Wouldn't heal, couldn't jump, couldn't compete with his strength against a wolf even if he got combat training.

And Hector hated wolves from their pack didn't treat humans well. Heck, he himself didn't think much of them - useless, weak little things that ruled the world just because of their sheer numbers and fondness for explosive devices.

But Arnie was different. The kid was tough as nails underneath the frail human body. He used the clarity of his human mind, unburdened by aggressive shadow that would heighten every emotion and make it unignorable, to make long-term schemes, acute observations and was capable of incredible concentration.

Not to mention being able to use words like knifes. Hector had never met anyone who could shred even wolves to pieces with just a few words and precise observations.

Arnie was tough. But he was still human. And human kids of 18 didn't run around a city of almost 2 million people and countless wolf packs at night, at New Years, when everyone was drank and dangerously out of control.

He tried calling again, but although it rang, no one picked up.

That's when he heard the clittering of keys at the door.

Hector hurried over as it opened, his little brother stumbling inside.

His blond hair was tousled out of its styled form, his emerald green eyes feverishly glassy and he had that dumb smiley expression Hector had seen on many drunks.

The worry immediately replaced disgust as he frowned in disapproval.

"Oh, hey. You still up. What a bummer," Arnie said, swaying and closing the door behind him with a giggle.

"Where the hell have you been?" Hector said, crossing his arms on his chest.

"Here and there. Found a really tasty place and lots of happy people being willing to be happy with you. It was fuuuun."

Hector's nose scrunched as he breathed in the smell of beer clinging to his brother. "You know I don't approve of alcohol. You look pathetic as fuck."

Arnie's eyes widened before he grinned again, the arrogant prick. "Yeah, I know. What about you just...run along and go to sleep? Don't mess up your precious schedule. As you can see, I'm too intoxicated to properly enjoy your scolding," he laughed again, a little hysteric at the end. "Or maybe it's a good time, cause there is three of you so the lecture will-brrrrrrrp- multiply." He all but sang the last word, shaking off his boots.

"Fine. We'll talk in the morning."

Arnie threw his coat to the ground, muffling a burp against his fist. "Oh, he wants to talk all of sudden. That will be a milestone after two weeks of silent treatment."

Hector rolled his eyes, leaving Arnie to his drunken stumbling.

The comment stung, because it was true.

Arnie went behind his back and talked with Isaiah.

Okay, to be fair, it wasn't behind his back, but it was against his wishes. Surely Hector was justified in feeling angry?

Arnie accused him of not trying enough and that he should admit to missing Isaiah too and make minimal effort. That the meeting went well, that Isaiah was glad to see him.

Hector told him he was pathetic, annoying someone who was clearly not interested, abandoning them. He couldn't stand that Arnie had a good time with Isaiah, that their oldest brother welcomed him with open arms while he treated Hector with such coldness.

Arnie just grimaced at the words. "If you made any effort at all instead of your usual anger, pride and wolf posturing, we could have had him back years ago."

Hector said nothing, fighting down his shadow's immediate angry reaction. He was used to getting his way with his pack - he was the branch leader in Vienna after all. It was weird he could not react to dissent the way he wanted. But he wouldn't go so low as to pull his shadow at his human brother.

So he simply held his tongue and their silence at home began.

It was deserved. He would simply wait for an apology.

It was also way more unnerving than he expected.

Seemed Arnie was hellbent on proving that waiting for apologizes was futile.

Hector went to get a glass of water, skin on his arms tingling with relief and nerves. It wasn't like Arnie to be this irresponsible though. Hell, all human dangers in this city applied for him. What if he got mugged on the way? Or stumbled upon a drunken group of troublemakers who would hurt him? What if he got hit by a car?

Not to mention Arnie's vulnerability as a human to a wolf leader of a powerful pack branch - any pack could take the opportunity and kidnap him to have leverage over Hector. Arnie was normally watchful and knew how to hide, run, fight back or call for him - but not when he was so out of it.

Acting like a child, truly. What a stupid way to have a tantrum.

Could 18 years old be grounded? Arnie was still a teenager, right? Birthdays were stupid and didn't change someone's maturity anyway.

Hector switched the lights off in the kitchen, heading to his room to sleep as Arnie told him, when a loud moan stopped him in his tracks.

The little bathroom that just had a toilet and a sink was open and alight and he could hear Arnie's erratic breathing.

Yeah, Arnie didn't drink or get out of control or do any of those rebellious teenager stuff. He was too smart and mature for that. No way he would take the alcohol well with his fragile weak human constitution.

Hector wanted to leave him to it. Just desserts for being stupid and worrying the hell out of him for an argument they didn't have to have.

But he heard Arnie spitting into the water and another soft groan echoed against the tiles.

Before Hector made a conscious decision, his legs led him right to small bathroom. He braced against the doorframe.

Arnie was draped over the toilet, all drunken humor gone now. His arms were folded over the rim, cushioning his forehead, face turned towards the water. His legs hugged the porcelain from each side.

"Alcohol's not so fun going up, huh?" Hector gloated.

Arnie burped loudly, sound echoing in the toilet. "Go...go the -buuuurrgg- fuck away." His voice was strained, punctured by another belch.

Hector rolled his eyes, though Arnie didn't see it, face still turned inwards toward the bowl. His shoulders heaved heavily as he breathed in anticipation, sweat clinging to the back of his shirt and neck. His hair wasn't holding at all, too sweaty and greasy, falling into his face. It was long enough to brush against his cheeks and chin.

Hector stepped away to go into the big bathroom, opening Arnie's cupboard. There was the hair tie. Arnie had the weirdest collection of hair accessories and sprays and gels and whatnot.

He returned to the smaller bathroom, crouching down next to Arnie. His position didn't change, only his breathing picked up a little.

Hector gently gathered the hair from both sides of his face to tie it up in a tiny ball at the back of his head.

Arnie winced at the contact, another little moan escaping him.

"Stop fighting it," Hector said with a sigh, leaning back against the wall. The space was small, they were crowded like this in the small quarters.

"Go away," Arnie repeated, voice raspy and small, like he was about to cry. Hector's heart squeezed at the sound, despite how disgusting the situation was.

"Don't tell me what to do," Hector said, planing a hand in the middle of Arnie's back. "Just get it up already. It will happen anyway, better to get rid of it and go to sleep. It's the quickest cure ever."

"How...how would you know? You were never drunk before." Arnie spit some more into the bowl, eyes squeezing shut. He was red in the face, lips pressed tightly together.

