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gutsby · 5 months ago

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If You Like Piña Coladas

Pairing: Neighbor!Joel x Reader

Summary: You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Foodplay (i.e., Joel fucks you with a fruit popsicle). Girthy, unspecified age gap. Mentions of blood.

Note: Loosely inspired by ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’ by Rupert Holmes…minus the part about mutual infidelity LOL

Word count: 8.0k

Joel Miller had been on his own for too long.

The least you could get him was a date. Or even just laid.

Likes: Long walks on the beach

Actually…he hadn’t seen a coastline in ten years, at least. You backspaced slowly and then lowered Joel’s phone.

What did that old grump like to do, anyway?

In all the years you’d been living next door to Mr. Miller, you hadn’t seen him take pleasure in much of anything besides mowing his lawn, rolling his eyes, and screaming like a fiend alongside your dad at whatever game was on.

Likes: College football. Quality time with friends :-)

Nope. Corny as fuck. Backbackbackback.

You wiggled your thumbs over the keyboard in muted concentration. You knew you didn’t have much longer. Joel was currently engrossed in one of the three things he loved most—mowing long, careful rows through his backyard—and you were supposed to be watching the season finale of the Mandalorian while he did. That had been the pretext of your visit, anyway. It’d been a little over an hour since he’d stepped outside and a little under thirty since you’d let your curiosity get the better of you and seized his phone, so you figured he’d be back soon.

You had to think of something witty, and do it quick.

Feeling inspiration strike a second later, you typed:

Likes: Piña Coladas. Getting caught in the rain. Making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape.

Perfect. Easy. Everybody loved that song in the ‘70s.

Having thus put the finishing touch on Joel’s profile, you leaned back and let out a contented sigh. You scrolled. Flicked through photo after photo of your very own hand-picked selection and smiled, feeling proud.

You’d started him off strong and suave with a picture from Tommy’s wedding, wearing a tux that fit him well. Then a cool, casual snap of him at a brewery. A photo taken out on the lake, life jacket snug and showing off a sliver of his broad, bare chest. Then a picture of him at your graduation—you made sure to crop yourself out—followed by a candid shot of him playing dress-up with his niece. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that all the yet-unknown, lovely folks of Hinge would eat this shit up.

You set the radius to 100 miles. Beefed up the age range and gender preferences to include virtually every living soul over 30, tweaked a few more prompts to be cooler, then scrolled through his newly-minted profile. Again.

Oh, and— shit, wait.

Quickly, you toggled to the phone’s settings and disabled all notifications for Hinge. Then you grabbed the app and wrestled it somewhere deep within all the utilities ones that no one ever used. This had to stay hidden for now.

And, just as you stretched your thumb to make a couple last changes to his page, the back door thundered open.

Joel stumbled in, half-hunched. Rubbing his face with a towel and treading slow, heavy steps through the living room. With your heart about to burst from your throat and your impulses blown to shit, you panicked and crammed his phone in your shorts—like, in them.

Joel’s phone was just then settling above the groove of your ass when the man collapsed on the loveseat across the room. Instinctively, you drew your legs to your chest as Joel groaned and pulled the towel away from his face.

“The beast is at it again,” he declared, expression grim.

Before you could ask who ‘beast’ might be, he clarified:

“Marlene’s shit-for-brains labradoodle won’t quit diggin’ holes under my fence. Whole thing’s gonna fall if he—”

You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to tune out the rest of what he said; your butt squirmed against the sofa as your neighbor’s phone traveled perilously down and took partial lodging between your cheeks. Then stuck.

There was no way you were getting caught like this. One stray phone call or text and you would have the world’s most jarring ringtone buzzing straight up your ass. And a very uncomfortable conversation with Joel, to be sure.

So, while he droned on about the chaos being wrought by the paws of old Sparky, you nodded to the window.

“Aw shit, Mr. Miller…did he just…dig up another?” You feigned surprise as you stared over Joel’s shoulder at a hole that didn’t even exist. Then, when he’d jumped to his feet and growled ‘No fuuuuuckin’ shot’ as he made his way over to the window, you acted fast and pulled the phone out of your ass and stuck the old, cracked thing on top of the coffee table where it’d been last and stood.

Before he could see—or say—anything else, you seized your own phone and made a swift beeline for the door.

Shouting over your shoulder, probably sounding like a fucking lunatic but not particularly caring either way:

“DAD’SCALLINGMEGOTTAGOMISTERMILLERBYE.”

And you left. You had no desire to explain your baseless, bullshit observation or why his phone was currently covered in a thin sheen of sweat from your butt.

You’d never seen so many roses in your life.

Joel Miller could legitimately give the whole Bachelor franchise a run for its money with all the goddamn virtual flowers he’d been getting from his Hinge admirers.

It’d been a week before you’d finally gotten the chance to abduct his phone again and check his ‘likes’ for yourself. Honestly, you hadn’t been expecting much—Joel was hot, but more so in a niche-ish sort of DILF-sexy way. You figured he’d be more of an acquired taste, really.

Once you’d scrolled through just over a hundred different messages, you realized at once how wrong you were.

‘GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.’

‘Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry, I mean, Daddy?’

‘Need you in a way that is concerning to feminism.’

‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.’

And that was truly just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the wild, chaotic, and horny messages Joel had received over the last week. You couldn’t believe it.

You got to firing off responses as fast as you could. Sitting cross-legged on the back porch while your dad, Joel, Tommy, and a dozen other neighbors were busy grilling burgers and soaking up as much sun as possible.

The only other person who hadn’t joined them was Tess.

She peered over your shoulder and fought back a laugh.

“That man is a fuckin’ menace to society, I swear.”

“No, we’re a menace to society. All about team effort,” you corrected her as you typed up a lightning-quick ‘Hey ;-)’ to each message, fingers moving fast.

“He doesn’t even know you’re doing this!”

“He will soon enough,” you mumbled. Grinning. Then, “Mission’s not over until that old man gets his dick wet.”

You’d probably made it through seventy or so replies and got to go back-and-forth with a couple hot prospects by the time you heard footsteps trailing up the steps—heavy ones that you instantly recognized as Joel’s. Without another word, you exited the app, turned the phone off, and chucked it to Tess, who placed it discreetly onto the porch railing where Joel had left it.

That phone really should have had a passcode on it.

Two weeks later, it did.

You saw it as soon as you’d slid your thumb up the screen in the comfort of Joel’s living room—over at his place pretending to be watching your Star Wars spin-off again—and you felt your heart jump up in your throat.

Your passcode is required to enable Face ID.

Since when the fuck did your neighbor have a passcode? Or even know how to make Face ID a thing? Or use it?

These questions and a dozen more were thrumming through your skull when you heard the screech of the back door once again. This time, instead of taking his sweet time on his yard work, Joel had only been gone five minutes. You swallowed a scream and did that dumb, reflexive thing you had before: shoved his phone in your shorts and thrust yourself back into the couch.

Practically shaking when Joel stepped into the room.

Of course, he wasn’t sweaty. His shirt wasn’t smudged with flecks of dirt or swaths of green from the grass outdoors, nor were his Wranglers the slightest bit muddied. He was perfectly clean in a plain white tee, jeans, and boots. You couldn’t help but notice how tight the short sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, and then you realized it was because his arms were crossed.

Joel regarded you with a look as long and as careful as the rows he was supposed to be mowing out in the middle of his backyard right now, and he let out a breath.

“Guess what,” he said.

“What?” you squeaked.

Your eyes widened without meaning to, and when Joel plopped down on the sofa beside you, you felt a shiver pulse through your body. Joel stretched his big, wide, denim-clad legs out as he leaned back, and you had to force yourself not to jump when his knee struck yours.

“I’ve gotta brush up on my Gen Z lingo,” he announced.

Wh— okay? What the fuck?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, and feeling the slightest twinge of relief at this declaration, Joel started to tug something out of his pocket. It took you several seconds to see it, then a couple more just to work out what it was, then Joel was squeezing it. Flipping it open.

An old Motorola Razr? When did he get that?

“See, I, uh— met a girl last week,” Joel resumed, plainly careless in the way he fingered the thing in his grip.

Your chest tightened. Had he really?

“She’s a little on the…younger side. You might know her.”

Oh shit. Was Joel banging one of your friends?

You swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue. You pretended not to notice when he flipped the phone open and left it that way—starting to thumb through the keys to do something on it. You fought the urge to take a look.

To distract yourself, you watched his face instead. It was lax.

“She said somethin’ kinda funny last night, and I—” Joel paused to let out a breath of a laugh, and you nearly broke down to steal a glance at what he was looking at.

Narrowly, you resisted. And it was a lucky thing, too—the next thing you knew, Joel’s gaze was fixed right on you.

“Y’know what she said to me?” he asked.

“What?”

Joel blinked. You probably should’ve heard the click of a little button on the phone he was holding, but you didn’t.

You did feel the vibration of another phone under your ass a second later, though. That one was unmistakable.

That one was Joel’s.

Out of one more stupid, senseless instinct, you coughed. Loud. Like the momentary scratch in your throat might reasonably mask the sound and sensation of a small hunk of metal buzzing between your butt and the couch.

It didn’t, of course. You sat and stared at Joel as it rang.

Slowly, he brought the Razr to his ear. At one corner of his mouth, you could discern the first inklings of a smirk.

“Wanna answer that?” he hummed, nodding to your rear.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You weren’t sure how you even had the strength to do it, but you reached back and plucked his phone out of your shorts. With your gaze still stuck to his, you answered it. Put it to your own ear out of habit—and a little bit of fear.

“Hello?” you said, stupidly.

“Hey.”

The second you heard Joel’s voice rumble out beside you on the couch and across the line, your heart dropped. Ironclad confirmation of all you didn’t want to believe.

You squeezed his phone even tighter and sincerely hoped the man couldn’t hear the wild, erratic beat of your heart as it throbbed and thudded in your chest. The noise was almost too loud for you to hear anything else, too fast-paced and frantic to discern another word until:

“Can you tell me what a ‘Hinge DILF’ is, darlin’?”

You rose to your feet, scarcely even realizing it.

You had to get off of that couch, had to get away from him and come clean, as calmly as you possibly could. The phone fell out of your grasp just as he ended the call.

“Shit— Mr. Miller— I-I-I-I can explain.”

Swiftly, suddenly, Joel recovered his phone from the floor. He set the other device aside and propped his feet on the coffee table, lounging a little more comfortably now that he could scroll the phone at his leisure. Before he did, though, he made a point to wipe the screen.

“Nothin’ I love more than ass sweat on my phone.”

Your cheeks heated to a thousand degrees.

You wished the ground below your feet would open up and swallow you whole. It was like you were floating somewhere over your own body, unable to move or speak. From this vantage point, and still paralyzed with fear, you could see Joel opening Hinge on his phone.

“Crazy how long the stuff sticks,” he mused aloud, starting to peruse his likes, “When you got up and high-tailed it outta my place that first day, I thought I must’ve been seein’ things—what with how wet my phone was.”

You would’ve closed your eyes in utter resignation if you’d had the strength. Joel had known this entire time.

The old man continued to scroll, cavalier as ever.

“I figured ya might’ve been havin’ some…personal time of your own on my phone—maybe your old man blocked PornHub on the home WiFi or somethin’—but then I kept diggin’ around…” As Joel spoke, his actions seemed to mirror his words, and he was really scoping out the app. Combing through profiles and roses and streams of old messages that you had sent, then shrugged to himself.

“…and all I found added up to jackshit,” he concluded.

This time, you managed to meet his gaze when he looked back up, but really, you hardly saw him at all.

Joel was smiling.

“I did see a text, though.”

He waved his phone, where a few messages were visible, though not legible, to you. You didn’t try to read them.

“‘Welcome to Hinge! Reply ‘C’ to confirm your phone number and get started,’” Joel rattled the first one off.

Of course you’d forgotten to delete the fucking text.

“And I know my memory’s all but gone to shit, but I didn’t remember ever replying ‘C’ myself, so then—”

“It was a joke,” you choked out, cutting him off.

Joel cocked a brow. He leaned even further back in his seat and crossed his feet. You were already vomiting words before he could attempt to get one out himself.

“N-Not a funny joke,” you clarified, voice shaking, “Fuckin’ stupid as shit, I just wanted to see— y’know— me and Tess were talkin’ ‘bout how hard it must be…in your…in your fifties— it’s just hard finding somebody.”

Joel didn’t know what you were trying to say, and his face showed it. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“So you think my sex life is a joke?” Mr. Miller quipped.

“NO!”

You hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. You quieted down:

“No. I didn’t…no. I just wanted to see who would…”

“…wanna fuck me?” he finished, blunt as ever.

If your face had been hot before, surely it was about to burst into flames right now. You didn’t get like this—not around Joel Miller, not around anybody—but here you were, chest constricting with humiliation and shame, wishing you were anywhere in the world but the place you were, and Mr. Miller was smiling, he was still smiling, and it was all you could do to just stand there and…stare.

And wince when tears started to prick at your waterline.

As if this day couldn’t get any more mortifying, you were actually crying in front of your neighbor, nose stinging and beginning to leak. Stupid, stuttered gasps leaving your lungs like you’d just learned to breathe yesterday, vision blurring the man in front of you and then dimming, momentarily, as you brought your hands up to your eyes and tried to shield this wretched display from his view.

You paced a couple hasty, blind steps away. You pressed the heels of your palms so hard into your sockets that stars started to dance behind your lids and a pain began to stab your brain. You continued to sob. It was just then dawning on you that you’d have to make a run for it now and never set foot near this man’s property again. You’d have to lock yourself away, never get to go to a barbecue again, probably face a restraining order from Joel and—

“FUCK!” you shrieked.

With all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, you tumbled over Joel’s end table and took a nosedive into the floor. Your hands had no choice but to fly out in front of you in an effort to break your fall, and of course, they had to land on a lone, stray beer bottle on the ground.

One lovely little container of Corona Extra went splintering under the weight of your whole body, and briefly, before the thing exploded beneath your palm, you swore you could’ve heard a tiny, self-righteous voice:

‘¡La Vida Más Fina!’

Fuck you, Corona.

You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. Even if the bottle had managed to roll far enough to nick just the edge of your hand, slicing a minuscule strip of skin beneath your thumb, you still wanted to cry even harder. You looked pathetic, crumpled up beside this man’s couch with your wrist pinched between your fingers and your tears paving two steady streams down your cheeks. Hedged in by a field of shattered glass, you cast a look around yourself and whimpered. Then cursed. And cried.

You heard the shards around you crackle and snap even more when a pair of boots stepped in and crushed them.

Joel made easy work of your deadweight frame—your body hanging limply in his grip as he hoisted you up to your feet. Your vision was still as bleary as it had ever been, nose running and stinging and still struggling to take in breaths, but Mr. Miller’s hold was steady. He guided you into the kitchen and straight over to the sink.

Water ran. Wounds stung. A couple more sobs clawed out of your throat while Joel held your hand under the faucet, dabbed a paper towel across your hand to dry it off, then disappeared, momentarily, to retrieve what you assumed would be a first aid kit from the other room.

Instead, Mr. Miller returned with a fifth of Maker’s Mark. You eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hand and grimaced.

“N-Nuh-uh,” you blubbered, emphatic, “No way, man.”

“Uh, yes way, man,” Joel mimicked your voice, nose scrunching for dramatic effect as he elevated the pitch, “Like, you totally need this antiseptic so you don’t die.”

“I don’t s-sound like that!”

“I don’t so-o-und like that!”

Of course your neighbor couldn’t be assed to show an ounce of compassion to another person for more than two minutes. He drew closer with the whiskey. When he grabbed your wrist, you huffed and shook your head.

“That’s gonna hurt. I don’t want it.”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river.”

Though as soon as he’d said it, the man winced a little. Maybe that had been a bit too harsh. You sniffled hard.

“Fuck you, Miller— I-I was doin’ you a favor!” you spat.

Tears and snot becoming the fuel for part of your newfound indignation, you shot Joel a look and scowled. You wrenched your hand out of his grip and made a point to rebuff the bottle of liquor as you moved back, shaking your head again. Mr. Miller stood there and watched you.

“Only time you ever leave this fuckin’ house is when you’re hangin’ out with my dad or your brother, you haven’t got shit else to do around here but mow that fuckass lawn and jerk off— I was tryin’ to help you out! Get you laid like any normal guy would like, but no, no— you’ve gotta go and be the world’s biggest ASSHOLE about it, just like you are with everything else. I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you were and weren’t remorseful at all.

You were sorry you’d gotten caught, ate shit over a side table and got your palm fucked up by a bottle of beer.

You weren’t as sorry that Joel seemed to be regarding you as a joke now—something to tease and poke fun at. Trying to pour his makeshift disinfectant over your cut and force you to obey his orders because you were just too dumb to figure it out yourself, then mock your voice.

Then watch you with tightly knit brows, eyes scanning your face with a skepticism that was almost palpable.

Condescending old fuck.

“What? Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that?” you seethed. Emotions running high—and humiliation momentarily usurped by anger—you stared him down and dared him to speak. You didn’t care what he thought of you now.

If it had been in your interest to care, you probably would’ve looked a little harder at what the man’s body language was communicating to you in the meantime. What his mouth was evidently loath to say, his hands and feet hardly displayed the same reticence: he set the bottle aside and stepped closer to you. He stared back.

It wasn’t until he’d approached near enough, had closed the space between your body and his with barely more than an inch or two to spare, and glowered down at you, face frozen with a frown, that your brain got the hint that he might not be the type to chicken out. Or back down.

He reached behind you and opened a cabinet.

“A favor,” Joel echoed, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to replicate your intonation as he said it.