"Sure was," Hector said, rubbing little circles into Arnie's sweaty back. "Isaiah made me drink at home when I was 14. Wanted me to know how my shadow would react and what it would feel like to have too much." It was a very educational move in hindsight. Hector drank his weight in wine and then spend the night and better part of the next day heaving over the toilet.

Alcohol was definitely not worth it in his book.

Isaiah sat beside him every damn minute, not complaining once. Making him drink lemon water, so Hector didn't even get a headache.

It pained him to remember that although he appreciated the memory. He could even laugh about it, if it wasn't so bitter.

No one had done the same thing for Arnie. Isaiah wasn't there anymore when Arnie reached that age. Maybe this was Hector's responsibility.

Arnie's breathing grew even faster and he burped, his shoulders tensing under Hector's hand. He nuzzled his head against his crossed hands over the rim, groaning pitifully. "I don't wanna throw up."

"You are too queasy to have a choice," Hector admonished. Jesus, this was taking long. They would be here all night at this pace.

"And you are a stubborn mule," he muttered, lifting his hand away. Instead of the rubbing, he patted Arnie on the upper back. Hard.

Arnie's shoulders hitched and he gagged, a mouthful of liquid hitting the water. He lifted his head a little in shock. "What-"

Hector patted him again and this time Arnie heaved up a bigger wave of yellow liquid. And then it seemed to be set off well.

Arnie groaned with each next wave, whole back arching. His body was too forceful about expelling the poison to let him protest anymore. Each wave was more violent, to the point Hector wondered how many beers he could have fitted in there.

When Arnie heaved for the fifth time, it got smaller again. He breathed heavily, hands gripping the rim of the toilet.

Hector went from patting to rubbing wide circles into his back.

When Arnie lifted his head in a slight break between vomiting he looked terrible. Drool all over his chin, tears streaming down his face and mixing with snot from his nose.

"That's disgusting," Hector said, rolling up some toilet paper to wipe the mess on his chin, before taking another and holding it against Arnie's nose. "Blow."

Arnie listened this time, loudly blowing his nose into the paper.

Hector flushed the toilet, not that it helped much against the pukey smell, even though they let the door open. "How are we doing? Any better?"

Arnie moaned, hands wrapping around his middle, forehead pressing against the rim. "You did that on purpose."

"Yeah, and it helped, so shut up. You feel like you are done?" Hector took some more toilet paper to mop Arnie's sweaty back.

Arnie burped, then scrambled back against the toilet as another gush flew out of his mouth. It was chunkier this time, like he finally reached the food part of his digestive system.

Hector grimaced, gripping one of Arnie's shoulders so he wouldn't smash his head against the toilet with the force of the heaves, while he went to rubbing his back with the other. "Okay, okay. Just get it up. You are okay."

The next round was more like projectile shooting, involuntary and powerful. Arnie just heaved and heaved, vomit more brown than before, tears streaming down his cheeks again, which Hector found the most excruciating part, beside the smell.

It was almost 4 am till Arnie's vomiting tempered off a bit and he leaned against the wall from the side, dozing off from exhaustion when he wasn't gulping down emptily. Hector decided that looked safe enough to change positions.

"Okay, champ. Come on, get up." Hector grabbed him under the armpits to lift him up. Arnie swayed in his hold, leaning against his chest but followed obediently.

Hector manoeuvred his arm around his neck and dragged him out, getting him into the guest bedroom, the closest one to the bathroom.

Arnie curled up on the bed, nuzzling his face and signing his relief at the touch of the mattress.

"Strip out of those clothes. Come on, pipsqueak, help me here."

Arnie just groaned, hands wrapping tightly around his middle, face against he matrass to block out the light.

Hector sighed, grabbing his sweaty shirt and pulling it off, continuing with the pants. He got Arnie's pyjamas from his room and helped him get in before throwing the covers over him, getting the trashcan to the side of his head. Last touch was getting the windows wide open to get some clean fresh air.

Hector settled next to Arnie on his back over the covers in exhaustion, not feeling like changing himself. What a way to spend the New Years.

"The trashcan is right next to you on the nightstand. Don't miss it," he told him.

Arnie squirmed, tugging the covers closer against the cold night air. He squinted his eyes at Hector in the dark, the green shining like a cat's.

"You still angry?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yeah. No. I don't know. Just get some sleep. You will feel better soon."

Arnie said nothing watching him further, a soft airy burp escaping him. He put a hand over his mouth, as if to muffle it.

Hector sighed, lifting himself up on his arms in anticipation to get the trashcan. "If you need to throw up-"

The next sound Arnie made sounded more like a sob though. That made him freeze.

Arnie's shoulders were shaking and he curled on on his side into a ball, tears streaming down his face.

"Hey, hey, hey. None of that. Hey. What's wrong?" Hector felt his voice lowering and softening immediately at the sight, reaching out his hand to plant it on the side of Arnie's face, combing his fingers through the greasy blond hair.

"Pipsqueak, come on. Talk to me. Everything is alright. You are fine, everything's fine. I'm not angry," he said quickly, feeling helpless.

Arnie just shook his head, crying harder, chest shaking with sobs and hiccups.

"Hey. I think you might be a whiny drunk, you know? It's okay. Not your fault. It will go away."

"Why....why can't I-" Arnie hiccuped, face glistening with tears as they run down his chin and dripped down his neck. "Why can't I have you both?"

Hector winced, reminded of the ball of gnarled hurt and anger and confusion he felt whenever Isaiah was mentioned.

It wasn't fair Arnie could forgive so easily. It wasn't fair Isaiah didn't care about him the same way as he did for Arnie. It wasn't fair Hector made it harder for both of them with how he felt.

"You are not losing me, pipsqueak. I'm not going anywhere," he promised in a rough voice, cupping Arnie's nape and tugging him forward against his chest.

Arnie cried and cried, snuggling deep into into his shirt as Hector wrapped his arms around his shaky frame.

They stayed like that until Arnie ran out of tears - most of them covering the front of Hector's shirt - and dozed off, breathing softly, the smell of cheap beer and puke breath still radiating off him like bad perfume.

@bellysoupset

[hadalzonee]

n-ovember day 1 or whatever cuz i wanna do this. ignore the date i forgot i wanted to do this. highly quick and lazy due to my acute alcohol intoxication

[reality-detective]

Let's investigate the 4 chemicals in Palestine Ohio's train derailment and their so-called slow burn operation that our government said was safe.👇

1. VINYL CHLORIDE

A chemical warfare agent in WWII ☠️

Is vinyl chloride harmful to human health?

⚠️Exposure to vinyl chloride may increase a person's risk of developing cancer. Human and animal studies show higher rates of liver, lung and several other types of cancer. Being exposed to vinyl chloride can affect a person's liver, kidney, lung, spleen, nervous system and blood.