He’d just marginally checked his douchebag predilection, was closing the cabinet door beside your head and was starting to rock back on his heels, when a little cylindrical glass swung low in your line of vision. Joel held the tumbler loosely, then lifted it and pointed with his pinky.

“You,” he said, accusing, “fuckin’ suck at those—favors.”

Your stomach clenched at the sight of a slight, impish smile just then starting to frame the sides of his mouth. The featherlight grip he kept fastened on the glass, the ease of his stance, even the jab of that stupid, rough finger, still pointing at you, all bordered on nauseating. You fixed him with a pitiless look as he leaned in again.

And when his knuckles brushed your side, you tried not to flinch. You arrested his gaze without a word and let the smug, sun-tanned, sweet-as-shit-pie son of a bitch have his fill ogling you back and closing in on the bottle.

“What? Having half the tri-county population on Hinge ready to suck you off isn’t really your style?” you jeered.

Joel popped the cap and poured his drink. He shrugged.

“They ain’t you.”

As casual as if he’d just told you the weather forecast for the week ahead, his favorite place to eat, or the mundane specs on a construction project he’d been saddled with for months. Nothing of note. Nothing unknown. Just a routine admission of truth that sent your head reeling.

“You wh— w— well that’s—” you stammered, equal parts astonishment and exasperation as he continued to feed you steady, unrelenting doses of that look: “GROSS!”

You were standing stock-still, forced to watch that blip of a grin morph into a full smirk, slowly. He had to be joking.

“You are…fucked in the head, Miller. That’s not funny.”

Now you were the one pointing. Joel was drinking.

“—and I’d never in a million years even think—”

The side of your palm began to throb. It bled.

Blood was trickling down your wrist, roaring like thunder in your skull as your heart thudded away, impatient.

Impatient.

Impatient, impatient, impleeeeeeeeease fuck me, Joel, PLEASE!

Your libido a filthy, rotten traitor to all the rest of your better sense, you continued to stand there and suffocate on words like something akin to acid reflux in the throat. Your thighs snapped together, your back collapsed with equal force against the rigid set of cabinets behind it, and slowly, almost excruciating this time, you felt the pulse between your legs give way to a bout of warmth.

That cockhungry slut governing your bodily functions was actually getting wet for this asshole, and you were powerless to the effects of her wily, DILF-lusting ways.

“Gross,” you uttered out loud, again, reflexively—face overlaid with a look of horror as the heat began to pool.

And, as though the man had been endowed with the gift of infrared vision, or else just an external thermostat to gauge how hot you’d gotten between your two sweating legs, Joel brightened. His gaze flirted down to that soft, unseasonably tepid spot with a knowing look and then—

“Gross,” he parroted back. The smile behind his eyes said he wasn’t disgusted at all, just teasing some more.

When he pinched your wrist to get back to the business of blotting out blood with a paper towel, he kept that smug look painted across his creased, ancient face.

“‘S’that why ya made a Hinge for me? ‘Cause I’m gross?” Mr. Miller applied pressure to the still-bleeding cut, then directed your other hand to hold the paper towel in place.

You shook your head.

“No,” you started, trying not to wince before he turned. Again, the man ambled out of the kitchen, only to come back momentarily—finally—with a long-awaited bandaid.

“I mean…yeah, you’re a perv, but that’s beside the point.”

Joel exhaled a little harder through his nose. He pressed the underside of your palm again, ensuring the bloodflow had stopped, then swapped the napkin for the bandage. The adhesive might’ve been in place for two seconds before he was retreating again; this time, to the fridge.

“Then what was the point?”

Joel yanked one door open. You glanced over your shoulder to the one that led out to the back porch.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Go.

GO!

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure why you’d decided to make Joel the profile in the first place. Your curiosity, for one thing, had been one hell of a persuasive motivator to getting you scrolling on Joel’s behalf, but why did you care one way or another if your neighbor was drowning in pussy or enduring Sahara desert-levels of dick deprivation at his big age? It sure as fuck wasn’t your business to care, and nothing about Joel Miller had ever intrigued you consistently enough to venture an inquiry about his personal life before, so…

“Why?”

Joel was looming overhead again, the force of his presence like a fist through your chest. In an effort to steady your breaths, you turned your gaze away from his.

“I should go.” You couldn’t have dodged his last question more clumsily, or pathetically, if you’d tried, “It’s…late.”

Outside, the midday sun was still high in the sky, and there was nowhere in the world you had to be, Joel knew.

“Okay,” he said at length.

Then he leaned in closer and held something out.

“At least take one for the road, alright?”

And he was smiling, almost kind.

You looked down and—shit.

There it was, clear as day: a creamy piña colada popsicle.

The sneaky, conceited motherfucker had remembered what you’d written in his dating profile. You winced.

You accepted the cocktail popsicle without a word.

‘Thanks’ or ‘You’re a fucking pig, Miller’ likely would’ve sufficed for a farewell on any account, but by then, you were far too shell-shocked—and frankly, incredulous—of everything that had just transpired over the course of the last thirty minutes. You didn’t thank Mr. Miller, nor insult him by likening him to swine or any other thing; you left.

Your feet carried you fast out of his house.

Down the steps of his back porch, across pristine, power-washed concrete, past seemingly endless beds of hibiscus blossoms, marigolds, cape plumbago, and those god-awful periwinkle plants—who the fuck enjoyed gardening in a heatwave, anyway?—you practically sprinted away in a fugue state until the toes of your shoes hit the edge of your lawn, then you stopped.

“FUCK!”

You’d forgotten your phone.

It felt as though your body were turning in slow motion, and for a second, you seriously considered abandoning the device altogether and begging your dad for another. Then you set your sights on the wide, uninviting exterior of the back of your neighbor’s house, the place you’d just been hauling ass to escape, and almost rolled your eyes.

Joel was leaning back against the frame of his open back door, arms crossed, expression smug as he watched you.

It was extraordinarily difficult to throw a half-decent punch at a man while wielding a popsicle in your hand.

“Give it back!” you barked.

“Give what back?” Joel grinned, easily side-stepping what struck him as neither a punch nor a slap—in fact, the hit never struck him at all. He laughed as it missed.

“You know what.”

Of course, you’d gone back. Of course, Joel had tried to play dumb and pretend like you’d never left your phone behind at all. And of course, he hadn’t budged until you’d threatened to shove your left foot so far up his ass his dentist would be picking toes out of his teeth for weeks.

‘Violent little thing, ain’t ya?’ Joel had replied, chuckling.

Then, when he’d attempted to brush you aside with a patronizing wave of his hand and an admonition to run on back to daddy and quit buggin’ me, all bets were off. You’d aimed right for center mass and nearly dropped your frozen treat with how hard you’d shoved his chest.

That was how the conversation had started.

That was how the so-called ‘altercation’ had come to be—Joel easily swatting you off and indulging you no further than to chuckle and laugh and taunt you like an older brother who was faced with a sibling half his size—and all the while, your injured hand was throbbing again. White, sticky rivers of melted popsicle now trickled down your wrist instead of blood, and you were just as pissed.

“Listen—” Joel began, catching a fist meant for his face.

“Gimme my fuckin’ phone, Miller!”

“—you—”

“Can go to hell.”

“—owe me.”

“Owe you?!”

You stopped. Your weak, one-handed assault was halted just long enough to peer into Joel’s eyes, and the gaze that met yours was solid. Sincere as you’d ever seen it and blinking slow as the chocolate browns of his irises moved lower over you. Whether they were drinking you in, sizing you up, or merely plotting your demise by calculated turns, you could have been no more certain, or prepared to hear, what came out of his mouth next:

“Wanted to do me a favor, didn’t ya? C’mere.”

And the next thing you knew—or felt—was one thick finger hooking into your belt loops. One swift tug in his direction, another light push toward the old wood railing to your side, and then more fingers crowding in, crawling over, seizing the coarse denim material and pulling hard like the thing was the single most annoying impediment.

“Take these off,” Joel grunted.

You were too stunned to move. Even breathing felt like a chore, every last sense elevated to impossible heights, it wasn’t surprising at all when Joel just went and did it all himself. In a blink, your shorts were yanked down and then dropped to your ankles, your legs guided backward in shuffled steps, and then, nearly tripping in the fabric at your feet, you fell back, ass smacking the flat railing. You winced at the warm, knotty texture of the cedar beneath you and, out of habit, shot the old man a look.

Joel cocked a brow in response, likely already knowing what that glare from you was intended to convey, and instead of giving voice to any words himself, just sank.

Lower and lower and lower, until his knees were the only things holding him upright on the floor before you and his hands were pressing—melting—into your thighs.

Audibly, his kneecaps cracked.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

While Mr. Miller’s mouth moved dangerously close to a place you should’ve been appalled to see him go, all you felt capable of doing in that absurd moment, it seemed, was laugh. You gripped the thick white column beside you, scooted back slightly until you were in a comfier seated position, then snagged your lower lip between your teeth to contain the sound, but it was of no use.

Joel was both drooling and scowling between your legs.

“That funny, huh?” he managed in a low, ragged breath, “Sound’a some crackin’ joints on a man as old as me?”

“Yeah,” you said. Smug, for once.

Admittedly, any other normal person in your position would’ve been concerned with about a million different, more pressing issues—namely, your neighbor and dad’s best friend sticking his face between your legs—but really, after all the frivolity, commotion, and fucking insane behavior the two of you that day, it was like your brain had logged off and left the body to its own devices.

You didn’t mind that for right now.

When Joel’s tongue grazed the space between the cusp of your panties and inner thigh, you really didn’t mind.

Fuck it. If this was the favor he’d wanted after all, so be it.

As if reconsidering the foray of his mouth for the time being, Joel tilted back a little: just far enough to get his hands on your underwear and start tearing those down your hips too. One short, hot puff of air from his lips was a bliss unto itself, and your knees instinctively kicked up. With the thin white fabric barely halfway down one calf, you hooked your ankle over Joel’s shoulder and cursed.

“My daddy’s gonna kill you for this, Mr. Miller.”

And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Joel smiled.

Bigger this time, as if to show he didn’t really care at all what the man next door was liable to say or do about his present endeavor as long as he got to stay. You let him.

He pressed a kiss to your slick, puffy lips and hummed.

“Fine by me.”

Without another word the tip of the man’s tongue glided up the length of your slit and curled in, drawing your arousal between his lips in a hungry sort of kiss, and then sank even deeper. Going nose-deep in just one go, the old man looked positively obscene burying his face so far inside; his features alone a cruel, unseemly sort of fixture between legs as smooth and supple and warm as yours—how did a man so many years your senior get to be so lucky?—and somewhere further, in the darkest recesses of your mind, the sight sparked desire. A hunger, really.

Seeing that silver, stubbled chin getting drenched in your wetness, the weathered lines of his face growing even deeper with each new movement of his tongue, the strain in his neck with muscles that were firm and taut and so visibly aged with decades and decades of life—

You adored it.

A man Joel’s age never looked more out of place and still somehow perfectly fit for the space between your thighs.

You lowered the hand that was cradling your popsicle, braced your weight against the railing with the other, and then pressed on either side of his skull with your legs, quiet moans tumbling one after the next off your tongue.

“‘S’all for me?” Joel breathed, licking and suckling kisses along your clit, “This sweet, needy pussy’s all mine?”

“All yours.”

You scarcely recognized the sound of your own voice. Your legs were shaking. Though you loved to see him make you come undone, piece-by-piece, you also couldn’t bring yourself to stare a second longer, stimulation too great and his tongue too good.

If he kept going at a rate like this, you’d have no choice but to cum, and you didn’t want to be done just yet. Or ever. You refocused your gaze to look down and tell him as much, when your mouth fell open around a gasp, rather than words, and the weight in your hand fell away.

Swiftly, Joel took the popsicle in his own grasp and slid it down to the vicinity of his lips and tongue, now grinning.

The thing was half-melted by now, having sufficiently soaked half your forearm and leaving a vague, sugary aroma in its wake, but it was still intact. Still unlicked—unlike you—and still perfectly cool and light and long. The off-white hue was almost taunting in the way it winked and caught rays of the sunlight shining behind you, and as the man slid it even lower, you jumped back.

“Joel,” you hissed.

“What?” he hummed.

“That’s not—” You blinked, swallowing a moan.

“Not what?”

One warm, callused hand pressed the tip of the frozen thing to your bundle of nerves—the first contact it had had since Joel’s tongue—and you let out a low whine.

Even after all that time in the sun, the popsicle seared your soft, wet, aching parts with a biting cold you’d never thought possible. It sent waves of a strange, trembling pleasure coursing through your lower half and left your head with no choice but to moan. And fist Joel’s hair in a vice-like grip when he angled the wooden stick lower.

Suddenly, the white, sticky head slipped from your clit to the rim of your yet-untouched entrance, and that made your muscles leap to attention once again. You cursed.

“Not what, honey?” Joel pressed, with affection—and as he did, sank the tip of the popsicle deeper inside you.

“Th— that’s not—” You were shaking your head, racking your brain for any trace of the English language and failing miserably, “Not…doesn’t…g-go there, fuck.”

Joel sank the pretty, dribbling popsicle another inch inside your pussy and sucked a whistle through his teeth. If your senses weren’t as raw and utterly shot as they were, you likely would’ve seen the expression on his face transform from one of pleasure and amusement to awe, eyes darkening at the sight of your hole opening wider.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he cooed, voice low.

Another couple soft utterances of ‘Joel,’ and your legs only parted wider. Free to grip his hair, the railing, the column beside you, or just the insides of your own palm as the icy sensation sank inwards and into your body, you whimpered. Your hips, instinctively, bucked toward the source, and you heard Joel’s groan join your sounds.

He withdrew his new toy just far enough to make you mewl for him again, then drove it deeper. With the friction of that, a stream of white went trickling out.

Joel couldn’t help himself; he flattened his tongue against the stream and licked you clean from the spot where he’d split you open to the cusp of your clit. He circled that place over and over, worked the object in his hand even further inside and back out again, then, getting a taste of your arousal with the white, wet, sticky-sweet juices starting to mix together, he moaned.

It was a guttural sound, something just shy of the ‘feral’ demarcation but at least ten steps ahead of desperate. You relished the gruff, throaty sound reverberating from his lips to your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around it and for him, and were just about to throw your head back and grind your hips even harder when it stopped.

Joel stopped. He started to get up.

Quickly for him, but slow as molasses from your point of view, the man straightened from his place on the hard wooden floor and expelled a breath. His chest heaved, and his torso twisted to one side, momentarily, to get the strain out of his back as best he could. From where you sat, the spattering of grey in his beard seemed to glisten even brighter with the sheen of your arousal now sticking in it. He wiped his chin and reached in between your legs.

“Got any favors left in ya, sweet pea?” he smirked.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t sound like a question at all, and didn’t appear to be intended that way, as the next second had Joel pulling the largely-spent popsicle out of your slick and straight into your mouth. He didn’t inquire whether he could push it down on your tongue and make you taste your own cunt on the thin wooden stick, but the smile on your lips assured him that was fine by you.

Nor did he ask for your permission to flip you around, bend you over his porch railing, and take your hips in his hands. You were still sucking down the last traces of sugar and citrus and a vaguely tangy taste when you felt the head of something else prod your soft, wet folds.

Much bigger—and warmer—than the thing that had breached you before, Joel nudged at your hole with the tip of his cock, coated the head of it in light, gentle circles, and sucked in a breath. He didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t need to answer; he just parted your walls with the force of one steadying thrust, and the pulse of that sharp, dizzying pleasure was back in an instant.

Shared this time, and manifesting in sounds from you and Joel alike: you gritting the stick between your teeth and managing muffled cries of his name and whatever expletives you could scream, Joel with ragged breaths.

For a man who ostensibly hadn’t fucked since the Clinton administration, he was off to a pretty good start.

Joel gripped your hip even tighter and started to saw his cock in and out of your dripping, pliant hole, his other fist finding purchase in your hair for more leverage. His thrusts were shallow enough at first to get you used to the new stretch, and you could feel him making space in a way no man’s girth ever had before. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it had come to settle into a mix of guilt, rigid composure, and pussydrunk pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured behind you. Then, groaning, “Good fuckin’ girl, keep squeezin’ my cock just like that.”

You felt a slap on the ass and the speed of his thrusts pick up in turn. Your mouth fell open in a moan, and the stick on your tongue almost slipped out of place when, shortly, Joel leaned over your body and pulled you back. He snagged the popsicle stick between his teeth just in time to get your back flush with his front—in perfect position to get fucked against the nearest column.

Breaths coming out in short, ragged grunts in your ear, Joel teased the side of your face with the stick, then nudged it back in your mouth. You sucked it softly.

“One more favor, baby?” he panted against your cheek.

You nodded, not knowing what it was but that you wanted to be the one giving it. Joel pulsed inside you.

With every stab of his cock, every string of your wet, messy, combined arousals making the most profane noises imaginable between your body and his, you were squeezing him tighter and teetering on release. Joel’s hand snaked down between your legs, and just as the head of his cock nudged against that spot, you keened.

“Any favor?” Joel groaned and nipped at your earlobe.

The heft of his stomach and chest made for a warm, sturdy place to start rocking your hips, greying peach fuzz at the base of his belly a small comfort as you writhed against his body and whined that you’d do anything, anything he wanted, as long as he let you cum.

Joel’s middle finger found your clit, and you nearly screamed at the welt of pleasure coming to a head. Again, the popsicle stick tumbled out, but neither one of you could be bothered to try and keep it in this time.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The man behind you didn’t even attempt to conceal his grin as he leaned closer, hugging your body to his while he circled your clit and fucked you harder, lips straying every now and then to press a kiss on your shoulder. He plunged his cock deeper and was met with a squeezing, leaking mess trickling down his length and onto his balls, growing louder with each new wet slap against your ass. The old man was a tease, but he couldn’t hold on forever.

“Wanna fill you up,” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside?” you murmured.

You were barely able to tilt your chin to him, but when you did, he held it—made you look him in the eyes and, for once, give your unequivocal permission to do it then.

And you did.

You were startled to find Joel’s lips crashing against yours in the next second, mouth overwhelmed with the remains of your own taste, his tongue, and a series of relentless, hammering thrusts. It was only a matter of moments, then, before your resolve gave way and his followed suit, and the waves of pleasure between you both manifested in ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your walls. Joel held you closer, as though needing to feel his seed as he fucked you through it, groaning when he felt it start to move with each sharp, stuttered thrust.

You panted in his mouth coming down. You kissed him back. You almost couldn’t believe the sensation between your legs, soon to come dripping out and undoubtedly bound to make a mess all over the floor of Joel’s porch.

Equally unbelievable was the fact that you’d just fucked your neighbor in broad daylight, outside, with Marlene’s house directly to your left and your own on the right.

You stared out at the sprawling expanse in front of you—Joel’s impeccably kempt yard, one of the reasons why you were standing where you were just then—and, as you’d found yourself before, you felt the urge to laugh.

Not on account of Joel’s old, ailing knees, this time.

Clearly, the man still trying to catch his breath behind you suspected that that might’ve been the case, though, because you felt him shift his weight and grunt, lightly.

“What’s so funny? My knees crack when I cum, too?”

You could feel the smallest of scowls start to take shape, muted momentarily with kisses that he pressed on your cheek, and others, still more teasing, down your neck.

You let him, unfazed and still giggling. Then pointing.

It seemed Joel was loath to detach his lips from your neck—or his cock from the place he’d just stuffed full—but when you lifted your finger to indicate a direction toward the side of his backyard, his senses perked up.

There, along the white picket fence between his yard and Marlene’s, was the furry, merciless, lawn-destroying labradoodle that had been plaguing Joel’s life for years.

The man was out of you in an instant. He yanked his jeans up even quicker, tucking his dick back, clumsily, into its place in a fit of rage, then cupping his hands:

“WILL YOU FUCK THE HELL OFF, SPARKY?!”

#REMEMBER - JUST BECAUSE JOEL PUTS A POPSICLE IN YOUR P*SSY DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD DO THE SAME IRL!!!! I’M SO SERIOUS #PLEASE PROTECT YOUR PH AND DON’T PUT SWEETS DOWN THERE LMAOAKSK #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou

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blkkizzat · 1 year ago

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ღ 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞!𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 ღ

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐨𝐟 𝟐 (part 1)

18+ONLY MDNI

kizzatober series: Smooth Criminals

Kinktober Prompts: Clothed Male/Naked Female, Thigh Riding, Knife Play Synopsis: The university campus is being terrorized by a copycat Ghostface killer. As a popular sorority girl with a dumb jock bf, you are a prime choice to be his next victim especially given how he can't stop thinking about you. But you're no ordinary Sorority Girl bimbo, now are you? CW: AU college fic. blood obsession/hematolagnia, bimbo reader, murder, slight DV/SA mentions (from your npc jerk ass bf), unprotected sex, masturbation, LOTS of teasing/foreplay, slight age gap (roughly 21 vs 28) and dark content. NOTE: If death/killer romanticization related shit triggers you this is probably a fic to avoid because that is happening all through this bitch. I literally wrote a murder fluff smut fic lmfao. WC: 9.9 of 15.4k Lightly black fem coded (reader is an AKA lmfao) but no descriptors.

A/N: I had no idea so many people would be this hyped for Part 2. No really, I'm shocked! But It gets real here peoples! Lots of smut and dark shit below so please read the content warnings! I don't want no crying in the mentions and DMs cause y'all should know how out of pocket I am by now and I took it there lmfao.

If you riding with me still Thank You for putting up with my OCD bullshit and for all the support, comments and reblogs on Part 1! y'all real asf & ilysm

Enjoy!

Previously:

“Whatever, let’s fucking go Y/N. We have an important party to throw later.”

Dean grabs your wrist and jerks you away with you barely being able to grab your bag.

Your stomach twists and you are at a complete loss for words but manage to flash an apologetic look at Choso while you are dragged off.

However when your eyes meet he looks right through you.

The expression on his face is stone cold and it sends a chill up your spine.

☠

Sigh.

For the first time ever in your life you are miserable at a party.

To say you had been excited leading up to today would have been an understatement. The initiation party after rush was one of the biggest events in the greek system and you had led the charge this year in planning the party.

Nevertheless, any cheerful enthusiasm you held had been trampled on by the disaster that had taken place earlier in the day with Choso.

If getting out of going wouldn’t be more trouble than it was worth you would have faked being sick. It’s not like you hadn’t already stressed yourself into a headache.

Yet here you were suffering through, completely sober. Not even being able to bring yourself to drink away your problems.

How could you even pretend to enjoy yourself when your forced smile cracked as soon as the mental image of Choso’s icy expression looped through your mind?

Your chest got a little tighter each time you remembered and it frazzled your nerves.

Just about everyone and everything annoyed you right now.

Even the party: Hunter vs Hunted, one of your favorites, was soured.

Typically the theme entailed girls dressed up as various exotic animals or woodland creatures and the boys dressed as safari game hunters or woodsmen. But this time around, no thanks to singular frat boy hivemind, they all got the bright idea to collectively cosplay as Ghostface.

Taking a new meaning on Hunter.

They couldn’t carry knives on campus of course so they all carried around metal bats which they probably stole from the baseball team.

Sure, let’s all dress up as the masked serial killer while he is still on the loose.

You rolled your eyes.

The pilfered bats were a hazard waiting to happen too. You could only be thankful that the party was at Dean’s frat and not your own sorority so him and the rest of those idiots could fuck their own shit up once they inevitably got way too hammered and started swinging them around.

You mostly just wished they hadn’t changed the plan without telling you.

Then at least you could have dressed up in line with the horror theme and wouldn’t have had to wear this sexy Bambi costume which although skimpy, the fur parts made it way too hot to be wearing in a crowded party indoors.

On edge and not being able to leave, you did the next best thing and sequestered yourself in the kitchen pantry.

It was spacious and a lot cooler than the rest of the house.

You made yourself look busy in there by restocking snacks and making sure there was an ample supply of red cups ready to go around for the keg.

When someone did notice you tucked away, you gave the best fake smile you could muster and made-up an excuse not to join in on whatever drinking game they were playing promising you would ‘catch up in a minute.’

Fortunately for you, most of your friends and sorority sisters were a bit too faded by this point to notice you missing and never joining in.

Maybe a bit longer and you could slip out unnoticed?

That was your plan at least until you felt Dean throw an arm over you from behind.

“There you are babe!”

Urgh.

The overwhelming ick and nausea you felt from him touching you rivaled your worst hangover.

You immediately shrug him off.

“Come on babe don’t be like that. Get a freshman to take over. We're gonna play rage cage.”

You threw Dean a wary look.

You try to tell him you aren’t in the mood but of course your selfish dickhead of a boyfriend ignores you.

Dean then proceeds to pull your arm and lead you out of the pantry through the kitchen.

On a different day you probably would have just given in, easier to go along with the flow than cause an issue. Today however was different and the last thing in the world you wanted to do was play fucking rage cage with a bunch of horny frat boys who were just trying to get girls drunk enough to fuck.

“Goddamnit, Dean I said no!”

Your tolerance had boiled past its limits.

You forcibly snatch your hand back, knocking some empty bottles over on the counter in the process which come crashing down to the floor shattering into pieces.

Your words and movements dripped with so much aggression you surprised yourself, Dean and the people around you who had turned to see what the commotion was.

”No? No? You’re really telling me no Y/N? After you’ve been acting like a fuckin’ bitch all day since I crashed your make out session with that freak.”

Immediately self-conscious, your eyes darted around the crowd of people that had now turned their full attention toward you.

You hated confrontation and never wanted to be that couple fighting at a party.

Ducking down quickly, you begin to pick up the shattered pieces of bottled glass on the floor.

The pounding of your headache against your temples grew feverishly and the harsh fluorescent kitchen lights started to make you feel faint, you hoped Dean would just let this go if you backed down.

“Look, we’ll talk about that later, ok? Just please don’t be an asshole Dean, I really don’t feel good right now.”

You pleaded with him, quietly trying to quell the situation.

But true to his infamous asshole nature, Dean wasn’t going to let you off so easily. He wanted to humiliate you as he felt you humiliated him in front of his friends earlier with that nobody loser.

”Now, I’m the asshole?” Dean questioned to his frat brothers smugly.

“Hey, maybe I am for having a girlfriend like Y/N, who would slut herself out for a grade in front of the entire quad!”

Dean had all but yelled that last part out. Your drunken clown of a boyfriend didn’t care if he caused a scene at your expense.

Now you had the full attention of everyone in the kitchen.

You took a shaky breath as you stood up and felt the crunch of broken glass beneath your heels.

An unfamiliar sensation of rage rises within you.

It really wasn’t in your nature to be angry even when you were upset, you mostly just cried but now you were pissed to say the least.

He has some fucking nerve.

Especially when you knew no one starting on the football team studied at all and were all automatically passed through whatever easy bullshit major they signed up for.

“Dean–”

You start yet pause for a moment, trying to keep your cool.

“–you know how hard I study.”

Twisting the proverbial knife in your back to wind you up further Dean continued.

“Yeah, Y/N That's what’s so pathetic about it. You get Bs. That pussy ain’t even good enough for an A. I would know.”

Collective gasps, snickers and whispers arose from around the kitchen. Word had spread of your fighting as more people gathered in the doorway.

Typically this is where you would have run off crying. However, you were exhausted mentally and emotionally. You had already cried for a good hour today while getting ready.

The only emotions you had readily available to tap into was the hidden well of resentment and ire you held for Dean.

“And how would you even know what good pussy is Dean? You can’t last longer than two pumps, is it not all the same for you?”

You snapped back.

Your fists had formed into a tight ball.

You are so enraged you can’t even feel the prick from the broken glass bottle still in your hand puncturing your skin.

How long has it been since you stood up for yourself?

You can’t remember the last time you even fought with anyone like this but it felt good seeing the smug look on his face fall as his friends around him jeered and laughed.

“I know how to settle this Y/N.”

Dean mused as he yanked one of your sorority sisters nearby toward you.

“How ‘bout we ask Aaliyah then, eh? She got more than 2 pumps last weekend after you left the party to go chase after Ghostface–”

Your head snaps to your AKA sister in question, Aaliyah, who looked like she saw a cursed spirit as all the color drained from her face. Her eyes shamefully hit the floor before they met your gaze.

She couldn’t even look at you which only further solidified Dean’s accusations.

So Dean himself confirmed he’d been cheating on you? Cool.

With your own Sorority sister, who you considered one of your besties since you both rushed together?

Even better.

Blood slowly trickled out of your hand to drip on the floor from how rigidly you held onto the glass but the small red puddle went unnoticed as your whole vision was already saturated with the color red when you looked at Dean who hadn’t even finished his disrespectful tirade.

“–Although on second thought, it was probably an excuse for you to go suck off that loser freak TA of yours right?”

More heckles erupted from the crowd around you and you don’t think you have ever hated someone so much in your life as you hated Dean right at this moment.

Sure you were upset with Aaliyah but your fury was purely focused on Dean.

He had some nerve to start so much shit earlier over an almost-kiss when he was fucking your good friend behind your back.

“And how fucking out of her mind was she then, huh Dean? Would she even remember? You pathetic piece of shit...”

You get directly in his face.

“...that limp dick of yours fumbles orgasms like you fumble passes. That’s why we lost the big game last week. And guess what? That's also why we’re now OVER!”

Dean’s bulky build towers over you but he might as well have been 3 feet tall to you as the razor edge of your words eviscerate him.

“So who’s the fucking loser now Dean?”

Everyone in the room was stunned into silence by the venom dripping from someone they had never even heard raise their voice before.

You don't notice anyone else's reactions though as suddenly you became hyperaware of the large fractured piece of bottled glass cutting into you.

Your eyes flickered back to Dean as your hand twitches.

For a fleeting moment you felt an inkling urge to drive the glass in your hand directly into Dean’s smug ass face.

Yet whatever dark fury burned in you was instantly snuffed out as you felt a flood of cold bitter beer splash down on you from Dean’s red solo cup.

”Why don’t you cool off for a bit dear,” Dean cooed at you, mocking you and your now ruined Bambi costume as he and the frat boys around you started to roar with laughter.

That was it.

You were done.

Dean had succeeded in humiliating you.

Any contention or further will to fight within you had dissipated the moment you were doused in beer.

The glass in your hand drops onto the ground as a dull ache radiates from your wound that continues to seep blood onto the floor.

“I hope you realize this is the last time an AKA will grace this sorry ass frat for a party. I’ll see to that. Enjoy the rest of your night fellas!”

The icy air of your words contrasted with the perfect pageant smile you gave them and it unsettled those around you especially as they all notice the blood gushing from your hand.

The crowd immediately parts as you leave. No one dares utter a word to you as you exit the party through the side kitchen door.

You can feel your phone go off as you get a flurry of group texts and missed facetimes. Most of your sisters weren’t even in the kitchen to witness the scene.

You respond to the group chat to tell them just to stay and enjoy the party and turn your phone on ‘do not disturb.’

You just wanted to be alone.

You’d deal with the fallout tomorrow.

☠

Choso wore a twisted grin hidden under his Ghostface mask.

The hunter vs hunted party meant a perfect time for him to hunt.

Leaning against a building Choso was shrouded in the dark cover of shadows far removed from campus lights.

Old habits, he mused. There was really no need for him to hide at all tonight.

He could actually walk around openly as Ghostface now without causing alarm seeing as how most of those fraternity morons were dressed up like him tonight.

This made things even easier.

Choso scanned the area for his next prey.

Someone, anyone alone would do.

Choso had been itching to spill blood since he had the enticing inclination to slash your boyfriend’s throat earlier.

Currently he wanted nothing more than to see a violent geyser of blood spurt from his next victim. Having it be a shithead frat guy would only sweeten the kill so he had stalked close to frat row for his latest victim.

There.

Seeing movement in the distance, a lone figure, Choso cautiously advances trailing in the shadows towards them until they come into focus under the street lights.

He nearly does a double take when he recognizes it's you.

Shouldn’t Miss-Perfect-Social-Butterfly be having the time of her life right now with her cretins being crowned queen of the frats or something?

Choso thought bitterly.

That is, until he got a good look at you.

You were wet and shivering as you failed to sniff back the tears pouring down your face.

Despite his desire to stay angry with you, his jaw involuntarily clenches as he had never seen you this upset before.

Something had happened.

Choso confused look turns deadly as vision travels down to see you nursing the hand you cradled to your chest. He recognizes blood running down your forearm to stain your already soiled costume.

A territorial urge swelled within him, not knowing you had inflicted your own injury.

You were his prey.

It was unforgivable for someone else to spill what was his to enjoy.

Choso immediately concluded the cause of it was Dean.

Boyfriend or not he would gladly gut that motherfucker at the drop of a dime.

He hadn’t forgotten how roughly he had dragged you off earlier.

And more importantly how you had let that asswipe drag you off. That honestly had fired his temper more than anything.

A storm of conflicting feelings, Choso yearns to see more of your blood splattered on the ground as much as he secretly covets to have you writhing underneath him.

Should he approach you?

No. Not yet.

Although, he would never have a more perfect chance than now to kill you if he was ever actually going to go through with it.

Securing his knife on the inside of his robe, Choso silently propels himself after you.

Never falling too far behind, he vigilantly watches you from a distance as both your protector and predator.

☠

A warm shower was just what you needed but you were pissed you had to wash your hair 3 times to get the smell of Milwaukee's out, which proved insanely hard to do with one functioning hand.

You could have killed Dean.

No actually though, as you remembered the dark seething compulsion you felt.

You weren’t sure what had gotten into you earlier.

Pushing those thoughts to the side though you focused on the gash in your hand, it was pretty gnarly.

You were just thankful the first aid kit in your sorority house had enough gauze and tape until you could get to the campus nurse tomorrow.

You probably needed stitches as any sudden movements had the fragile skin of your palm bleeding again.

Returning to your room in a comfy pink cotton bra and thong you throw your towel over a chair.

You start to reach for your fluffy robe when you see Choso’s black track jacket on your desk. It still had the small coffee stains on it from earlier but you opted to slip into it anyway.

Truthfully, you lied to him.

You hadn’t just been carrying it around waiting to give it back to him.

You had worn it more times this past week than you would willingly admit to anyone.

You even took it on purpose instead of your actual jacket this morning not actually thinking you would run into Choso but when you had seen him, you knew you wanted him to see you in it.

With a sigh of frustration, you dove face first into the pillows of your bed as you curled into his jacket.

It was your only comfort at the moment.

Your mind wanders and you can’t help but think of how better a boyfriend Choso would have been to you.

Dean would never let you wear his jackets, no matter how cold you were. He said you were too air-headed and would ruin or lose it.

Not that he wasn’t right, you definitely were accident prone.

But that's why it had meant so much to you when Choso, not even your boyfriend, had given you his own without a second thought.

You only hoped he didn’t hate you now.

Not that you could blame him if he did.

Even you hated you a bit for even being with a jerk like Dean in the first place no matter how convenient you thought it had been for you.

How could you even face Choso in class next week?

Despite your heart crumpling when you thought of Choso’s cold intimidating gaze being cast upon you again, you admittedly had never seen a look that intense before from anyone.