How much vinyl chloride cause cancer?

Studies of long-term exposure in animals showed that cancer of the liver and mammary gland may increase at very low levels of vinyl chloride in the air (50 ppm). Lab animals fed low levels of vinyl chloride each day (2 mg/kg/day) during their lifetime had an increased risk of getting liver cancer.

Is vinyl chloride a hazardous waste?

⚠️Vinyl Chloride is hazardous to the environment.

2. ETHYLENE GLYCOL

What is ethylene glycol used in?

DESCRIPTION: Ethylene glycol is a useful industrial compound found in many consumer products. Examples include antifreeze, hydraulic brake fluids, some stamp pad inks, ballpoint pens, solvents, paints, plastics, films, and cosmetics.

How is ethylene glycol harmful to humans?

An overdose of ethylene glycol can damage the brain, lungs, liver, and kidneys. The poisoning causes disturbances in the body's chemistry, including metabolic acidosis (increased acids in the bloodstream and tissues). The disturbances may be severe enough to cause profound shock, organ failure, and death.

How does ethylene glycol affect the brain?

Ethylene glycol (EG) is a toxic alcohol that causes central nervous system depression and multiple metabolic abnormalities including a high anion gap metabolic acidosis (HAGMA), elevated osmolal gap (OG), and acute kidney injury. Few case reports of EG intoxication report brain MRI findings.

Is ethylene glycol a carcinogen?

🚩EPA has not classified ethylene glycol for carcinogenicity. Chronic Effects (Noncancer): The only effects were noted in a study of individuals exposed to low levels of ethylene glycol by inhalation for about a month were throat and upper respiratory tract irritation.

Is ethylene glycol monobutyl ether harmful to humans?

The substance is irritating to the eyes, skin and respiratory tract. The substance may cause effects on the central nervous system, blood, kidneys and liver. A harmful contamination of the air will be reached rather slowly on evaporation of this substance at 20°C.

3. MONOBUTYL ETHER

What is the use of monobutyl ether?

It is used as a solvent in surface coatings in paints; as a coupling agent in metal and household cleaners; as an intermediate in chemical production; and is also found in brake fluids and in printing ink.

Is butyl ether toxic?

⚠️Acute Health Effects☠️

The following acute (short-term) health effects may occur immediately or shortly after exposure to Butyl Ether: * Contact can irritate the skin and eyes. * Repeated or prolonged skin contact may cause rash. Breathing Butyl Ether can irritate the nose and throat causing coughing and wheezing.

Is ether toxic to humans?

⚠️Breathing Diethyl Ether can cause drowsiness, excitement, dizziness, vomiting, irregular breathing, and increased saliva. High exposure can cause unconsciousness and even death.

Is ether a carcinogen?

► Bis(Chloromethyl) Ether is a CARCINOGEN in humans. There may be NO safe level of exposure to a carcinogen, so all contact should be reduced to the lowest possible level.

Combustible. Above 60°C explosive vapour/air mixtures may be formed. NO open flames. Above 60°C use a closed system and ventilation.

4. ETHYLHEXYL ACRYLATE

Is ethylhexyl acrylate toxic?

Like any reactive chemical, 2-Ethylhexyl acrylate can be hazardous if not handled properly. May be harmful if swallowed. Ingestion may cause gastrointestinal irritation or ulceration. Limited dermal contact or vapour concentrations attainable at room temperature are not hazardous on single short duration exposures.

Is Ethylhexyl acrylate copolymer safe?

Although the monomers may be toxic, the levels that would be found in cosmetic formulations are not considered to present a safety risk. Accordingly, these Acrylate Copolymers are considered safe for use in cosmetic formulations when formulated to avoid irritation.

Are acrylates safe?

The International Agency of Research on Cancer as well as the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) have classified acrylates as a possible human carcinogen. Exposure to acrylates has been linked to skin, eye, and throat reactions [1] as well as more serious health consequences such as: Cancer.

Is ethylhexyl harmful for skin?

Ethylhexylglycerin is not safe due to its performance as a contact allergen.

Is ethyl acrylate carcinogenic?

⚠️Cancer Hazard☠️

* Ethyl Acrylate may be a CARCINOGEN in humans since it has been shown to cause stomach cancer in animals.

🚩Spoiler Alert⚠️ It's NOT safe and in fact it is highly toxic☠️

This will affect millions of people and it may flow into the Mississippi river as well. 🤔

[mezmer]

Are there any solid studies on how kratom affects the body?? Everything online either hails it as the safest miracle substance or an evil opiate demon no inbetween.

Great question. I'm aware of this fact, and it has made my life more complicated and stupid than it needs to be. Massive post about kratom. Pls read whole thing so you can share this knowledge with others/use it to your benefit @lovecomesdown

Personally, no, I don't see solid studies very often, but I have peeped a few. Tbh, I'm not a big study guy anyway. I've spent hours and hours engaging in the community, talking to lifelong drinkers and drinking it myself. Here is an excerpt written by a researcher that I think sums up the scientific perspective (or lack thereof) perfectly: 'A growing number of studies, mainly of cross-sectional nature, describe the widespread use of kratom by individuals to self-treat pain, psychiatric symptoms, and substance use disorders (SUD) outside a controlled clinical setting. Preclinical evidence suggests kratom is effective as an analgesic agent and might decrease the self-administration of other drugs. A randomized controlled trial has further supported kratom’s therapeutic value as an analgesic. Investigations in nonclinical samples of long-term kratom users also indicate its therapeutic benefit in managing SUD symptoms (e.g., craving) and long-term or acute symptoms (e.g., withdrawal) for alcohol, opioids, and other illicit drugs. However, episodes of kratom-related intoxications have also been reported, often due to the adulteration and the contamination of kratom products mainly sold online or mixed toxicities when consumed outside clinical and traditional settings.'

I know you said you're interested in studies, and I just don't see them often. As for the latter portion of your message, I can give you some context. I think of myself and most other kratom advocates as having a nuanced perspective because we all want this plant to get to those who need it most, and that is that.

So for me? First of all, I will tell you that kratom is several times safer than opiates. It doesn't send me into a stupor or affect my cognition. Kratom has never caused me to nod off or feel high. I am able to enjoy my life free from the shackles of chronic pain. If I drank all day long, I might feel a little silly in the evening, but it is nothing like weed or alcohol. That is my little anecdote.