It was also impossible to forget the ravenous look in his eyes when he was so close to kissing you.

He looked as if he would devour you whole.

God, everything about him was so sexy.

His strong jaw set firm, his eyes dark pools that sucked you in even from memory, his lean muscular body.

You wish you had realized how bad you had been crushing on him sooner. Before everything got so fucked up.

You fidgeted as an ache developed between your legs.

Turning your head to the side you used your bandaged hand to gently push his jacket collar into your face.

It still smelled like him despite how many times you’ve worn it this week and despite the faint smell of old coffee from earlier.

Squirming on your bed, you tried in vain to keep your legs from sliding against each other creating more friction as your body became increasingly hotter.

A shameless whine escaped your lips as you huffed his woody masculine scent in and out.

Your legs rubbed together more eagerly.

Shit, you were so horny.

Still laid flat on your belly you lifted your hips up for access as a manicured finger pressed into your clit toying with yourself from the outside of your pink cotton thong.

Choso was so meticulous, so knowledgeable in everything he did you were sure he knew how to make you cum.

You were desperate for him as you remembered what it felt like when he caught you from falling last week.

How good would his sculpted chest feel pressed into you now?

Would he look at you with the same want that flared across his features when he had gotten a glimpse of your panties you had intentionally put on display for him?

You didn’t miss how it matched the look he gave you when he nearly kissed.

“Choso…”

You moaned out loud.

You could feel the wet spot your teasing was earning you spread over your thong as your cunt continued to drool over your fantasies of him.

Craving more you lifted your ass up higher while your fingers fumbled to slide under the flimsy fabric.

“A-ahhh s-shit Cho– F-fuck!”

You panted as you sunk two fingers into your cunt. You worked to diligently pump them in and out of you as you pressing your palm down firmly over your swollen clit.

Your face buried itself deeper in his jacket as you gasped and your warm breath pushed back against you as you imagined it was his own tickling your neck.

All your senses screamed with want to be consumed by him and you pined for the feeling of his cock stretching your wet cunt instead of your slim fingers that weren’t cut out for the job.

“F-fuck C-Choso.. Mmm, let me cum.”

You practically sobbed when you glided a third finger into your pussy, two wasn’t enough to quell the craze that had overtaken you.

Ironically and unbeknownst to you, Choso (who had hidden himself in your closet during your shower), was mere moments away from losing his own goddamn mind.

Wholly entranced, he listened to you wantonly call for him like a sweet siren song and watched utterly fixated on the way you fiercely finger fucked your pussy like it was his own cock.

All the while in his jacket sniffing the sweaty soiled material like some filthy fucking pervert.

Fuck!

When he had followed you back to the sorority house he had finally resolved to kill you, but now he was at a standstill as there was no plausible way this was actually happening in front of him.

The obscene ASMR of your cunt sloshing rang in his ears and your legs quivered obscenely with you approaching your orgasm.

Your desperate thrusts caused his oversized jacket to ride up to your hips revealing the way your ass bare ass jiggled when you drove your hips down and pushed your digits up deeper into your core that waited greedily to suck them in.

You chanted out Choso’s name with urgency straining your voice as you climaxed. The bed creaked from you now humping the mattress while riding out your high.

Shit you were fucking sexy.

Thought you'd just been toying with him for fun all this time...

Until now.

Choso’s grip on his knife tightened as adrenaline surged through his body.

He could feel the blood pumping through his dick.

He wanted to fuck you.

Badly.

Give you what you’ve both been needing all this time.

Choso fully bricked, suppressed a hiss through clenched teeth as he palmed the bulge in his pants but remained otherwise still.

He can’t imagine a positive reaction if he burst out of your closet as Ghostface nor could he just take off his mask and pop out of your closet as your TA like he was some fucking creeper.

This was pure agony.

You never failed to find some way to unravel him.

Choso was so tense, his body coiled so tightly, he couldn't control his thigh involuntarily twitching and his knee recoiled against your closet door.

He cursed himself for the millionth time at the lack of control he had around you, he had never had to restrain himself so much around anyone else.

Ecstasy was etched on your features as you looked around puzzled from where the noise came from.

However, the even louder boom of the front door slamming shocked you out of your blissful daze and stole your attention away.

You sat up quickly and wondered if your sorority sisters were back already.

You glanced at the clock.

10:32 pm.

It was still much too early for them to leave.

But who else could it be?

You groaned and reluctantly hopped off the bed, zipping up Choso’s jacket fully to hide the slick between your legs and went out to greet them so you could avoid them coming into your room and return to your solitude as quickly as possible.

You were tired, frustrated and still horny as hell.

You only wanted make yourself cum hard enough you could fall asleep and end this miserable ass day.

☠

“Girls~! You really didn’t have to leave so early~!”

You call out to your sisters.

It was a little late for a show of solidarity if that's what they thought they were doing.

You rolled your eyes.

But it was eerily quiet as you received no response.

That’s odd.

Walking down the hall you froze once the view from the top floor opens into the foyer below and you see the front door wide open.

Not a single soul in sight or to be heard.

“Girls?”

Fight or flight senses kick into gear alerting you to the possible dangers below.

You might be a bit of a ditz but you studied enough forensics and had seen enough scary movies to know how this shit usually ended.

You turn back to run to your room to call someone but stopped as you noticed your phone on the entryway table by the door.

Crap.

Steeling yourself you slowly inched your way towards the staircase, stopping at times to lean over the banister for any signs of someone.

“This isn’t funny girls! You know I’ve already had a really shitty night!”

But only the hollow sound of wind whipping through the door answered you as it swayed on its hinges.

This was an older house.

Maybe you didn’t close the door all the way in the beginning?

No one in your sorority house ever locked the doors, which now you considered probably wasn’t the greatest tradition to keep up while you were at home all alone and a serial killer was on the loose.

You crept down the stairs trying to silence any creaks as best you could.

“I swear on a stack of Vogues if this is a prank you all of you whores will all be on campus clean-up community service duty for the rest of the semester!”

Still nothing but silence as you reached the bottom of the staircase.

The lights were on in the entire house. From what you could tell the den and living room areas surrounding the foyer were empty.

You sighed. Maybe it was just the wind.

You close the door and this time make sure to lock it as you clutch your phone and turn to scamper back upstairs when you feel something grab at you from behind.

“Want to die Y/N?”

You let out a screech as you whip your around to see a figure you recognize as Ghostface reach for you as you stumble backwards into the den.

Tripping over your own feet, you fall back landing on your injured hand and knocking your head against the edge of a coffee table.

A roar of laughter erupts as you groan dazed from the floor.

“You really are a clumsy ditz, babe.”

Puzzled and near concussed, you blink through blurry vision to see Dean pull off the Ghostface mask as he crouches down to your level and leans on his metal bat tauntingly.

Pain blossoms sharply in the back of your head and you can feel the puncture wound on your hand open and saturate your bandage.

“The fuck are you doing here Dean?”

You glared up at him through your one good hand that covered your face as you struggle to get your bearings back.

You couldn’t catch a fucking break tonight.

“Still being a huge bitch even though I came all the way over here to say sorry, eh?”

Dean hummed, brow raised as he chuckled.

“I thought a little fright would put you in a good mood, Y/N.”

“Nice way of apologizing Dean. Insult me, scare me half to death and give me a concussion.”

You knew this man was not sorry at all.

Someone sober enough had probably informed Dean that you did have the power to essentially kill their fraternity’s social life, cucking his entire house for the foreseeable future. They likely sent him to make things right with you ASAP.

But even with all that on the line your tool of an ex was such a huge dick he couldn’t even do the bare minimum to give you a decent apology like an actual human being (not that you would have accepted it).

“I see I was right about one thing though.”

Dean got your attention as he pointed down at the moisture running down your legs.

You immediately pull Choso’s jacket down further to cover yourself.

You couldn’t give a fuck what he thought at this point. You’d confess to fucking the entire Forensics department if got him out of your face.

“Sure Dean, think what you want okay? Just fucking GET. OUT.”

You felt dizzy from the pressure thrumming in the back of your skull.

“Yeah and if I say no whore? Then what?”

Dean slid a clammy hand over your knee which sent another wave of nausea through you, your head spinning.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to stop his hand traveling lower before you suddenly noticed Dean’s body being ripped away from you entirely.

The scene that followed occurred in a whirlwind as your head felt like it would explode trying to focus on anything.

Your eyes strain to keep up with the action only registering fractions of it through your blurred vision.

You see…blood?

Is it yours?

No. It’s flowing from Dean’s shoulder.

Another person?

…Ghostface?

Yes.

Your double vision struggled to pinpoint exactly what was happening as Dean and the masked Ghostface fought for dominance, somehow ending up back in the foyer.

Dean was barely able to keep the large hunting knife from sinking into his chest.

Was this even real?

Were you really about to witness a Ghostface crime scene in action?

Were you next?

You felt like you were witnessing it all play out through someone else’s body as your mind floated off and you felt more disconnected.

Your awareness faded in and out.

There was no doubt, you definitely had a small concussion.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up as you finally hear Dean shouting your name although it sounded like you were in a fishbowl.

He had somehow gotten leverage and evened the odds with the killer as they both now had a hold of the blade’s handle.

“Y/N! Pay attention you ditzy ass bimbo! Don’t just sit there looking stupid, get the fucking bat.”

You scanned the floor around you.

Sure enough, there was the scuffed metal bat shining back at you resting by your knees.

Your injured hand grazes it and you see a red trail of blood smearing across it as the cool smooth metal soothes your ruptured skin.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you daydreaming about?! Get your ass over here!”

You grip the bat’s handle, ignoring the pain to use it and the coffee table as leverage to push you up off the floor.

You sway on your feet as your blood pressure drastically drops from standing too quickly.

Your head feels light.

Your body feels light.

Surprisingly too, even the large heavy metal bat now feels light in your injured palm.

“Fucking finally, Y/N!”

Dean yelled as he saw you on your feet.

“It’s not like I’m trying to fight off a killer here or anything dumb bitch.”

Dumb bitch?

Oh yeah, he means you.

God, Dean was fucking annoying you just wished he would shut up sometimes.

You couldn’t even think straight.

What were you doing again?

Right, the bat. He told you to bring it to him.

You wanted to sit down again. You were so tired.

You couldn't rest though as Dean’s voice was ringing in your ears.

You just wanted him to shut up more than anything so you willed yourself forward.

“Give Dean the bat, Give Dean the bat.”

You lowly repeated in a mantra like state.

Your vision was spotted with black dots swirling like the pain in your head.

GiveDeanthebatGiveDeanthebatGiveDeanthebat

You gripped the handle in both hands.

You were going to give Dean the bat.

“Y/N! Goddamn bitch move your lazy fuckin–”

C-R-A-C-K!

The slick sound ricochets throughout the entryway and reverberates in your ears.

C-R-A-C-K!

You feel warm droplets of moisture spray on you.

C-R-A-C-K!

The bat and Dean’s motionless body both simultaneously hit the floor with a thud.

You closed your eyes.

You felt… relief?

Like you could breathe again as the hazy veil that had shrouded your thoughts lifted and the throbbing in your head slowly receded.

You weren’t sure how to describe what you were feeling but it was some mix between euphoria, exhilaration and… freedom?

Well, you were finally free of Dean for good now.

You couldn’t help but be amused by that thought as you wiggle your toes in the warm red liquid that pooled around them.

A child-like giggle resounds from you.

Was this post nut kill clarity?

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the hallway mirror you noticed blood and chunks of brain matter strewn all over Choso’s jacket.

You wouldn’t be able to go without washing it now.

You frowned at the thought of his scent being washed away as well as you unzipped it, checking to see if the stains seeped through the lining too.

You had made such a mess.

Quick movements out of the corner of your eyes reminded you of the fact you were not alone.

The actual Ghostface killer stood mere feet away from you, his intentions clear as he visibly heaved and extended his knife out to the side approaching you.

You sighed exhausted.

“I’m not going to be able to blame this one on you, am I?”

Ghostface shook his head, confirming what you already knew.

☠

Choso felt his own adrenaline reach a frenzied peak.

He approached you with the animalistic stature of a predator who was sizing up another.

You were a killer now, no longer simply his prey.

Proving as much as eyes showed no remorse for the life you had taken.

Yet given what he had walked in on just minutes ago and how distraught you were leaving the party, there was nothing for to mourn anyway.

The only emotion shown was concern for the on coming threat of him as you backed up to keep from his advances.

Heh, that could just as easily be him right now bleeding out on the floor.

He mused as he side stepped Dean’s body to stalk closer towards you.

Choso smirked, he was only disappointed he wasn’t the one to kill him.

Although he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked creating your own work of art.

A bit abstract and not as precise as his own methods.

Nevertheless, Choso continues to be amazed by how his cute and clumsy little undergrad just showed him a darkness he had only previously recognized in himself.

Choso watches you back away until your ankles hit the bottom of the staircase.

Your feet and hands were slick with blood and you couldn’t find your footing on the steps nor support yourself on the railing so you were forced to scooch up the stairs.

Yet given your injury even that proved difficult for you.

What would he do with you now?

“W-We’re even right? You saved me, I saved you.”

You tried to bargain as you saw him crawl up the staircase after you.

Ghostface cocked his head to the side considering your words as he reached you and stopped your escape with a strong gloved hand digging into the flesh of your hip.

Ghostface suspended himself over you covering your frame entirely and his metallic blade glared in the light as if it would pierce into you at the slightest whim.

Were you going to die like this?

Despite the danger you couldn’t help but be a bit turned on.

Especially as Ghostface’s touch reminded you so much of–

“Did you get off on killing your boyfriend, Y/N?”

Ghosface taunted, speaking for the first time.

“...or were you already this fucking wet from fantasizing about someone else, hm?”

Your eyes widened.

Your mind raced too fast to reach a succinct conclusion. But you were disappointed to hear a voice box distortion instead of the actual person's voice beneath the mask.

Your flurry of jumbled thoughts are paused when you feel the cool caresses of the flat metal side of his blade drag across the skin of your stomach leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Your chest heaved slowly with steady intensity as your breath shuddered.

“Are you turned on now Y/N?”

You look away from Ghostface as he taunts as you. You feel more self-conscious considering who you think is under the mask.

Just how fucked up was it you were turned on from murdering your boyfriend in cold blood to save a serial killer who might have been the guy you had just been masturbating to who was also the serial killer Ghostface and very likely about to kill you now?

Very.

Very fucked up was the answer.

You would have been ashamed if you could bring yourself to care.

Choso’s jerks your face back to him as the hand with the blade parts your legs.

The lust in your eyes and your drenched cunt were all the answers he needed.

“AHH!”

You cry out as you feel the smooth metal come down to slap your clothed cunt hard, sliding over your pussy lips.

You fight the urge to close your legs. You can’t or the sharpened edges of the knife would stab into your thighs.

You bite your bottom lip to the point of drawing blood.

This does not go unnoticed by Choso as he brings his gloved hand to your lips to soothe the bite.

His soft leather covered thumb hooks to guide your jaw open, exploring your mouth as you openly moan.

“Tsk, Tsk, we can't have you breaking skin and wasting more of that pretty blood that belongs to me.”

You shiver at his words dripping in possessiveness and your mouth encloses around his thumb, sucking as your tongue still squirms under its pressure.

A strained hiss comes from Choso and his eyes roam down to admire the slime trail of sticky fluid your clothed cunt dripped his blade.

Before Choso can get a peak at your pussy your hands fly down to cover yourself.

Amused, Choso gently removes his hand from your mouth to palm your inner thigh as his thumb slick from your spit rubs circles into your flesh.

His coaxing has you spreading your legs wider as he brushes up against the hands covering your cunt.

“Show me Y/N.”

He breathed out.

You pouted and shook your head.

“Is my little slut a liar then? I recall you telling me you didn’t mind if I saw your panties.”

Your suspicions confirmed you gasped in realization but Choso could no longer control himself as his hunting knife returned to your body to trail up your stomach this time the pointy edge hovering over your soft skin.

Your stomach sucks in to create distance between the blade and your skin causing your chest to push up through your arms but it's exactly what Choso had wanted.

Whoosh

With a swift slash through the air his blade slices your bra in two and its straps fall back down your shoulders laying bare your breast and hardened nipples to the cool air.

Exposed, your hands instinctively move from you core to cover your tits.

You see Choso pull back from you to sit up fully.

No longer touching you as he opted to imprint into his memory the imagery of your wet puffed pussy glistening through the soaked and now nearly transparent thong which clung to your lower lips like second skin.

He shifted his mask as the voice box moved from over this mouth.

“Y/N” he sighed.

Hearing his actual voice had you whining with need again.

Choso couldn’t keep his hands off you for long as he grasped hold of your thong and slipped his fingers between the fabric covering your cunt.

Choso rubbed the sticky moisture on the thin fabric between his thumb and forefingers while his knuckles bullied into your clit, causing your toes to curl.

“Mmm C-Choso.”

Your hands went from simply covering your tits to messaging them, pulling on your nipples, as you couldn’t hold back the sounds from the pleasure you felt from him touching you.

Shit. He wanted to ruin you.

Choso’s knife returns to your throat applying soft pressure dangerously close to breaking skin.

“So tell me what you want then, Y/N?”

Choso knew you wanted him but he wanted you to say it.

He needed you to admit it to him outright before he could really believe it.

His knuckles had stopped teasing your clit and your body trembled as you bucked your hips into his hand and pouted.

“I want you to hurry up and decide if you’re going to fuck me or kill me before my sorority sisters get back Choso!”

Choso smirked under the mask.

Becoming a killer turned you into a bit of a brat.