Here is another fact I will tell you, that I know to be true without a shadow of doubt. You cannot die from using kratom alone. It might turn you into the equivalent of a pothead or smoker who can't go anywhere without drinking some kratom first, but you will not die. It's a plant, and untreated, it doesn't appear to cause any serious health problems. I have seen studies that looked at liver levels of decade+ long users that show the liver is largely unaffected by Extreme kratom use. I can pull that up for you if you're curious. And more importantly, you cannot die from a kratom overdose. It is Physically Impossible. If you drink even just 10-15 grams of kratom powder, you will vomit it up and feel like crap for a few hours. Kratom can indeed make you nauseous. The LD50 of kratom (meaning you get a 50% chance of dying) turns out to be 50+ kilograms all at once. (one kilo of kratom lasts me over a month as a daily drinker for context) This is impossible. It is like trying to overdose smoking weed. Just isn't going to happen.

Furthermore, I've sat in on an American Kratom Association meeting and they stated that they'd looked at every single autopsy report 'involving kratom'. All of the toxicology reports had other substances, revealing kratom only to be a minimal commodity. There is no recorded death from only consuming kratom, regardless of what retarted shit you might see on the internet.

So why is kratom banned in a few states and countries? I couldn't fucking tell you, lol. It's probably just the same reason minors can't buy cigarettes and alcohol, and why you need a license to buy weed in some states, or places weed is illegal, etc. It got banned because it is HABIT FORMING. Regulators and advocates alike are too lazy or broke to put forward the effort into getting studies out that will make kratom officially medically viable on paper. Honestly, I am okay with that. I have my vendors and I can purchase it as needed. I don't think I would enjoy being prescribed kratom ...

Don't buy kratom from smoke shops, and always go with trustworthy vendors. Since kratom is literally not regulated by the state, there are a few shitty vendors who add things such as tianeptine (which still probably won't kill you) and other gross shit.i actually think this is quite uncommon, considering you can just Google safe kratom vendors and find them. That said, I have drank some rank ass cheap kratom, but it never made me feel high or anything other than kind of shitty. But still, don't do that. Buy from reputable vendors such as Wildcraft herb company (my number one, my great friends), WestKoast botanicals, or DowntoEarth botanicals. They lab test and will talk to you about where they source their leaf from directly. This is more than you'll get out of most food companies you probably buy snacks from, anyhow. Good luck asking your milk company what city they keep their cows in for that batch, or asking nestle to send a lab report of their cookies or whatever shit. Kratom vendors can be very wonderful people

I am a recovered fentanyl addict and I know in my heart that kratom is safer for each and every addict and chronic pain patient. It can't hurt to try it if you fit these descriptions.

That said, if you are not a chronic pain patient or a hardcore opiate addict, I wouldn't recommend trying it because there is a fair chance you'll find yourself dependent on kratom. It's very easy to do actually! Kratom does dance around in your opioid receptors. Kratom is so interesting in the way that it does this, though. Unless you get a really strong batch or take way too much, you aren't going to nod off, which is the prime characteristic of opiate use. You also don't feel that wave of cumshot ecstasy for hours like you would with an opiate. If you've tried kratom, I needn't explain, then. Not much to explain otherwise because it really isn't that intense of a feeling. It's like if Tylenol were actually good; it's like if you could take medications that actually treat chronic pain and be a responsible parent at the same time.

I'm apart of kratom communities outside of tumblr, I am friends with kratom vendors and bigtime advocates. I communicate with members of the American Kratom Association, and I am even in a facebook group for mothers who had consumed or are consuming kratom during pregnancy. If you want more info on that, I can tell you everything, but I don't see any need to include it here. Long story short, kratom is very unlikely to harm a child who is exposed to it in utero. Ideally, if you are a recovering addict who wants to stay clean using kratom while pregnant, you'd want to not buy the sketchiest shit possible, lol.

If you take a LOT, babies exposed to kratom in utero get WD symptoms, because people can too. That is why Kratom is habit forming. It can cause some discomfort when trying to come off of it. Quitting kratom is like quitting cigs no matter what "r/quittingkratom" tells you. As I said, unless you think kratom fits your needs as an addict or a chronic pain sufferer, or perhaps somebody with severe anxiety even (kratom does help that), I would not dip your toes in the water because kratom's benefits wouldn't be what you are looking for.

Hmm... I can't think of much else. I hope this post helped you and you can ask me any questions you want

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( This fight is a collaboration between PoisonedMartini and Goofyfanaticus. Art and the character of Bryan is PoisonedMartini. Story and the character of Connor is Goofyfanaticus ))

Bryan’s leg hovered in the air like a serpent, coiled and ready to strike the final blow. The crowd, which had briefly quieted during the brutal back-and-forth, erupted once again in frenzied anticipation. Every eye was locked on the fighters, the energy crackling through the air as they realized the end of this savage bout was imminent. Connor teetered on the edge of consciousness, barely able to stand, while Bryan stood tall, exuding an air of total dominance. The spectators, some drunk on alcohol but nearly all intoxicated by the violence they had witnessed, began to chant Bryan’s name. Their voices merged into a deafening roar, a chorus demanding blood. They craved an ending worthy of the punishment dealt—a fight where every strike, every gasp of pain, had brought them to this climactic moment.

Amid the crowd, Shawn lowered his head, his thoughts heavy. He had known these fights were intense by reputation and from the videos shared on scrap, but the raw ferocity was beyond what he had expected. He had believed Connor was more than ready for this challenge, but his opponent, Bryan, had completely outclassed him. Connor wouldn’t be joining The Pack today. Now the question was how Connor would react when all was said and done. Would he rise from this defeat, determined to grow stronger, or would he quit? Shawn had seen both outcomes in cubs who faced their trials. Most stuck it out, fueled by a burning desire to succeed, but a few gave up after their first major loss, unable to cope with failure. As Shawn pondered this, he recalled the arguments he had made for this exact new type of trial—a guaranteed loss to test the cub’s resolve. Ethan, The Alpha, had disagreed, preferring to let the cubs prove themselves and not trick them. Shawn’s gaze returned to Connor, who was wavering on his feet, seconds away from being laid out on the sand. Was this the lesson Connor needed? A hard confrontation with failure? No, Shawn knew enough of Connor’s background to understand that the young fighter had already known loss and hardship. Shawn now hoped that this wouldn’t break him.

Bryan, meanwhile, was acutely aware of the crowd’s expectations. Their collective hunger for a decisive, spectacular finish surged through him like adrenaline, and he was more than happy to deliver. A grin spread across his face as he milked the moment, allowing the tension to build with every second his leg stayed suspended. He could feel the crowd’s eyes on him, could almost taste their anticipation as they waited for him to end the fight with the same precision and brutality that had defined his performance so far. Bryan relished in the power he held over them and his opponent, savoring every second.

"CRACK!"

[musical-shit-show]

showed up just in time

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Reader

Inspiration: Prompts #12 (“don’t move, i’ll be right there.”), #35 (“i’d be lying if i said i didn’t miss you.”) and #82 (“you’re really warm. it’s nice.”) from Prompt List 2 with a little bit of “Afterglow” and “This Love” by Taylor Swift in there somewhere

Warnings: alcohol consumption, drunkenness, vomiting (sorry), mild angst, cursing, reader is a ball of anxiety, fluff at the end

Word Count: 3,550

Author’s Note: This took me a LONG time but I’m so glad that I’m writing for Dewey again. I know it’s not as popular as my BJ one shots (and don’t worry, I will be continuing to write those as well to fill the sandworm-sized hole in my heart after the Broadway production closes) but I think it’s important to give Dewey a little bit of love every once and a while. As always, if you like these kinds of fics, please like/comment/reblog and check out my Masterlist, About Me page, and Prompt Lists if you want to submit a request! Thanks to everyone who has interacted with my posts so far; it really does mean a lot. Happy reading and Merry Christmas!

Don’t call him.

Do not call him.

Under no circumstances should you be calling him.

Your alcohol-addled brain managed to scream at you as your eyes flickered over your ex’s contact photo. You knew it wasn’t the smartest decision, but what other choice did you have?

The phrase ‘absolutely shit-faced’ rang in your head. Despite the prep work—eating a sizable meal beforehand, drinking water, strictly adhering to the liquor before beer rule—the world around you was tipping on its axis, the ground feeling more precarious with each passing second.

Maybe it was the lemon drop shots. It was always the lemon drop shots.

To make matters worse, you’d barely know where you were sober, let alone when you were on the verge of a blackout. Your friends, who were even drunker than you were at that point, had lost you somewhere along the way on your yearly holiday bar crawl. It wasn’t exactly their fault; the group was incredibly intoxicated, and you tended to wander.

You wouldn’t have been in this predicament if you and Dewey hadn’t broken up only weeks before. More accurately, you wouldn’t have been in this predicament if you hadn’t broken up with him when your brain decided to concoct a delightful cocktail of abandonment issues and anxiety. That was always your M.O. in relationships; duck and run before you could get your heart broken.

But it was cold. And dark. And in your impaired state of mind, you had no one else to turn to.

So, there you were, standing on a deserted sidewalk, in the frigid air, calling the last person in the whole city who wanted to see or hear from you.

After three agonizing rings, a hesitant voice answered.

“Did, uh, you mean to call me?”

“Dew,” you breathed, “Thank god. Uh—I need you. I mean, I’m out and lost and I just—”

“You’re drunk.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but was instead tinged with concern. 

You sighed heavily, leaning up against the brick wall of the convenience store that inhabited the street corner where you stood. You tried desperately to steady your breathing as a wave of nausea approached.

“Yes. I am,” you said, trying your best to not to sound too wasted, “And I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t serious. But I’m by myself and fucked up and don’t have my fucking keys—”

“Don’t move, I’ll be right there.” Three beeps and the call ended abruptly. The thought of him actually coming to get you snapped you back into semi-coherence. You suddenly became acutely aware of your skimpy dress, disheveled hair, smudged makeup.

You looked like a fucking wreck.

Like lightning, you whipped open your camera app and frantically smoothed down your strands and smeared your eyeliner off with a few swipes of a finger. More presentable, but only slightly so. If your phone call wasn’t enough of an indication, your appearance would certainly let Dewey know that you were sloshed.

Even more jarring was the fact that time was now slowing. Your drinks were finally catching up to you as you felt a throbbing in your right temple. Luckily, you didn’t have much time to think about how drunk you were, because a familiar screech of tires made you blink your eyes open to see a mess of wavy brown hair poking out the window.

“Get in,” Dewey said urgently, surveying your immediate surroundings, “Please.” Without a word, you scurried behind the back of his van—which was somehow still miraculously running despite being at least two decades old—and got into the passenger seat.

You sat in a tense silence, the liquor still churning in your stomach as he slowed the vehicle to a stop at a red light. His fingers tapped frantically, rhythmically on the steering wheel.

“Thank you,” you breathed awkwardly, unsure of exactly what to say. Luckily, Dewey had plenty on his mind.

“Are you crazy?” he asked incredulously, exasperated as the light changed from red to green. He stepped on the gas pedal lightly despite his disgruntled demeanor, “You’re lucky some creep didn’t try to harass you or worse. And where are your friends? Or are you making a habit of going out by yourself these days?”

His words were harsh, but you could tell his nerves were rattled. You knew something like this would happen, but you didn’t really have any other option. Dewey was always protective of you, even with his reputation of being somewhat unreliable.

You blinked at him stupidly and sat back into the worn leather seat. “How did you know where I was?” you asked, completely ignoring his line of inquiry with your own, less imperative one. Dewey couldn’t help but let out a cautious chuckle.

“You uh, never stopped sharing your location with me,” he said sheepishly, “I guess it came in handy tonight, huh?” You nodded silently, your heart pounding in your chest. Pathetic didn’t even begin to describe how you felt. “You didn’t answer my questions.”

A heavy exhale left your throat dryly, fogging up the passenger side window, “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does fucking matter if you’re getting trashed alone at weird bars. I’m—I’d be worried about you.”

Crossing your arms like a petulant child, you couldn’t bear to look at Dewey. Since when was he the responsible one and you were the hot mess? “I didn’t go alone,” you muttered quietly, “I was with my friends, we all got hammered, and I wandered off.”

“God, I hate your friends sometimes,” he said with another dry laugh, “They should know to keep you on a leash whenever you drink.”

“Hey!” you punched him lightly in the arm as he turned onto his street, “You can’t be mean to me, I’m drunk.” Dewey shifted the van into park and unbuckled himself with a flourish.

“I can definitely be a little mean to you, seeing as you made me drive out in the freezing cold to get your plastered ass.” In a flash, he was opening the door and helping you out onto the pavement. You were finally getting your bearings when your heel caught the edge of the sidewalk and making you trip. Right into Dewey’s arms.

You looked him up and down, a sheepish smile on your face as he propped you back upright, “You’re really warm,” you remarked dumbly, his body heat radiating off of him as he hooked his arm around your waist to keep you from falling again, “It’s nice.”

“Jesus Christ, kid, you are drunk.”

Kid.

Maybe it was a reflex, but that single pet name made your stomach do a somersault, lemon drops be damned. As you neared his door, though, you felt your throat tighten, and it wasn’t due to your ex’s arm wrapped firmly around your body.