But he knew how to handle you.

Heh, fair enough.

Driving the knife into the staircase behind your head he pulls you up, swapping positions and seating you on his thigh.

He pulls his soiled track jacket off of you and you shiver as the cold air hits your back.

“Mm, Fuck me Choso”

You sighed longingly, arms encircling his neck.

“Mm, Should I though?”

Choso questions out loud as you melt deeper into him from his hands roaming your body.

One settles on your hip under the band of your thong and the other peels you back by your hair so Choso can see your eyes blown out fully with lust.

“Or should I make you wait like I’ve been waiting ever since you first stumbled into class in that slutty green skirt?”

You cried out and our tongue lolled out of your mouth when he yanked your panties roughly by the front, pulling the material between your pussy lips.

Your clit was cradled in the steamy fabric and you clutched the front of his robes for stability as your eyes rolled back.

“Do you know how much you made me suffer thinking about that pretty pussy of yours? How many times I fisted my cock? How much blood I spilled to forget the way you looked in those slutty outfits?”

Choso's own desire was apparent in his raspy voice.

You shake your head and tears spill as he pulls the fabric tighter over your clit.

“I-I w-wanted you too,” you sniffled out.

“Then prove it,” Choso breathed out huskily.

“I want that needy cunt of yours to beg me by fucking herself real nice on my thigh like she did on your mattress earlier.”

You could have combusted as he all but admitted he had in fact been watching you from your closet, still you couldn’t help but obey his orders.

The frantic way your heart pounded in your chest couldn’t trump the unbearable arousal between your legs.

You braced yourself on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips down on him.

“That’s it baby.”

Choso encouraged you as you heard a loud rip and realized he had cut away your thong when you felt him snatch the material right off of you.

Your plump pussy lips parted when pressed onto his thigh and you felt the rough material of his heavy robes directly chafing against your clit.

Surrendering to pleasure you circled your hips to grind down on him as Choso started bouncing you on his leg.

The impact of your weight forcing your clit down while his thigh pushed up into you shaking.

“S-shiiiit D-daddy!”

You cried out arching back.

Choso could have busted in his pants completely untouched when he heard you call him daddy.

You didn’t know how much you had him wrapped around your perfectly manicured fingers.

He would kill every single one of those bastard frat fucks on campus on a whim if you asked him to.

He would do anything for you.

Choso's muscular thigh flexing underneath your cunt felt amazing but your hole was screaming to be filled as it gaped around the phantom thought of his cock penetrating you.

“N-Need more. S’not enough Daddy”

You beg, whining into the mouth opening of his mask.

Your breath enters through the material as your hot tongue presses against the cloth barrier hungrily.

His own tongue responds in kind, entangling with yours through his mask and you moan deeper into the opening.

You feel so good yet are still frustrated that you alone are naked while you couldn’t even see a sliver of skin from him still in his full Ghostface attire.

You move to lift up his mask when he stops you, breaking the makeshift kiss.

“Now, now Y/N.”

Choso playfully chides.

“Can you think of nothing but my dick? You’ve forgotten so quickly this is still a crime scene?”

You panted as you looked over your shoulder and spot the gruesome remains of Dean’s lifeless body and half bashed in face. Blood stained the foyer rug and pieces of tissue splattered on curtains, walls and even the fake plants.

Right.

You still had no idea what you were going to do about that situation but Dean was already dead. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Honestly you felt as if you might die as well if you couldn’t get Choso’s dick inside of you soon.

Your hips never stopped grinding down on his thigh as you returned your attention to him.

You knew if Choso couldn’t even kiss you, he couldn’t fuck you either as those same rules applied to both potential sources of DNA.

“S’fine.”

You pout.

“I-I had your jacket, y-your DNA could c-come from that.”

Your injured hand came to cup the slide of his masked face and your other rubbed the outline of cock over his jeans, feeling the precum soil through them despite the thickness of the fabric.

Blood from your hand smeared onto the pristine white Ghostface mask as you pulled your foreheads to touch.

“I’ll admit Dean was right, w-we w-were sleeping together...”

Choso chuckled.

“...and then get me expelled for sleeping with a student on top of a motive to connect me to your victim?”

He gave your ass harsh smack.

Your cheeks clenched and your panting grew more ragged as you chased your high against him.

“Y/N you gotta think with that sexy little head of yours not that needy little cunt if you really want me to fuck you. I know you’re smart. This should be easy for you.”

You groaned.

Thinking was virtually impossible right now.

You wanted to give up and resort to begging again but Choso calling you smart (something your recently deceased ex never did) and now rubbing your thighs encouragingly, had made you so happy you wanted to make him more proud of you.

You reluctantly stopped your hips, ignoring the fiery ache shooting through in your cunt but you wanted to cum from his cock not his thigh.

You closed your eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

Focus Y/N, you willed yourself.

Focusing became harder to do though when Choso became impatient and had nuzzled his masked face into your chest.

His mouth latched to your nipple through the black cloth, swirling his tongue and grazing his teeth against your bud causing it to swell.

“Oh!” you smiled sweetly down at him and his abs tightened as he held you closer to him.

“We get rid of the body! Clean up and make sure there's no crime scene to be found!”

“That’s correct,” Choso praised you as if you answered a question in class correctly.

“Now, most importantly, how exactly will we get rid of the body, Y/N?”

“We…w-we..”

Your fingertips grazed your lips and you bit a nail as you pensively considered your options.

You looked like you were thinking so hard on this.

So fucking cute.

“Come on baby, tell me.”

Choso was the one begging you now while he lifted your hips just enough to pull up his robes and position you to straddle his dick straining against his jeans.

You were so close to the answer. He knew it would come to you and he wanted to be inside of you as soon as you got it.

You clasped your hands together and gave him one of your pageant winning smiles he grew to love.

“We make a kill room!”

“Smart girl” Choso said as he lifted his mask and his lips came crashing down on yours.

☠

“Shit-Shit-Shit!”

You cried as you lower yourself onto Choso’s cock.

You had begged and pleaded him for this but Choso was so much bigger and longer than you expected.

You never had a problem taking dick before but not only was Choso huge he had 3 rows of frenum ladder ball piercings on his long veiny cock that dragged against your gspot when you tried to force him inside you.

You still had about an inch to go and his fat cockhead was already pressing against your cervix.

“Fuck baby, you really been keeping all this good pussy from me?”

Choso spread your cheeks to assist you down on his enlarged length but your walls vice gripped his cock preventing him from guiding you down further.

Choso grunted, he was going to too cum fast if you didn’t ease up.

Pulling you back, he captured your lips again devouring them as he violently pushed his tongue into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, dominating you completely.

A tremor shot through your cunt as your hips jerked and your legs quivered.

“My slutty girl is so sensitive she came from just kissing?”

Choso teased knowingly pulling back to allow you air and lapping at the drool from the corners of your mouth.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

Without the hindrance of a mask Choso’s kisses felt like he was eating you alive and set your body ablaze.

Your orgasm came with enough intensity to loosen your walls allowing you to finally sink down to the base. However your legs are still vibrating and unable to support you riding him.

You fall forward into the crook of his neck.

“C-can’t D-daddy” you babbled into his neck drooling.

Choso wanted to tease you more. He wanted to goad and praise you enough so you would ride him in earnest until your pretty face sobbed for him to fuck you but time was of the essence now.

You both probably had a good hour and a half left before the cops broke up the party and members of your sorority started heading back.

He needed to finish you quickly and he silently promised to take his time with you later.

Rising up, Choso positioned his arms under your thighs to keep you seated on his cock as he walked up the few steps to reach the landing in the middle of the staircase.

Placing your back carefully against the wall he glides his hands over your sweat and blood laden skin to lift your legs onto his shoulders. His grip settles onto the fat of your ass and he marvels at how his fingers sink into them.

Choso allows you time to get adjusted to the new position as he now held you in a standing mating press.

“Ready?”

You nod and Choso takes that as his greenlight to rigorously fuck you into the wall with such vigor you felt it quaking behind you.

There was no possible way you could have ever been ready for that though and your hands dive into his hair tugging at the roots under his man buns as if you intended to scalp him.

Your reactions fuel his cruel thrusts as Choso greedily drinks your guttural screams into his mouth.

They sound more heavenly than any he had heard before even from his own victims.

Slamming you down on his cock, Choso manhandled you like you weighed nothing to him.

His piercings and engorged veins continue to scrape the walls of your core with every stroke as you gush around him soaking his robes.

Choso wanted more of you.

He didn’t think he would ever get enough.

You felt so fucking good he could fuck you like this for hours and he cursed the dwindling time he had before he needed to remove himself from the warm comfort of your mushy cunt.

The hallway echoed with sounds of his hips sadistically ramming your body further into the wall as well as the sloshy vulgar noises his cock tore from your tight creamy cunt.

“S-so c-lose Cho–”

Were the only words you could croak out as your cries become lodged in your throat.

The pleasure you received being folded between Choso and the wall had you salivating like crazy. Drool was pooling in your mouth faster than it could dribble out down the sides.

You locked eyes with him.

The wild glint in them was so primordially feral you can’t believe you ever mistook the restraint he tried to maintain around you for shyness.

Frankly, there was nothing timid about him.

The cold confidence of a true killer radiated off of him and into your core as each of his thrusts felt like they were stabbing into your womb.

Your whines turned into horse croaks as you desperately gasped for air.

Like a killer he showed you no mercy as his long cock shifted your guts up and into your lungs.

Choso was quite literally murdering your cunt.

“Yeah Y/N? Is my girl gonna cum all pretty like on this dick?”

Too cockdrunk to reply, your pussy readily spoke up for you as your walls clenched and spasmed. White stars flood your vision as your body vibrates against him as you cum hard, gurgling his name.

Choso’s hips stuttered and his moans increased as he fucked you through your orgasm and chased his own.

He knew better than to cum inside you, he wasn’t wearing a condom and didn’t even know if you were on birth control.

But your cunt was like a drug to him so Choso resigned himself to cleaning you up after as he gave one last thrust, injecting you with his hot seed that scorched your insides and sent you spasming all over again.

It took a few minutes for Choso to catch his breath but he gently released your legs down to touch the floor as he pulled out of you.

You groaned immediately at the loss after being so full as you still tried to regain your own steady breaths.

Not missing a beat, Choso moved with reverence as if he was worshiping your form from the kisses he peppered down your chest and belly.

“Eyes on me, baby,”

Choso ordered, glancing up at you.

You nodded your breath hitching once he reached below your belly button and he threw one of your legs over his shoulder again.

He shamelessly breathed in the scent of sex wafting off your pussy.

The musky mixture of his cum and your juices combined with sweat and blood entered his nostrils and sent his eyes rolling back into his skull.

You shuddered.

You wanted to feel his mouth on you more than anything but you knew you couldn’t both remain like this in the open hallway for much longer.

Seemingly forgetting all concerns of time, Choso’s thumbs lightly ghost over your battered pussy lips as he slowly peeled back the slippery folds.

His chest swoll with pride seeing how much of his cum you had taken inside of you.

Choso's tongue salaciously darted out to catch the drippings that seeped out of your messy little cunt.

Despite your concerns, you can’t resist bucking up towards his face as he brought your hips off the wall towards him.

“Be patient princess, let me enjoy this.”

Choso open handedly spanks your pussy, landing a direct hit on your clit which has you shaking as your squirt spritz onto his face.

His thick tongue rolls out of his mouth like a man starved licking his lips at the feast before him

“Goddamn, I already love her so much”

He cooed into your cunt while looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

“Go out with me, yeah Y/N? I’ll treat her right. Just let me have a taste of her everyday.”

You almost came on his face again from the utter display of depravity he was showing you, not missing the fact he was so pussy drunk he was technically asking your cunt to be his girlfriend instead of you.

To be fair you were both way past the point where he needed to ask you out anyway as he was an accomplice to your homicide and soon-to-be cover up.

“Okay Choso, I’ll be your girlfriend,”

You grinned at him.

Choso thanked you by gently placing a kiss on your clit before nose-diving into your folds like a mad man between your legs.

Seeing how sensitive you are it wasn't long before he had you thrashing on his lips from the nasty way he heartily ate your cunt out.

The suckling, bubbling and squeaking sounds of him inhaling your pussy nearly had you at your peak again.

Yet you were snapped out of your pleasure when you heard the grandfather clock in the hall ring signaling it was midnight.

Fuck what if the party got broken up earlier than expected?

“W-we don’t have time for this Choso.” You plead anxiously as you pry his head out of from between your legs.

The sounds of the clock chiming and the sight of Dean’s body still laying in the entryway made you more nervous with every passing minute it remained there.

His eyes narrowed dangerously on you as he nuzzled his nose back into your cunt hooking it under your clitoral hood.

“Oh? My sweet girl gets one kill and thinks she knows better than me what we have time for?”

His expression dares you to pull him away again as he drags the flat of his tongue lazily over your clit.

“Please Choso…”

Choso relents as he feels you tense up more, he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself unless you were.

“You trust me right Y/N?”

“Yes”

You breathe out as his fingers play with your puffed pussy lips.

“Do you have the key to the basement?”

You nod.

“And you know exactly where the supply closet is, baby?”

You nod again.

“Perfect. This won't take long at all then.”

Choso assures you as his confident words calm your worries.

“So now just relax princess and let me take care of you. This isn’t my first clean up job babe…”

You weren’t sure if Choso was talking about your cunt or the dead body, but you didn’t doubt he was experienced in both.

“Give me 15 minutes to see how many times I can make you squirt on my tongue. Then we can finally make that dexter kill room you like so much, yeah?”

You nodded once more and Choso wasted no time drowning his face back into your cunt.

You sighed contently.

He was already the best boyfriend you ever had.

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ

A/N: How was that? Did I do our emo kang justice? Lmk! (y'all better lmk cause y'all busted my balls for days over this lmfaoooo)

Also ding dong Dean is DEAD thank fuck. Whew I made that man as horrible as possible so you could kill him. Tbh, I would kill a nigga just for pouring Milwakees in my hair alone, that shit smells and tastes like cat piss lol.

Also here if y'all wanna see a cute lil pixivi I made of me bimbo!reader x Ghostface!Choso.

You know the original idea for this was actually based on a fic I was writing where Choso, Yuji and Sukuna (all brothers) all transfer to your university and bimbo!reader (no bf this time) clearly likes Choso but his oblivious emo ass has no idea and keeps being a dick to you cause he thinks you are just making fun of him. LOL! I may in the future still end up writing a version for that since this ended up going in a completely different direction with Ghostface thrown into the mix.

Y'all this fic was way too fuckin long. I know theres likely errors/redundancies still so I will comb through it later and I may edit/reword somethings too but general content will stay the same. Tbh, what took so long is the last scene cause I decided I cannot write a smut fic with Choso where that man isn't acting completely deranged and unhinged over the taste of pussy. He's munch, he can't help it.

Reblog for Ghostface!Choso to be your personal munch, but likes and comments are appreciated all the same!

Next up on Kizzatober, Werewolf!Toji from Thrilling Ghouls! (PWP)

ღTaglistღ: @callm3senpaii @arxliana @jujutsualy @luxiethefairy @akaza-simp01 @fredswh0re @missphanosaur18 @moon-esque @samicamy-13 @strvqtt @wisteriaflowersss @spookyy-gracee @jujutsualy @anakalana @crying-person @missphanosaur18 @jazzmynerule @megatqistina @trobed1312 @mimiemie @insomninaz @bloodysweetcat @cyyberm00n @nikkitc0703 @briefrebelfanalmond (so sorry if I missed anyone but I'm delirious rn forgive me ily)

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bunnys-kisses · 1 month ago

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Hi Bunny,

I've been following your page for awhile and was wondering if I could order some John Price Lemon slices and beer brownies on the house??

I adore your stories and writing style, and you are in fact someone's girlfriends favorite author 😌

Hope your day is wonderful n thank you ♥︎

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i know i've been horribly lacking at call of duty bakery fics! but with call of duty i'll get an idea in my head that is seperate than the bakery fics. i still deeply love my boys (and esp john price), so i'll try to be more on top of the call of duty fics because so many of you have been so sweet with your prompts <3 (also john price would totally love beer brownies just as a dessert, lol)

lemon slice: "i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making." + beer brownies: "stick your tongue out anymore and you'll look like a dog." + on the house (matcha latte: collars/bondage)

cw: smut/pwp, dom!price, sub!reader, dirty talk/degrading language, age gap (20s/40s), wife!reader, wife/domestic kink, carpet sex, oral sex, pet names (puppy, baby girl)

price liked being the man of the house. while most times your relationship was an equal affair. price admired you like flowers did the sun. he'd never hurt his baby girl, even with the age gap that would make some gawk at. a man in his near fifties with a woman who was just out of university. plus, he made her a stay-at-home wife within three months of dating?

there had to be something else going on. even your parents were a little shocked at the news. but neither of you cared, you were happy. and since your parents wouldn't let you move in with such an older man, the only thing to do was to get married. and now every night price got to be the man of the house and have his lovely girl serve him.

after dinner was served you were on your knees in front of him while he watched television. it was hard for him to focus on the game while your nose was nestled against his dark pubic hair. his grip on the can of beer was tight, any tighter and he'd crush the thing in his palm.

he was so much bigger than you, stronger than you. there was a weight to him that could leave you pinned under him. he was so strong and masculine that you couldn't help yourself but be enthralled by him. you continued to pleasure him orally, but occasionally you made small noises which was accompanied by your thighs rubbing together.