The alcohol was finally fighting back, and you knew you were vastly outmatched. “Uh, not to be that person, but…” You were choking out your words as Dewey swung his front door open, “I need to throw up. Like, now.”

He raised his eyebrows but his expression remained unsurprised. “Alright, superstar. Let’s go,” he walked you to the bathroom as quickly as he could without upsetting your stomach even more. He took one glance at your face, which had quickly turned a pallid green color.

Dewey couldn’t help but laugh at this situation. When the two of you were together, it was you who would take care of him nearly every time he’d have one too many at the Roadhouse. Having the tables turn like this, when you were broken up no less, made him feel like he was in an alternate universe.

As soon as you laid eyes on the door, you rushed into Dewey’s bathroom and slammed it shut. Your last three drinks emptied into the toilet bowl, the acid from your stomach burning your throat. The bitter taste made you gag even more, and in a few moments, your stomach felt void of all contents.

Hot tears of embarrassment fell onto the tile as you leaned up against the door. The cold floor was almost soothing as heat radiated throughout your body, but it did nothing to quell your distress. You jolted at the sound of a light knock behind you.

“Hey, you okay?” Dewey asked softly.

“Oh, just peachy.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. Want me to hold your hair back?” You could hear his smirk through the door. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself.

“Not to be gross, but, uh, there’s not much left,” you said queasily, “It’s the sewer system’s problem now.” You heard him let out a small laugh himself, which caused your throat to grow even drier. “I’ll be out in a sec, just gotta’ freshen up. Thank you, though. Again.”

A beat passed, but you knew he was still at the door. You clawed at the skin around your fingernails, a favorite nervous habit of yours. “Don’t mention it,” he said finally, “But you so owe me one.”

***

After some soap and water, a decent amount of mouthwash, and swiping a t-shirt and pajama pants that you had unfortunately left behind only weeks earlier, you exited ready to face the shame of barfing in your ex’s bathroom after one (or four) too many.

“I see you finally finished hanging your collection,” you said, gingerly sitting down on his couch. With his new tutoring gig, Dewey was able to afford a few more guitars, which were now prominently displayed on the wall. He emerged from the kitchen, a tall glass of water in one hand and two Advil in the other.

He sat down next to you, making a point to refrain from any physical contact, “Well, I’ve had some free time.” That stung. And Dewey knew it. Both of you wore your heart on your sleeve, which meant you could read each other extremely well. “Sorry.”

You shook your head, “No, uh, that’s…that’s warranted.” He handed you the pills and the water, and you couldn’t help but smile. “My savior.” Dewey let another smirk creep onto his face.

“Sorry, but could you just say that one more time, for the record?” he asked as he whipped out his phone, “I need some audio proof of that little nugget of gratitude.” You barked out a laugh and shoved his arm away from you. He smiled back at you, but you could so clearly see the sadness filling his eyes. “Uh, you sure you’re feeling alright? Sounded pretty gnarly in there for a while.”

Your face reddened again, but the look of genuine concern on Dewey’s face made your pulse slow. “Yeah,” you choked out, “I mean, I still feel a little woozy, but ten times better than before, I swear.” You threw the aspirin into your mouth and gulped down the majority of the water. “But just know, if you ever tell anyone about tonight, I will have to kill you.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” he crossed two fingers over his heart in mock reverence, “Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a Boy Scout,” you deadpanned.

“Not in practice,” he dropped his regality and tucked his arms across his chest, “But I just know I could’ve crushed those nerds in knot tying.”

Even though you couldn’t stifle your laughter at his corniness, it was almost unbearable trying to bring yourself to look at him for more a few seconds. “So…how are the kids?” The best course of action was to change the subject. Dewey smiled softly and sat down next to you, making sure to leave a considerable distance.

“They’re, uh, good.” Now it was his turn to not meet your eye. “Little shitheads, but they somehow manage to blow me away a little more every day.” Your heart squeezed in your chest every time he mentioned the Horace Green kids. They all idolized him of course, and he adored them in return. “Need anything else? Another blanket? Glass of water? Maybe another round of tequila?”

You shuddered at the thought. “Absolutely not, Dew,” you giggled, despite your head still pounding. A pit formed in your stomach despite his lightheartedness; he was being so sweet after you had been so shitty. “I’m sorry. Again. I just, I don’t know when I became such a fucking trainwreck.”

Dewey sighed and grabbed a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch and placed it on your shoulders. “You’re not a fucking trainwreck. Everyone has bad nights. I just can’t believe you called me of all people. Pretty sure Ned still wouldn’t trust me to pick him up when he was wasted.”

“Well, he should,” you muttered softly, heartache radiating through your entire body, “You’re a good person, Dewey. A great person. I’m just, I’m sorry that—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cut you off, “We don’t have to. I mean, it’s okay. I understand.” He took your palm gently into his, absentmindedly rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. The small act of gentleness almost made you uncontrollably sob.

And as time passed, you found it was becoming harder and harder to blame the alcohol for your actions. Your harrowing experience in the bathroom meant you were only sobering up faster, and you couldn’t stop yourself from spilling your guts to Dewey. Metaphorically, this time.

“No, I—I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you, Dew,” you voice trembled as you finally met his gaze, which was partially hidden behind his mess of wavy brown hair. You couldn’t bear to look at his sad puppy dog eyes for long and involuntarily shrunk in on yourself, pulling his blanket closer to your chest. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You felt a few hot tears fall from your eyes, and quickly wiped them away regretfully. This whole night was like a long, agonizing parade of humiliation, and Dewey had a front row seat. And the worst part was, you were the one who had invited him to the shitshow.

Dewey closed the distance between you, his hand still grasping yours. You were now shoulder to shoulder, his stocky frame comforting you despite your discomfort. “Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow? I think we’d both agree you need some rest.” You nodded, like a sleepy child finally agreeing to an afternoon nap.

You rested your head on one of the throw pillows, the fleece feeling plush against your cheek. Dewey teetered on the balls of his feet for a moment, running a damp palm through his messy hair. You were already starting to drift off, your eyelids heavy with sleep. The final phase of a drunken stupor always seemed to result in you knocking out fairly quickly.

After quietly tidying up, he couldn’t help but smile at how fast you had drifted off to sleep as you laid peacefully on his sofa. Gently, he placed a light kiss on your forehead. You didn’t stir. Dewey’s affection for you still felt like second nature, even while you dreamt.

He missed you. He never stopped missing you, loving you, but it wasn’t his place to take you at your word when you weren’t sober.

No matter how much he wanted to believe you meant what you said, he couldn’t bear to have his heart broken again.