"i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making." he said as he took you by the head of the head and made you look at him. you panted heavily and looked at him with a lustful expression across your features. poor little wifey got too excited.

price chuckled and patted your cheek a roughly, "stick your tongue out anymore and you'll look like a dog." he laughed a little, "maybe i should get the collar out, since you like being my puppy so badly." you whined in response and price pulled away to tuck himself back in his jeans. when he got up, he looked down at you and said, "you stay put, i don't need you getting in trouble, baby girl." then left for the bedroom.

you waited patiently and felt heat curl in your gut. you liked price like this, domineering. when he used his age, height, size against you. when he made you feel small in the best ways. when he returned you could see the green collar in his hands.

it wasn't a neon green, but rather a rich forest green. you swallowed and shifted a little in your spot. when he sat down on the couch with a 'huff' he patted his thigh so you'd climb onto his lap. you did without question and he placed the pretty collar around your neck. then his hand was on your bare thigh, he got to see you naked up close. after dinner you stripped down to give your husband dessert.

"pretty little thing." he said, his voice hot. you squirmed a little at his hands on you. on between your legs and the other supporting your back. he made a vow to love and protect you. even when you panted heavily from his touches.

his calloused fingertips grazed across your wet cunt and he dipped his head against your neck where he laid kisses across the heated skin.

"john."

"i got ya, sweetheart. my little pet." he teased your clit a little and you shuddered. he pulled you closer to him and teased your clit a little more before he said, "get on your hands and knees, beautiful. your mouth isn't enough tonight."

you scurried off, you were naked save for the ankle socks with little bows on them and the pretty green collar. you got onto the carpet and rested your face against your arms with your hips raised. price took one last swig of his beer before he got up and rubbed himself through his jeans. you looked at your husband, coyly, "like this?"

"i've trained you so well." he said as got down on the carpet. while a this age, it was hard to do it on the floor. but, he knew it was either that or up against the couch. the latter would only cause more pain in price's bad knee.

"thank you." you blushed, heat rose in your cheeks as you felt his pointer and middle finger touch your achy cunt again. your back arched. then you heard the clatter of his belt being fully taken off.

"this is how a wife should greet her husband every night. give him a fully belly and you walk away with a full cunt. ya like when i make a mess of her, don't ya?" he watched your back arch from his words. he got his cock out of his jeans and rubbed the slick head up against your pussy, "been missin' her. had to finish myself off in the washroom at work because i was thinkin' about it."

price hated to admit it, but he loved the differences between you two. he kept his pretty wife happy at home, and maybe soon you'd have some company with a pet or a baby. price wasn't getting any younger, about time he used the last of his swimmers for something good.

he pushed his cock into you with ease and watched your tense up. it was really hot. in his honest opinion, you looked beyond beautiful. he was glad he got a ring on you as soon as he did because if anyone else tried to get their hands on you. that would be a problem. you whimpered and clawed into the cream carpet.

you knew your knees were going to be raw by the time your husband was done with you. but, you'd happily accept it regardless.

his pace was steady, on the faster side but every thrust had a force that made your toes curled. you loved your big, hairy husband. you adored how he made you feel, how he could easily move and twist you to his liking. he was dominant and strong, he never wanted his wife to worry.

"that's a good girl, my good little puppy. hearin' your little noises right now." he groaned, "you're a beautiful little thing. you know exactly how to get me goin'. lettin' my fuck you until you see stars." his pace picked up and you gasped into the floor.

"john." you arched your back. your body craved your husband. more than most else. you were never a party girl, but even if you were, your drug of choice would be having your husband, the cervix bully, make you cum time and time again.

it was slightly price's fault why you never went to parties. when he was home from deployment, he wanted to savour every moment with you. hard to go out with friends on a friday when price had you in a full nelson on his bed with his cock hitting just the right places. price didn't need boys sniffing around what was his. not that you'd give them the time of day. he held onto your hips tightly and pushed you further into the carpet as his cock dragged against your softest areas.

he said, "so pretty under me. you take me so well." you could feel your heartbeat in the back of your head as he continued to push up right against you. the feeling was erotic, as were the sounds of your sweet moans, "pretty in your collar. maybe i should've just gotten you a collar instead of a ring. a nice leash as well to make sure that you didn't go runnin' off. be a proper pup for me." he groaned as he continued to fuck you.

his motor mouth made heat wash over you. it was hot in a way that made you want to cry out for more. poor mrs. price, must be such a shame to get fucked into a state of bliss by your domineering, stronger husband.

it wasn't long before you could feel the sparks in your brain as you panted heavily against the carpet. your knees were rubbed raw as were your forearms. thankfully not carpet burn on your face (this time). you panted heavily before you let out a sweet noise, your attempt to tell your lover you were cumming. your cunt tightened around his cock, which only spurred your husband to move faster.

"that's it, that's my baby girl." he groaned as he rammed his cock as fast as he could. he could hear your soft, post-orgasm moans. your back arched a little more before they dropped. which meant price had to hold onto them to get at the right angle of your pussy, "my good little wife."

a few more heavy thrusts and price finished inside of you. trusting you to keep the boys safe.he gripped onto your hips and really pushed into you as he tensed up. he then relaxed and felt his heart hammering in his chest as he slowly pulled out.

a string of cum connected his cock to your pussy. really a match made in heavy. he licked his lips before he slowly got up with a bit of help from the coffee table. he wasn't the spry young man that he used to be. but you loved that about him, your burly old man.

not that you'd say that to him.

your hips dropped as you laid on the floor for a moment. achy and feeling euphoric at the same time. it was cute in price's eyes, after he got his cock back into his jeans once more. he picked up his wife and held you in his arms. he kissed your heated cheeks while you wrapped a leg around his waist for support.

"i got ya, baby girl. now let's get the wife to bed before i get hungry again." he knew you were on another planet right now. you held onto your husband tightly until he tucked you naked into bed, with the covers pulled up to your chin.

"what about the dinner dishes?" you asked.

price patted your cheek, "don't worry about them, beautiful. i can handle them." then let you rest with the familiar collar around your throat. <3

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bloodibambiidoll · 5 months ago

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Older!DinerOwner!Eddie x Fem!Reader

This is for my 1.6k celebration based on the prompt “make me” requested by @gri959 ❣️

Summary: You’ve been fucking your boss for almost a year now and he still won’t make it official, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. Wk: 1.5k

Warnings: Age gap(Eddie is early 40s reader is mid 20s), jealous/possessive Eddie, spanking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, breeding kink. 18+MNDI!!

You were driving Eddie absolutely insane, and you knew it too. It was like somehow your little work dress seemed even tighter tonight and the way you were walking around swinging your hips, leaning down on your hands in front of customers faces, giving them a nice little peek at your perfect tits.

It didn’t help that you were being extra flirty with the new line cook, Alex. He was your age and he honestly kind of reminded Eddie of himself when he was younger. Why would you want him when you could have the newer model? But despite his insecurity that was rearing its ugly head, Eddie knew he had you wrapped around his thick ringed finger and that you were just doing this to rile him up.

“When you’re done with this table, come talk to me.” Eddie brushes past you while you’re taking an order, leaning down to whisper in your ear. You make eye contact with him just long enough for him to see you roll your eyes as he’s walking off.

“What’s up?” You walk over to where Eddie is standing behind the counter near the register and look up at him all innocently, which you are far from.

“What’s up? You know exactly what’s up, I know what you’re doing, quit it out.” Eddie looks down at you through slanted eyes, his tone a gruff whisper.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about? I’m just doing my job.” You raise an eyebrow at him and set your lips into a mock pout.

“Drop the innocent act. You’re trying to make me jealous, just admit it.” He smirks at you and leans down further than is probably appropriate for a boss and employee, but he honestly doesn’t give a fuck, it’s his diner, he can do whatever he wants.

“Why would I be trying to make you jealous? There’s nothing going on between us, right?” You turn your head slightly, lowering your voice even more to make absolutely sure only he would hear. “It’s just physical, right? So why would you be jealous?”

“You know what?” Eddie’s jaw ticks as he exhales through his nose. “I want to talk to you in my office after we close.”

“Yeah? About what? I have plans.”

“And I don’t care. I’m your boss and I need to speak to you about something regarding your job. Now get back to work.” He walks off, not giving you time to argue further.

“Okay, what’s the deal?” You walk into Eddie’s office, pushing the door closed behind you and stand in front of his desk with your arms crossed.

“Are you serious?” Eddie scoffs, abandoning the document he was signing on his desk in favor of glaring up at you.

“Umm yeah? You told me to meet you here and you didn’t say why so I’m asking what you wanted? Pretty normal if you ask me.” You shrug and Eddie swears he can make out the faintest hint of a smirk on your lips.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t play games you know you’ll lose.” Eddie chuckles, pushing up from his chair to come around and lean against the desk in front of you. “You really thought you were being sneaky? Prancing around here like that, bending over right where I can see, flirting with my employees, did you get a new bra? I’m not blind, baby.”

“Like I said before, there’s nothing going on between us… so… why would you be jealous?” You fully smirk at him now and god he wants to wipe it off your pretty little face.

“Just admit it, you were trying to make me jealous.” Eddie returns your smirk with one of his own as he leans back on his hands and crosses his legs. He’s so hot in those black Dickies work pants and his non-slip converse. He has on his restaurant manager shirt that accentuates his toned chest and shows off his thick tattooed arms. His hair is in that low bun that you love to rip out when he goes down on you and his facial hair is just a little longer than usual. Fuck.

“Why don’t you just admit that you were jealous then?” You give him a pointed look and he exhales through his nose because he’s about at his limit with your attitude.

“You know what? Bend over the desk.” He steps to the side, patting his hand against the wood.

“Why don’t you make me?” You roll your eyes, a dry chuckle escaping your lips, and that’s his final straw. He closes the distance between you and laces his fingers through your hair, pulling your face so it’s inches from his as his glowers down at you with his honey eyed stare.

“I said bend over the fucking desk.” He says your name through gritted teeth as his grip on your hair tightens, causing you to whimper, your bratty facade already breaking. “I’m not going to ask again.”

“Fuck, okay.” He releases your hair and you whine as you walk on already semi shaky legs over to his desk, laying your top half across it, causing your dress to ride up and show off a sliver of your panties. “If you weren’t jealous you wouldn’t be all worked up like this so maybe you should just -“ your sentence is cut short when a harsh smack lands on your ass, making you yelp.

“Drop the attitude, doll.” Eddie’s hand pushes your dress up to reveal your plush asscheeks and tiny lacy underwear that barely cover anything. He pushes himself against you, his already hard cock brushing up against your barely covered pussy. His hands grip onto the globes of your ass, kneading it and shaking it in his palms. “I don’t know why you’re walking around here trying to act like this ass doesn’t belong to me, you know it does.”

“Maybe you should just get over yourself and make me your girlfriend then.” Your snarky tone earns you another spank, rougher than the last.

“What did I say about the attitude?” Both of his hands come down on your ass, his rings stinging against your skin causing you to moan. He does it again. And again. Until he starts to see faint welts from his rings and the marks of his handprints.

“This ass is mine.” One of his hands travels down to cup your pussy, thrusting the heel of his palm against your clit. “This pussy is fucking mine. Say it.”

“Admit you were jealous then.” Your voice comes out way whinier than you’d hoped, it practically sounds like you’re begging him as you subconsciously grind down against his hand. “Say you’re mine too.”

“You want me to be yours, baby, huh?” He pushes your panties to the side and runs his fingers through the slick lips of your pussy before bringing the tips of his fingers to your clit, circling it. “Tell me who owns this pussy then. Tell me and I’ll give you this dick.”

“It’s yours, Eddie, it’s all yours, m’yours.” You sound cock drunk already and he’s barely even touched you but you don’t even care. You want him so bad. You’re putty in his hands and he knows it.

“Yeah, that’s right baby girl, I fucking own you.” You hear the clanking of his belt before you feel the tip of his cock running through your folds, he collects your wetness, using his hand to jerk it along his shaft. He pushes his tip in, pulling it back out a few times before slamming into you. He starts fucking into you at a brutal pace, the desk sliding against the floor, your hips slapping together.

“Fuck, fuck yes, feels so good.” He’s so deep from this angle, practically bullying your sweet spot as your hips dig into the wood of the desk.

“Yeah, that’s right, take this fucking dick baby. This is my pussy, you’re so fucking tight, damn.” One of Eddie’s thick inked arms laces around your shoulders, pulling you up so your back is flush against his hard chest while his other finds your clit, his thumb rubbing quick circles against it.

“Oh god - fuck, fuck Eddie, I’m gonna cum.” You’re practically drooling as he plows into you from behind, he shoves his hand down your dress and into your bra, expertly finding your nipple and tweaking it between his fingers. “Shit, I’m cumming, tell me you’re mine Eddie, please, need to hear it.”

“I’m yours baby, this dick is fucking yours, pussy feels so fucking good squeezing me like that.” Eddie buries his face in the crook of your neck, placing sloppy open mouthed kisses there. “Gonna fill this pussy up, paint those pretty little walls, maybe I’ll knock you up, then everybody will really know who I belong to.”

“Yes, fucking fill me, fuck a baby into me, want it so bad.” Eddie groans, his hips still against yours as his cock twitches, ropes of his cum spilling inside you.

“Fuck, baby doll, fuck.” Eddie breathes heavily as he pulls out of you, grabbing onto your hips to flip you around. He reaches down between your legs, gathering the cum that dripped out so he can push it back inside of you. “Wouldn’t want any to go to waste, would we?”

Divider is by @strangergraphics & older!Eddie edit is by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

#Dolly’s 1.6k celebration #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #older!eddie munson #older!eddie #older!eddie x reader #older!eddie smut #Dolly writes

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hoshigray · 2 years ago

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Now look here, it's sugardaddy! x sugar baby! reader time >>:3 So here's the rundown: the reader is a college senior who works part-time in a diner and finds out that their favorite customer, Toji, is a sugar daddy and wants to initiate courtship. Although it is a proposition you fail to see yourself saying no to, is this something you can see yourself being in the long run?

A/n: This prompt was picked on a poll to celebrate getting over 50 followers, only for me to get to 100 right after!!?? Y'all...can I give you a hug? ;w; No, oh okay. Anyways, I won't make another poll, BUT I'll be opening thirsts/requests soon!! >:D I just gotta make myself a disclaimer list before we let those lil fantasies of yours fly, lol. But yeah, this is my first time posting a fic over 1k+, so I hope y'all like it. Also, bonus: there's art drawn by Moi (@hoshigaby)?? You'll have to scroll down to find it tho :33 Okay, I'm sorry, go ahead and read!!!

Cw: soft dom! Toji x fem! reader - implied age gap (the reader is in their early 20s, Toji's around early or mid-30s) - mating press - cervix fucking - oral (fem! receiving) - pussy drunk Toji - breeding - daddy kink - overstimulation (fem! receiving) - pet names (baby, babygirl, darlin', good girl, honey, kid/kiddo, mama, princess, sweetie, sweetheart) - praise - clitoral play (Toji pinches your clit) - reader isn't a virgin but, it's the first time you and Toji have sex.

Wc: 4.9k

"Oh look, your favorite is here."

10 o'clock, it's closing time. All the servers and bussers are ready to buss down tables and sweep the floors, hosts at the front split up tips and head straight home, and the cooks clean the kitchen and throw out the trash. All there's left is the silence of the dining area, where not a single customer is in sight.

Well, minus the one Utahime points out to you.

You turn to the bar area, where almost all the tables are empty, and all the high-rise televisions are turned off. All but for one, which was showing a football game.

A man is watching the screen, sitting in a booth at the far end with a glass of beer on the table. He's wearing a black turtleneck covered with a denim jacket, white fur on the collar, and a silver chain contrasting the black clothing. You gaze downwards to his black jeans pants, where his left foot seems to be tapping the ground. He's waiting for someone.

Once his eyes catch your approaching figure, his deadpanned face shows a smile in recognition. He was waiting for you.

And you smile back as you walk towards him.

The familiarity with this man comes from a year working at the diner. His name is Toji Fushiguro, and he's been a regular even before you started working here. And to make things funnier, he was the first customer you served after a week and a half of training. You can recall when you accidentally put milk and sugar in his specifically requested black coffee, to which you apologized profusely ("Heh, it's alright, darlin'" He flashed a smile that was meant to reassure you. "The first time that's ever happened to me.").

It was there that you found yourself being the only person that's served him. At first, you thought of it as some sort of joke after the coffee mishap, but now, unless you're there to take his order, he'll only have a beer or black coffee with all the other servers. The crew often pokes fun at you, stating you're the older man's favorite. And you gotta admit, it makes your heart swoon knowing this is true.

"There she is," Toji watches you approach him with his foot finally stopped tapping the checkered floor beneath him. "My adorable lil' server."

You giggle as you sit on the cushioned booth seat across from him. "It's good to see you, Mr. Fushiguro. I hope life's been good for you." You wave goodbye to the guy behind the bar counter, who turns off the TV still on as Toji focuses on something else. You promised to be the last person to turn off the lights and lock the doors before leaving, so now it's just you and Toji.

"I thought I told you to drop the Mr. Fushiguro, kid." He reprimands you with his playful smile, the right corner of his lip quirking his scar upward. "And I could ask you the same thing. How's college goin', darlin'?"

An exaggerated sigh leaves your system. "It's going alright. Can't believe I'm about to be done after the next semester, but the senioritis hasn't hit me too strong yet, thank God. And I can't wait to graduate with all this debt on my back~!" You flash the fakest beaming smile with two thumbs up.

Toji chuckles at your fraud enthusiasm. "Mmmm, I bet. But I know you're smarter than me and most people who work for me, so I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"Yeah, I'd like to think so, too." Your chipper attitude dwindles, and Toji notices the change in tone.

"What's up? You don't think you'll get yourself a job?"