***

The sun was your mortal enemy. Every ray that peaked through Dewey’s curtains pierced you like a knife to the chest. You groaned angrily, grabbing one of the surprisingly soft pillows from behind your head and pulling it over your face. Maybe you would suffocate and save yourself from the indignity of the previous evening.

“Ah, I forgot how much of a morning person you were,” Dewey drawled dryly from the kitchen. You removed the pillow and sat up. He was sitting peacefully in his flannel pajama pants and Iron Maiden t-shirt. You remembered picking that shirt out for him at the thrift store.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, the aroma of coffee wafted towards you as Dewey sat on the couch with a mug in hand. “Like you’re one to talk,” you replied, still squinting, “I distinctly remember someone saying waking up before noon was ‘early’ in your book.”

“People change,” he shrugged. You muttered an unenthused “Yeah,” as you pulled the blanket towards your chest. You wished you were a magician so you could throw it over your head and disappear. “Here,” he held the mug in your direction, “splash of cream, one sugar.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, which had become chapped overnight. You hadn’t been nervous in front of Dewey since before you started dating, and now you could barely look at him. “Thanks,” you took it from him, your fingers brushing against his as you grabbed the handle. You instantly felt your heart flutter.  

“I was a total idiot last night, wasn’t I?” You set the coffee down and threw your head into your hands. You did always have a flair for the dramatic. It’s one of the first things you and Dewey bonded over.

He nodded, “Oh yeah,” he winced, “How much do you remember?”

Your mind instantly flashed to an image of your body crouched over Dewey Finn’s toilet bowl.

“Enough.”

“So, you don’t remember sucker punching that chick who was flirting with me when I picked you up?”

“I did what?!” You knew you could get feisty when you drank, but you had zero recollection of talking to anyone when you left the bar, let alone fighting some random girl. Before you could ask any follow ups, Dewey burst into a fit of laughter, throwing his head back effortlessly. You blinked at him before narrowing your eyes in suspicion. “You little shit.”

“What, is it my fault that you’re so goddamn gullible?” he choked out between cackles. You stewed unconvincingly before cracking a smile. Rubbing a stray tear from his eye, he cleared his throat, “Or maybe it’s believable that you’d still fight for little ol’ me?”

You dug your fingernails into your palms, which had already begun to sweat. Dewey knew exactly what he was doing with that one. He always made it seem like he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but you knew he was much smarter than people gave him credit for. More perceptive, too. Which meant he could read you like the newest copy of Rolling Stone.

Now it was you who was shedding tears yet again. “Whoa hey, hey,” he said, immediately noticing your eyes glazing over, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have joked about that.” He inched closer to you, but you turned away, still guilt-sick from the events of the past 12 hours.

“No, Dew, the thing is…you’re right,” you said with a sniff, a tremor overtaking your voice, “I would’ve. I would’ve fought for you. I should’ve. But I was fighting against myself. And we all know what a losing battle that can be.”

Dewey shifted on the couch restlessly, hesitant to try and console you; no matter how much he wanted to grab your hand, tell you it was alright, that you could work it out, he knew that he needed to hear you out first.

“I meant what I said last night,” you murmured, finally able to meet his gaze, “I miss you. A lot. I think about you all the time, and I feel like such a fucking idiot for ending things between us, because, well. Because I love you. I still love you.”

Dewey usually had a comeback or snarky remark ready to go, but not now. He was completely speechless. For a long moment, at least. You watched as a relieved smile spread across his face, unable to contain the joy he was feeling at the thought of getting back together.

“Oh, baby, I love you too,” he said, finally wrapping his arms around your torso. You could smell his body wash, earthy and clean and comforting, “You drive me absolutely insane, and don’t ever think about leaving a bar by yourself again, but I missed you so goddamn much.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, and for the first time in weeks, your body relaxed.

Throwing your arms around his neck, you played with the unruly waves that fell at the base of his neck as you deepened the kiss. “Whoa, easy there, killer,” he smiled, his lips grazing your cheek, “You better sleep off the rest of this hangover. And since I’m so generous, I’ll let you sleep in my bed.”

You couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow, “What’ll it cost me?” Dewey smirked; you knew him all too well.

“Dinner. You’re paying, obviously.”

“Fair.”

“And drinks.”

“Okay.” He was really milking this for all it was worth.

“And of course, makeup sex is always a must in these situations.”

You gave him one final playful shake of the head before pouncing on him, showering him with affection. Even though you were messing around, you felt your heart swell; no matter what happened, no matter how many times your fear of losing him reared its ugly head, you would choose this. This was real, here, now, and important. This was your love for Dewey, and you’d do everything in your power to keep it this time.

***

Thanks everyone for reading! Please comment/like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[novankenn]

2am (Chp 8)

--== Table of Contents ==--

A/N - MATURE CONTENT & TRIGGER WARNING. Contains depictions/descriptions to the over the indulgence of alcohol, sexual acts and implied cheating. Skip this chapter if these are uncomfortable topics for you. 

This is NOT intended as smut or erotica, so if you're looking for that... go somewhere else.

/=====/

Yang knew the look on Pyrrha’s face after Jaune and Az left, and she stepped in immediately. Placing her hand on Pyrrha’s shoulder, she gave it a soft squeeze.

“Don’t Pyr.” Yang spoke softly, but loud enough for Pyrrha to hear her clearly. “You’ve gotten so far, don’t mess it up now.”

“I… I… wasn’t.” Pyrrha lied with practiced ease, but it didn’t fool Yang.

“Pyrrha, I’ve been around you long enough to know your looks, and right now you are just about to fall off the wagon.” Yang gave her shoulder another squeeze. “This is an opportunity to reconnect…”

“But… Jaune…”

“Think about Az… she’s more important right now. Do it for yourself, and for her.”

“You’re… you’re right.”

“Good. Let’s get you home.”

/=/

Pyrrha thanks to Yang resisted the urge to drink, and was soon home, fighting the urge to cry as she lay on her bed. Ever since she started the process of drying out, she had moved back in with her mother… at her mother’s insurance. A precautionary measure, her mother called it. The move helped, it kept much of the crowd that had been leeching off Pyrrha’s money away, and a change of her scroll number, and social network contact addresses remove the remainder.

Pyrrha was emotional exhausted and slowly drifted off, into a less than restful slumber.

She groaned, her drunken stupor easing the pain of entry. She felt the soft fur of a flexible tail wrap about her throat, gently restricting her breath… then she felt the second insertion, and moaned at the feeling of being so stuffed full.

“Oh fuck!” one of her partners groaned, his own voice slurred, indicating his own level of extreme intoxication.