"Umm, well," You cough to clear your throat from awkwardness. "I tried signing up for plenty of internships. Some of them shut me down, others just haven't replied back. And I guess it's just me overthinking, but I worry that I won't get a job in something I like..."

"Aww, princess," Toji rises from his cushioned spot to move to your side, sitting close to you with his big jean-covered thigh brushing yours. He places a hand on your back to rub comforting circles. "That's just the thoughts in your head."

You groan into your hands. "I know, that's why I don't know why I'm beating myself up about it so much... But it's okay! I know I'll be fine because I still have this job keeping me going for a year."

Toji raises a brow. "You wanna be a server all your life? Wanna serve me my black coffee and BLT sandwich til my last breath?"

You hit his chest in amusement. "Well, no, but if it comes down to it, I don't mind. I'll just take up more jobs or maybe make a side hustle. Either way, I know Mei Mei will help me out. I'm sure everyone here will if they have the chance."

"I could also help you."

Your hands instantly go up defensively. "No, Mr. Fushiguro, I wouldn't want that! I'm sure you're pretty busy, and I don't want my troubles to burden you."

Toji's eyebrows knit together, his sharp eyes surveying your defensive stance. "It wouldn't be trouble if I'm the one offerin' to help you, honey."

"Yes, but even so..." You look at your lap as your fingers dance with each other to ease your anxiousness. "It would feel unbefitting to have a customer — a valuable one such as you — to help me with my financial problems. Seeing you smile at me when I serve you your coffee...I'm perfectly content with just."

Your gaze locks into your fidgety fingers, saying the last part was probably unnecessary. Yet it was true; Toji had always been patient with you whenever he stopped by, even going the extra mile by giving you a seriously generous tip after his meals. You know you didn't deserve it, but he's already at the door before you can argue with him. If his gracious action was just a mere small percent of what he could do, then he's done plenty for you than needed.

Toji, however, didn't see it that way. He hums as he leans back onto the booth seat, his hand now snaking to the back of your neck, his thumb caressing the nook of your neck and trapezius.

"Well," He breaks the silence, you're listening. "What if we take this outside of customer service?"

The brows are pulled together as you turn to him in slight confusion. "What do you mean by that?"

"I've been thinking for quite a while," with his hand maneuvering to rest on your shoulder, he sighs and straightens himself up. "Your manager, Mei Mei, right? I talked with her not too long ago, telling her how much of a hard worker you are and how even while still in school and suffering with assignments, you still smile and make sure the customers enjoy their time here."

You give him a thanks, and he continues on. "Which is why I told her about what I wanna do. So here's my proposition: I'll pay for everything for you. Your debt, bills, clothes, whatever it is your pretty lil' head is worryin' 'bout."

Toji's promise does sound comforting to the ears, but you think about your part in all this. "So, do I have to work for you?"

He chuckles. "No, baby, not working fr' me. But there is something I want you to do."

"Yes?"

Toji doesn't give you a clear answer, staring at your face with a soft smile. You wonder why he's being odd until his face leans forward, and the hand on your shoulder pushes you into a kiss. You let out a yelp into his mouth, but the shock diminishes once you succumb to his warm, intoxicating lips. He tastes like beer, definitely from his drink.

He removes his lips from you, and you faintly exhale in an unsteady breath. "Mmmm, yer too much fr' me, sweetie." Toji groans and kisses down your neck while you place a hand on his chest to grip his turtleneck for support before you dissolve into his arms. And although you shouldn't be at your work at this time of night doing this, it felt too good to end.

"I want you to be with me," Toji says in-between smooches on your neck, moving to paint the other side with his pecks. "You're so good to me, darlin', always being such a good girl." He nibbles on your clavicle, and a soft gasp rewards his eardrums. "Lemme take care of you, y/n."

All that's going through your head is the feeling of his lips on your body and the arousing throbbing sense happening in your nether core.

"Hmm, whaddya say, baby?" His lips are too close to your ear as he playfully bites the lobe. Your thighs rub against one another, and you know there's a wet spot in your panties. "Gonna be my perfect girl?"

If you don't give him an answer quick, you're bound to melt right on this seat, and being a whimpering mess to his touch is embarrassing enough.

"Haaaah...Y-yes," You finally answer in weak whispers, mind spinning and eyes glossy. "I wanna—Ahaaa...I wanna be yours."

You can feel Toji's lips curl into a smile. He lifts his head to look at you, and a hand comes up to cup your face before he gives you a soft kiss on your quivering lips.

"My good girl."

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A few months have passed since you and Toji formed this new relationship. And getting used to certain things is still a challenge.

For one: covering up your new lifestyle is never easy when you're out with people you know. During winter break, you went to dinner with your friends and offered to pay for the whole table. They looked at you as if you were talking nonsense ("Girl, where the hell you get that kind of money to be covering for all of us?" "For real, is this the same diner you've been working at? Are they hiring?").

Another thing that wasn't easy to get accustomed to was Toji spoiling you. Since you're a college student, Toji only sees you every other weekend when he has time. During those days, Toji doesn't hold back in showering you with gifts and affection. Between the fancy dates in expensive restaurants, riding rides at fun amusement parks, or the bags of new clothes you bring back to your dorm, it was something you didn't expect to happen so quickly. Your roommates constantly tease you about this "mystery man" who makes it known you're his special lady.

But outside of that, the most significant change was you and Toji. To say you two got closer was too easy to put into words. Sure, the money was there, so you could finally get a good night's rest without worrying too much about your school debt or bills. However, you knew this went beyond the dollar bills and the fancy clothes.

Come to find out, Toji knows and remembers things that amaze you. There was a time he bought you a whole wardrobe worth of dresses because he remembered you had to cancel dates with your friends since you had nothing cute to wear. Or the time he got you a box of your favorite teas, even though you briefly mentioned them to him during a talk way back from recollection.

And even away from the materialistic things, you can feel how much Toji loves you. You can feel it in his eyes whenever he's looking at you. You can feel it when you try to argue yourself out of trying an outfit you don't think will be good on you, but Toji coaxes you into it because he knows — not thinks, knows you'll look good wearing it. You can feel it in his hands when they hold yours, when he places a hand on your thigh and rubs it in loving warmth, or when he caresses your cheek when he kisses you goodbye when you two have to return to your own lives.

It's a type of love you didn't see yourself being on the other end of. The more immersed you are, the harder it is to imagine yourself out of it.

Spring break is now upon us, and Toji has invited you to join him overseas for a business trip. You tried to decline, saying it's his trip and you don't want to intrude on his business. That argument was immediately shut down ("Tch, believe me, sweetheart, you're saving me from bashing someone's head in if you're close to me than not. Plus, I wanna see you wear that cute swimsuit I got you."), so he dragged you on his private jet, and now we're here.

During the day is when he's away for work, so you spend the morning either in the penthouse suite you two are staying in, outside taking pictures to show Toji later or looking around at the little shops nearby. Toji is done with work around the early afternoon, so you two spend time together exploring the country, trying new foods, and taking walks around the area while talking about how your day went until the sun goes down.

Everything goes well until Thursday when Toji texts you saying something happened at work and that he'd be at the suite later than usual. Well, it's 7:45, the sun is starting to go down, and Toji is still nowhere in sight. I hope everything is alright on his end.

You're unsure about going outside for a walk on the off-chance you stay out too late. And if something happens to you while Toji isn't close by, that'll give him more to worry about on his plate, and you definitely don't want that for him.

So, you look around the penthouse to see if there's anything to keep you occupied until Toji's return, and then what catches your eye is the swimming pool outside on the terrace which you haven't tried yet. That'll do!

You go to change into a swimsuit, a cute two-piece that Toji bought for you when you two went shopping together. After a quick shower, you enter the pool and enjoy the calm waters while watching the sunset, leaving a beautiful array of colors painting the sky over you.

Tomorrow is your last day here while Toji will do business, and then you're back to school on Monday. The fact that you'll be graduating debt free still blows your mind. Toji really fulfilled his promise and took care of your worries.

Is that to say that your relationship ends once you touch that diploma?

You lift your feet and lay on your back to allow the water to hold you up, ears covered in the water and face looking into the sky as you're lost in your thoughts.

It wouldn't be too far off if Toji wanted to close this whole thing off when you graduate, as the point was for you to not worry about debt and such. That much you understood from the very beginning. But what happens after that? Do you two just go back to being acquaintances that only meet at the diner? And what about the stuff he got you? Do they stay with you forever? And do you have to fight memories of him every time you see them?

What about all the touches, all the hand-holding, all the cuddles, and all the kisses? Are they supposed to mean nothing to you the next time you see his face?

You're thankful for the water keeping you afloat in the pool, but having these thoughts attack your brain just makes you want to sink in loathing.

Until you feel something tickle your feet, having your body react in a state of panic. No longer floating on your back, you search for whatever is torturing your feet. Only to find Toji in front of you wearing black trunks, he chuckles lowly, and your heart sinks in embarrassment.

"T-Toji," You swim up to greet him. "How long were you back from work?"

"For about 10 minutes," He watches you move through the water, following you to sit in the shallow part of the pool for you two to talk. "I saw you in the pool and thought I'd join. I tried callin' out to ya, but the water was blocking your ears."

"Hehe, sorry about that. I was thinking about something. How was work?"

His face went into a deep scowl with rolled eyes, and you giggle at his nonverbal response. "Had I not known I was comin' back here to see you, I'd probably fucked that rookie up."

"That bad?"

He hums and brings you closer to him with his hand on your shoulder. "But don't worry 'bout it. And you? What were you thinking about?"

"Hmm? Oh, it was nothing," your encouraging response is fictitious.

Toji lowers a brow. "Try again."

"No, honest! It was nothing, Toji."

"Don't make me tickle you again, kiddo." You freeze and look at his face. His sharp gaze and slight grin speak for themselves about his seriousness.

A sigh is withdraw from your lips. "I was just thinking about how I'd be leaving on Saturday and being halfway done with my senior year of college."

"And?"

"And, uhh," You gulp and avert your eyes to your lap, your fingers swaying with the pool water. "I was also thinking about me... and you?"

There's silence, the lack of response eating you alive. Then you feel Toji's hand grip your shoulder.

"Are you scared I won't be with you after you graduate?"

He hit the nail because you don't answer for a few seconds. Your eyes still avoid him.

But Toji still persists. "Do you not want to be with me?"

Your head turns to face him in haste, taking you aback at how fast you were. "No! I don't want this to end. I'm grateful for how close you and I have become. I want... I want..." You fall silent once more as your head moves back to your lap as if you'd find the words you want to express lying there.

Using his free hand, Toji grabs your chin to look his way again. "What do you want, baby? Use your words fr' me."

The intense gaze of his jade-green eyes captures your attention, practically daring you to look away from him. The warmth of your cheeks spreads around your face, and you gulp before answering.

"I really appreciate all that you've done for me. And I...I really like you, Toji. I want to be with you." His face doesn't change as you ramble on, causing you to move your eyes to avoid the awkward stare. "But I wouldn't blame you if you want to stop with where we—"

Your sentence was interrupted by Toji's kiss, and a squeak was suppressed between the two lips. You exhale in bliss as your hands find purchase on his solid chest. He deepens the kiss when his hand is posted at the back of your neck.

You break the kiss to breathe, Toji's gruff chuckles fills the warm air.

"You're too adorable, princess. Do you really think I'd want to let my precious girl away from my sight?" You open your mouth to interject, but Toji lifts your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each knuckle. "Listen here, darlin'. I didn't offer to take care of your debt on a whim. I adore the fuckin' shit out of you, and I was gonna wait til your graduation to ask if you'd still want this thing to be official."

"But now that I hear you're interested," his big hand holds yours, fingers intertwined as his thumb brushes your forefinger. "Are ya up for it?"

You breathe slowly to ease your heart, beating at an irregular tempo. You grip his hand in return and offer a sheepish smile.

"Yes. I'd like that very much, Toji."

He smirks and kisses your cheek. "Good girl." Toji has his arms placed behind your back and under your legs. Then he stands up while picking up your figure bridal style. He grins hard when you squeal in surprise as your arms sling around his neck.

"Let's shower," he walks out of the pool and into the suite. "And then afterward, I'll show you how much I've been itchin' to make you be my girl for real."

The heat on your face grows tenfold, and Toji barks a laugh when you hide your face. You can only mentally pray for yourself for what's to come.

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That little prayer did absolutely nothing!

Now you're lying on the bed nude and wet from the shower as the water droplets on your body slide down to the satin sheets beneath you. Your hands cover your mouth, trying to suppress the moans and sobs from exiting your lips.

And the cause of this is the man currently nestled between your legs. You can see the raven hair between your inner thighs, but you feel a wet muscle lapping around your vulva. The lewd noises of Toji eating you out fill the room and has you writhing in discomfort, and you try to slowly move your lower region away from his ravaging mouth.

"Aht aht, you're not goin' anywhere, mama." Toji's rough hands grip your waist and pull you back down, his nose brushing your clit as you jerk upwards. He lifts his head to look at you, and the image of your slick smeared all over his mouth and chin almost makes you faint.

"Put those hands down, baby. Let Daddy hear that sweet voice of yours." He uses one hand to play with your pussy, middle and forefinger abuse your inner lips as his thumb grinds down on your sweet bud. Your eyes shoot up for the stars, and you're forced to do what he says, hands gripping the sheets while your cries are out for him to hear.

"Aahhhh!! Haaah, T-Toji!! 'S too much, too—Ooohh!" His tongue returns between your cunt, licking and tasting the sticky fluid coating your pussy. Your eyes are watering, your mind starts to feel dizzy, and your legs can't stay still to save your life. He's been doing this for 15 minutes!!

You clutch his hair and wail out his name in pleasure, earning a moan from Toji as his grip on your thighs gets tighter.

He can tell you're close to finishing, so he helps you. His tongue slides from your wet center to your clitoris, licking and sucking on the extremely sensitive bud, his teeth lightly pressing down on the pearl.

Your release comes instantly, and your walls spasm as you cry in pure euphoria. Your head pushed deep into the pillow below you, letting your body finish reacting to the climax. However, Toji doesn't wait for you when his mouth drinks your essence. His tongue attacked your sore velvety walls, having you gasp for air.

When he's done, he finally withdraws from between your legs and kneels before you, taking in your disheveled figure. Your tear-stricken face and hooded eyes peer up at him as he wipes his face of your excess come, licking the rest from the back of his hand.

Toji snickers hoarsely. "Sorry, sweetheart, you tasted so fuckin' good I couldn't help myself. Besides," you watch his hands trail down to his dick as he places himself on your messy vagina. "Gotta get you prepped up fr' me."

He puts a pillow under your lower back to raise your hips more. Seeing his dick for the first time has you in mental turmoil. Toji notices you looking and sneers, pulling your hips to him so his balls practically kiss your opening, his dick on full display on your lower abdomen. The girth alone has your cunt pulsating in anticipation, and good God, the length of that thing. It's not the first dick you've seen in your life, but it's definitely the biggest challenge you've come across.

I hope those 15 minutes of prep were enough.

You come back to your senses when you feel the tip of his hefty member circling the corners of your folds, and your slick aids him as a lubricant.

"Ready, babygirl?" You exhale a nervous breath and nod for confirmation. "Okay, we're gonna start real slow."

Toji began to push the tip in, your folds being spread open to accommodate the foreign object intruding into your tight hole. You close your eyes and hold your breath, the pain worsening by the second. You take one breath, and Toji pushes further. With another breath, he goes further. Another-

A giant gasp takes over you as the tip of Toji's cock enters you. And Toji takes his time pushing himself further into you, using every fiber of his being not to rut into your tight walls off the jump.

"Haaah, hmmm, oh fuck," That's easier said than done with you gripping onto him like your life depended on it. Once he's pushed his whole cock into you, your words come out as a babbling mess, gripping his arms for support. He looks down at your disarranged self, chuckling at such a wonderful sight. "You look really fuckin' sexy layin' under me, baby."

"God...Toji," Tears stream down your cheeks, wincing at the pain down south. "'S too muuu-ch, too big for—Hnnngh!!" A sudden thrust of the hips has you biting down on your bottom lip.

"C'mon now, I thought I told you about that. I already let it slide once or twice." Toji places your legs on his shoulders and leans close to you, his body weight adding onto yours as the base of his cock grinds into your sex. "What's my new name, mama?"

"Ah!! I'm sorry, Daddy." The title comes through sobs.

Toji grins from ear to ear, wiping your tears with his calloused fingers. "Good girl," he kisses your forehead as you adjust to his girthy length. "So fuckin' pretty fr' Daddy." He takes your lips with his soft ones before moving his hips in a slow yet rough rhythm.

The mating press has your body submit to him, taking in his cock as it sinks deep into your swollen core. And it only gets worse when his pace gets faster, hitting your sweet spots accurately. At this rate, you're bound to cum earlier than necessary.

Then you feel his tip abruptly touch your cervix, and the wail you let out is picked up by Toji's ears. "Oh? Think I found what I was lookin' for." His hips grind deep in you, his tip abusing your poor cervix to the point you speak in tongues. "Feelin' good, princess?"

"Fuck, Daddyyyy, please, I'm-Ahaaah, Ohhh!" His irrational pace has your brain turning to mush, his cock bullying your insides. The sound of his balls slapping against your squelching folds has you squeezing him harder. "I'm gonna cu-cumm!!"

Toji hisses into your ear, the tone of his voice dominating your senses. "Oooooh, don't grip on me like that, sweetie. Gonna end up — Mmmph! Shit, shit, shit, shit...Gonna give you a baby."