“I’ve dreamed of plowing this pussy ever since I saw you.” her other partner moaned, again in a voice that told the tale of utter intoxication.

“They fuck it, fuck hard, fuck it deep!” Pyrrha moaned out as she felt them both start to thrust. It was rough at first, but soon they found a steady alternating rhythm driving acutely drunken Pyrrha rapidly towards sexual release.

The tail about her throat tightened, restricting her breath even further, as a pair of rough hands mauled her tits, and a second pair pawed at her plump ass. Alcohol did many things, and the overconsumption exacerbated those traits further. It numbed commonsense, lower inhibitions, and ruined self-control.

Pyrrha choked out a moan, as her body was used, a moan that grew louder as she felt them release unprotected inside her… seconds part. The trio then blacked out, becoming totally ignorant of the world around them.

Pyrrha woke with a start, her heart crashing against her ribs, tears spilling from her eyes and her breath coming in pained gasps. She had no idea why she was suddenly reliving that incident from the night of her graduation from Beacon. Shame, regret and pain steam rolled over her… and made her want something to chase that memory, and these feelings, away. Pyrrha wanted to get drunk or high… she wanted to numb herself against the world.

/=====/

A/N - This chapter was ROUGH to do (for personal reasons as well as creative)... it's not happy or wholesome, and shows a darkness to Pyrrha's impulsive actions. I am/was EXTREMELY hesitant to post this... and I'm concerned that this chapter will turn people off this story. I MUST underline this fact... this was written with the intention to illustrate how destructive Pyrrha's use of alcohol was/is, as that is a corner stone to the struggles she is going through.

[thatgirlwithasquid]

Harringrove Flip Reverse It - Stargazing

(Read it on AO3: here)

Stargazing | Bittersweet | Angst | Memories | Reminiscing

Words: 1,004

--=--

“I dunno, Harrington,” Billy huffed from beside him, where Steve sprawled on his back on the floor. He can practically still hear the rumbling of their car engines, long since switched off, can practically taste the hints of Billy’s exhaustion and intoxication, the things that had slurred his speech around the edges, in the tang of alcohol lingering on his own tongue. “Think this is still pretty stupid.”

“Awh, come on, Billy,” he’d pouted. “It’s fun.”

Billy’s non-committal hum, as always, had made him roll his eyes. It didn’t matter, then, that Steve secretly loved that sound; it always meant that Billy was trying to humour him. The guy was shit at it, sure, but he didn’t just tell Steve to shut up or straight up plant him on his ass when he was talking pure nonsense. At least, he didn’t all the time.

The quirk of his smile is as amused as it is bone-deep exhausted.

He had glanced at Billy then, all blonde curls fanning out on the gravel around his head, haloing in gold that shone with strands of silver in the glow of the starlight. The blue eyes that turned to meet his own were light and teasing in a way that made his breath catch, every time. Steve’d had to turn away at that, throat working as he looked back to the stars like they could’ve held the answer to this overwhelming warmth in his chest.

“Well, if this isn’t good enough for his highness, the new King of Hawkins High, then maybe–”

“You’d better finish that with a suggestion that we do something more exciting–” Steve had been able to practically hear the waggling of the guys eyebrows, almost still could, at that. Who’d have known what a dork Hargrove was? “--or else I’ll reconsider this truce we have going here.”

“You’d call this a truce?” Steve had laughed. 

Billy, it turned out, had been pretty damn funny when not being a total dick; and maybe he’d never been a total dick but it was hard for Steve to admit it, then, when this was still new and fragile, and it felt like the other Billy – who paraded around at school – could bring it all crashing down. Steve can now say that he knows what a dick he was to cling to the ability to blame this on Billy rather than himself – again. 

“Dude,” he’d continued, “I just had my hand down your ridiculously tight jeans yesterday. I think that’s more than a truce.”

“So what’s that make it then, Harrington? Allies with benefits?”

“Quit calling me that and maybe that’ll make us boyfriends,” he’d said without a thought, eyes still flickering over the stars above them.

Billy’s silence had been the thing that made him realise he’d said that out loud rather than in his head. Shit. Even thinking about it now makes his face flame in that patchy flush that Billy would always watch with more wonder than Steve thought it deserved. That had not been something meant to come out of his mouth – maybe that thought would have been fine as part of his private rants to himself in the emptiness of his own home, but never to the guy himself.

“Maybe it would,” Billy agreed before Steve had let his thoughts spiral too badly. “Not that I can see why you’d want it to be.”

Steve’s hand twitches in the nothing between them, fingers digging into the gravel he feels so acutely pressing into his back.

“You’re surprisingly sweet. And funny. And you actually care for Max even if you pretend you don’t. And have you seen yourself? You’re gorgeous. And so smart, I didn’t think it was possible to be so fit and still be a secret nerd but somehow you manage it.”

Face burning bright enough to rival all the stars above them, Steve had taken a trembling breath.

“Plus, I’ve been calling you Billy for months now. I’ve been there for a while.”

Silence. Nothing but the breeze in the trees around them, cooling the heat of Steve’s face. The water of the quarry laps silently at the edges of its shore; the moon observed them with lips gently sealed. Steve’s breath trembles again.

Finally, Billy had hummed. That time, it wasn’t to dismiss Steve’s pitiful attempts at defending stargazing – it was thoughtful, accepting.

“You gonna grab us another beer then, Steve?”

When Steve turns his head, all he is greeted with is silence and a stretching expanse of stone and trees. Gravel scratches at his face, imbedding itself into his skin. No matter how many times he comes here, staring up at the sky like it might have the answers to that aching maw within him, it never does. The stars and moon just sit there, staring down at him as impassively as ever. Their lips tightly sealed.

Now that he’s gone, stargazing brings no comfort or peace. Those flickering lights just serve as a reminder of the warmth that the darkness had swallowed whole, the flame extinguished by grief.

Stones crunch underfoot as he pushes himself to his feet, forces himself over to the door of his car. Just his car. Billy’s used to sit in the Hargrove-Mayfield’s driveway until Neil finally sold it, scrapped it, whatever he decided to do. It’s only his here, now. 

The beers are lukewarm in his hands, glass dull in the low light. When Steve sits back down in his spot, he places one down beside him, the base digging a divot into the loose ground to hold it upright. If Steve closes his eyes he can almost imagine familiar hands curled around the neck of it, an echo of a voice bitching about how the drinks always warmed in the late hours they sat around here. 

Steve uncaps his and throws back another swig, eyes resolutely staring to the nothing above him rather than the nothing by his side.

“Think you were right, Billy,” he murmurs to no one. “Stargazing’s pretty stupid.”