You reach to cup his face through watery eyes glazed in a haze. "Please, Daddy, I want it," You know you're talking nonsense, but why care when you're feeling this fucking good. "Inside, I want it, inside!"

"Heh, be careful with what you wish for, mama." He kisses you again as his hips become erratic, and he moves a hand to your clit and pinches it, whining into your mouth when you're cunt clutches onto him one final time.

You cum around his cock and push your head back on the pillows, your gushy walls spasming around his length, prompting Toji to cum inside you after a few more thrusts. You two moan into each other's mouths, riding each other's high until your bodies calm down.

The two of you pant heavily once the kiss is broken apart, and his deep emerald orbs take in your dazed expression. He smiles when he notices drool on the side of your mouth, using a thumb to wipe it off for you.

"My sweet darlin'," Toji kisses your cheek and sighs deeply into your embrace. "You're too good fr' me, baby."

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"Did I say that I want your babies?"

You're resting with Toji, your head relaxed on his chest as you sit between his legs. The television in the bedroom plays an episode of a sitcom, anything for you two to look at and enjoy a moment of peace together.

He snickers at your question, his chest rising and falling as you lay on him feels nice. "Yeah, you kinda did."

"Wow, that sex must've screwed something up in my head."

"Yeah, my dick had you wanting to risk it all." He snorts when you playfully hit his arm. "Don't worry, we can find some plan b in the morning."

Turning to face Toji, still watching TV, you furrow your brows. "We? What about work?"

"I have tomorrow off. It's your last day, and I don't feel like going back to work, or else I'll be sour all fuckin day. Much rather spend it with you than with some morons."

You look at Toji for a little longer before you smile and kiss his cheek, catching the older man off guard as you nestle into his warm body. "Thank you, Toji. For everything."

The thanks carry a deeper meaning. Not a single ounce of doubt clouds your mind now that you've gotten the closure you wanted. Thinking about how your life brought you to this moment, you're happy with your decision to pursue this relationship and more. And it's thanks to this man for making it possible.

Toji still stares at you before he scoffs and kisses your temple.

"No problem, kiddo."

4K notes · View notes

puck-luck · 1 day ago

Note

luke x older reader anon again! congrats on 1k! submitting the same request, with hearts and prompt 25 🫶🏻

warnings: unprotected p in v, age gap (not major.), religious themes & motifs, pining, childhood friends to lovers vibes, best friend's brother ofc, jealousy, occasionally insecure statements from luke, really just the sweetest sex you can imagine. i LOVED writing this. hence... the length.

WC: 4,351

You’ve been friends with the Hughes boys as long as you can remember. The first time you met Quinn, it was during your first pee-wee skate.

Your dad was a big hockey fan, so he wanted to teach you how to skate. The debate had been between figure skating and hockey– your mom loved gymnastics, dance, and figure skating, having been an artistic athlete herself. Your dad wanted you to skate regardless, but hockey felt more suited for your talents. You were a competitive child– and territorial over your toys– so your dad thought it would translate well into a hockey environment.

He took you to the Olympics in Salt Lake when you were three years old. You went to see figure skating and two of the United States hockey games– one for the men and one for the women. To your dad, it wasn’t a surprise how your eyes grew into saucers when you watched your first live hockey game.

He’d enrolled you in peewee skate the following week. There were no girls-only leagues, so you were put into a coed league. Quinn was in the same league. You became very fast friends– you liked to talk, your new little buddy liked to listen, and then you finally got him out of his shell midway through the season and your friendship was fully cemented. Actually, the second you learned his last name was Hughes– like Sarah Hughes, who won the Olympic Gold in single’s figure skating when you were in Utah– he was stuck with you. Just because you’d preferred hockey didn’t mean you didn’t love ice skating, too. It just wasn’t your passion.

You and Quinn stayed in touch after that peewee hockey season, enrolling in the same league and requesting to be on the same team until you both graduated into the boys- and girls-only leagues. You still remained friends, staying in contact as best you could when he moved to Toronto. You’d send letters back and forth and you became a pro at interpreting Quinn’s boyishly terrible handwriting. He’d tell you about his brothers, his parents, his school, and his hockey teams. You’d keep him updated on home, but then it stopped being home to Quinn. Soon enough, you were only talking about hockey and family. ‘Did you see that Crosby won the Hart Trophy?’ ‘Yeah! Ovi got the Calder though, so we’re still on even playing field. Canadian boy.’ ‘Hey, Ovi is Russian. Choose a real American and get back to me.’

It wasn’t long until you secured an invitation to visit the Hughes during the summer. You and your family went up to Toronto to visit them and you got to play with the Hughes boys for a whole week. It was so much fun, so the next summer, you begged to invite them to your place for a week.

The tradition continued for years, alternating houses and hometowns. You and Quinn both applied to Michigan– he played hockey, you did not. You were a good player, but you’re more of a beer league girl. You weren’t recruited to play college hockey– which, for a while, you thought was weird, because there are so few female hockey players in America. You’re hoping that your lack of recruitment means that there are hundreds of amazing women who are better than you at the sport, and that helped you accept your fate. After all, Quinn would sometimes bring you to the rink when it was empty. You’d get to play for a little while– and it was nice, in college, to have someone who knew you so well.

A lot of people assumed that you and Quinn were together, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Quinn was like your brother. There was that weird month when you were thirteen and you’d gone to visit him over the summer and you’d thought, maybe… but it turned out that you were just thirteen and confused because of your rampant hormones and puberty. Quinn is just your friend, your best friend.

All of the brothers were pretty off-limits. You’d seen the way girls had started flirting with Jack as he’d entered his teens. You’re able to admit that he’s a cute boy. Luke was an absolute sweetheart, always trying to play with Quinn (and, by extension, you) as you’d grown up. You felt so fond of Luke in a ‘look at how precious he is, I need to protect him’ sort of way.

And then, last night at the lake house, he’d helped you line up a shot in pool and kept his hand on the small of your back when you bent over the table, and your mind had been spinning ever since.

You can’t tell Quinn, obviously. That’s his baby brother. You’re not even sure how you feel about it– Luke’s always been your little buddy. Now, he’s over half a foot taller than you, so he’s not so little anymore. Still– he’s four years younger than you and Quinn. It’s the equivalent of a freshman hooking up with a senior and you feel icky.

Regardless, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. He likes to twirl his fork between his fingers when he’s done eating dinner. He’ll spread his legs and sit forward when he’s playing video games with his brothers. An absent-minded, crooked smile falls on his mouth every time he’s only half-listening to you or the other boys. It’s paired with a look in his eyes that you can only describe as warm and content. In twenty-four hours, you’ve noticed more things about Luke than you’ve ever seen before.

He’s grown up. It’s still a little weird to you, but he’s 21. You’re still 24, even though your 25th birthday is slowly creeping forward. You find yourself justifying the three year age gap, persuading yourself that it’s fine to look at Luke like that, but then you catch yourself and look away. You’re pushing the idea out of your brain.

But he’s goofy, and cute, and so sweet. He’s the same Luke as always, but you’re seeing him in a brand new way.

You’re able to keep yourself at bay for over a week. The boys throw a party and invite some girls over. Normally, you’re not jealous. You’re calm. You don’t care.

Across the room, there’s a girl flirting with Luke. She’s got a hand on his arm and you’re nursing a drink, seeing red. You’re using Jack as a shield, but you’re still able to look over his shoulder. You think you’re being slick, but it turns out… you’re not.

“What are you looking at?” Jack laughs, tilting his head at you exaggeratedly before turning.

Unfortunately, you know you’ve been found out. There’s only one thing that would have you glowering in such a way. Nothing else in sight is nearly as interesting as Luke and the girl beside him. Jack clocks it right away.

He turns back to you with a tight, knowing smile, like he’s trying to hold back laughter. He pushes his tongue into his cheek and quirks his eyebrows at you.

“Interesting,” Jack says, swirling his drink in his solo cup and then bringing the rim to his mouth. He maintains eye contact as he sips.

You pop the bottom of the cup, making the drink splash into Jack’s face. “Fuck off.”

He wipes his mouth and crosses his arms, cradling the drink in the pocket of his elbow. “You and little Lukey?”

You grind your teeth and glare at him in the most menacing way you can. Jack has known you for too long to be intimidated by your glares. He also never really cared that much in the first place– he’s too shit-eating to be concerned about the repercussions of his words.

Jack smirks some more. “Don’t worry,” he says, popping his jaw like he’s turning a piece of gum over in his mouth. “Your secret is safe with me.”

You clench your teeth and continue glaring. You suck your cheeks in and bite down on the inside of your mouth, lips curling with annoyance.

“You know, he wouldn’t mind if you went over there and staked your claim,” Jack says with a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t think he’d be upset at all.”

“Fuck off,” you repeat again.

“C’mon, Y/N.” Jack pushes your shoulder lightly, jokingly. “You’re being obvious.”

“Quinn’ll kill me. And– it’s Luke, Jack.”

“So what? It’s not weird. We all grew up together. We’re all around the same age. It’s not a big deal. He’s had a crush on you forever.”

“It’s different,” you sing-song. “He’s younger than me.”

“Let’s go, Cougar,” Jack teases, reaching up to high-five you.

You don’t take it, instead deciding to punch his stomach.

Jack doubles over like you actually wounded him, but straightens up smiling. “You oughta go make him jealous.”

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Dude, I’m serious. Let’s go flirt with Trevor or something. Someone who Luke thinks you’re better than– I guarantee he’ll be over here in a second.”

Jack actually tugs you toward Trevor and explains the plan before you can even get a word in. So much for keeping your secret. Trevor, to his credit, is a very willing subject. He keeps a hand on your waist during the whole conversation and you do your best to ignore the niggling desire to look over your shoulder at Luke.

Turns out, you should’ve been worried about Quinn.

“Get your hands off her, Zegras,” Quinn snaps, pushing Trevor’s hand off of your waist and stepping between you. “You’re not allowed to fuck my friend.”

If that’s how he feels about one of his friends touching you, then you feel a bit faint at the idea of Quinn’s reaction to Luke getting together with you. That might seal the deal– you really can’t fuck Luke.

“I’m not fucking her,” Trevor says. “We’re working an angle here, Quinn.”

Quinn scoffs. “Yeah? What angle is that, Trevor?”

“We’re trying to make Luke jealous, hello?” Trevor says like it’s obvious.

“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face in your hands. “Trevor, you fucking moron.”

“What?” Quinn demands, but his look turns into sheer bewilderment. “You’re doing this for Luke?”

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, stomping away.

Trevor, somehow, is free to follow after you. Quinn hasn’t stepped in to stop him. You wish he would. He’s probably too confused. “This is good,” he says. “He’s definitely going to see us going upstairs together. Hold my hand.”

“No.”

“Dude, it was working. Luke was looking over at us the whole time.”

“I don’t care, Trevor.”

“Don’t you want him?”

“Not like that,” you hiss between your teeth. “I don’t want to make Luke jealous. I want him to come to me because he wants to, okay? Go downstairs. I don’t want to be with you right now.”

Trevor holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. I’ll go. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You disappear into your bedroom, changing into pajamas and climbing into bed. It’s nice to have your own bedroom in the lake house that Jack and Quinn bought with their NHL salaries, but tonight it’s bittersweet to be able to hear the party going on as you lay in bed. It’s not at all like when you fall asleep during a holiday party and your parents put you to bed, and you can still hear the laughter of the guests in your dreams. Now each bout of laughter reminds you of her, the girl whose hand was on Luke like she already owned him, and you wonder if he’s making her giggle with his stupid corny jokes.

God, last week you didn’t even like Luke. Now you’re burning with jealousy– or maybe it’s the fires from Hell, because you’ve got a completely inappropriate crush on your best friend’s little brother. You can never come back to the lake house like this, at least not until you’ve gotten over this shit. Why are you so affected? It’s Luke, for fuck’s sake.

It’s Luke again when someone comes knocking at your door. You thought it would be Quinn, ready to chew you out or question you extensively about this crush. To your surprise, the problem himself appears.

“You okay?” Luke asks, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. His silhouette is burly and big and you have to close your eyes to shake the pang of emotion that penetrates your chest.

“Just tired,” you reply quietly. “Couldn’t stomach the party anymore.”

“Did Trevor say something to upset you?”

Quieter: “No, Luke.”

He hovers silently. You can hear the cogs in his brain turning. His pitch matches yours when he speaks next, although his tone is much more melancholic than despondent. “Are you mad at me?”

You hesitate for a second too long. You’re not mad, but you’re certainly taken aback by the uncertainty in his words. “No, Luke,” you say again, but this time the pang that goes through your chest is more familiar. You don’t want to upset him. You’ve always wanted to protect Luke from the world, but now you’ve made him unsure and insecure. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Luke asks, and you have to take a shaky breath. He sounds so small. It’s like the time that you didn’t let him ride bikes with you and Quinn to the store, even though he begged, and then he cried and ran to his mom. After seeing Luke’s puffy red eyes and resolute determination to ignore you for the rest of the night, your soda and candy bar didn’t taste as good. In fact, they tasted a bit like cardboard. You ended up throwing half of the bar away and going home early. You swore you’d never make sweet little Luke feel that way again.

“You wouldn’t get it, I don’t think,” you tell him quietly, pushing yourself up in bed and resting on your elbows. You take a deep breath and look at him, sure that he can see the way your chest rises and falls.

Your eyes have adjusted enough that you can see the way Luke’s mouth opens, as if to say something, then closes with a shake of his head. You notice his eyes fluttering towards the corner of your room, removing you from his line of vision. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me,” Luke says, biting his lower lip in a dejected and heartbreaking way. “I get it. I’ll go.”

“Luke,” you sigh. “Don’t be like that.”

“No, it’s fine. You don’t wanna talk to me,” he says with a shrug. “We’re not friends like that. I’m not Quinn.”

“Luke.” You push yourself up further, pushing the covers down and criss-crossing your legs. “It’s not that.”

“It’s always that. And if it’s not that, then it’s that I’m not Jack. I just– I don’t want to hear that from you.” Luke shrugs again, always defaulting to that motion when he’s deflecting because he’s big and awkward and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. As if he’s thinking the same thing, you watch him shove his fists in his pockets and keep his shoulders tense.

“Come here,” you request, head tilted and mouth turned down with sadness. You shift your position so that both of your knees are under you and you’re sitting back on your heels. “Luke, please.”

You hold your arms out for a hug, not for the first time in your life, and Luke shuffles over. He takes his time and he refuses to meet your eyes, just stooping down so that he can wrap his arms around your middle. It’s a weird position, given that you’re kneeling on the bed and he’s half-bent over. You can feel the pout and doubt all over Luke’s face, so you reach a hand up to his curls and run your thumb over one of his more perfect spirals. He’s letting it grow out a bit and you like how messy it looks.

“Jack told me something,” you reveal softly, still petting through his hair. Luke stiffens in your arms, but doesn’t pull away. “He said you like me.”

Luke groans and struggles in your grip, even sinking to his knees to try and get out of your grasp. He’s kneeling beside the bed, and you bring your legs around so that he’s situated between them. You keep a hand on his shoulder, the other still playing with his hair. He’s evading your eyes again, looking stoutly at the floor.

“I have feelings for you, too,” you whisper, the admission feeling heavy and wrong and like a knife to the gut. Admittance is the first step, but you just feel silly. “And I don’t really know how to deal with those. You’re– I’ve known you since we were so little, Luke.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Luke says bluntly, a hint of a complaint in his sentence. “You’ve been acting weird because you like me, too?”

“I was upset that there was a pretty girl talking to you,” you say sheepishly. “And I just didn’t want to go along with Jack’s plan. He wanted to make you jealous. Thought that would work.”

“I’m always jealous when you talk to another guy,” Luke tells you like it’s obvious. “I just, kind of, gave up. I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me. I thought I’d get over it. Stupid childhood crush, you know.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding that you yourself just experienced a similar line of thinking. You said you’d get over it, but you don’t really want to. Not right now, at least, when Luke’s sitting in front of you and he’s got a tentative hand on your calf, rubbing his thumb over the muscle and staring up at you with big eyes. You bite your lip, trying to think logically about this, but all you can do is examine Luke’s features like you’ll never get to see them again. Maybe you won’t– not like this. Not in this liminal space between something and nothing. This is one of those moments that you know won’t last– because the next one will change everything. So, for a moment longer, you just reach out and run your thumb along Luke’s cheekbone, eyes flickering between his cheek, his lips, and his eyes.

“What do we–” Luke loses his words and presses his lips together, looking up at you, expression completely tortured. He turns his head and kisses the side of your knee, which makes your heart split a bit more.

“I don’t know,” you admit. You wish you had a better answer for him. You truly aren’t sure what you can do from here. There are too many things to consider– so you won’t consider them at all.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Luke asks.

A fond burst of laughter escapes from your chest. “Lukey, this is a twin bed. We can’t both fit.”

A pout comes over Luke’s face again. “We can too,” he insists, furrowing his brow a bit. “I’ll prove it. Move over.”

He’s climbing into your bed before you can tell him no. His long and spindly limbs are coaxing you to lay back, then warming you as he holds you tight. It’s a tight squeeze, but that just means that you’re touching him everywhere. It’s nice and you suddenly wish you were facing him, so you roll awkwardly in his arms until you’re face to face. Your noses are nearly touching and Luke is staring at you, really taking you in.

Your eyes find his lips… and then he’s leaning in.

It’s charged with tension and electricity, but it’s soft and hesitant. Neither of you want to test the boundaries and you don’t think this feels quite real. Your stomach is swooping with bats, not butterflies, and it’s exactly what you wanted. This is what you expected when you found yourself imagining kissing Luke this past week, even if you shook yourself out of it because it felt inappropriate. Here, it feels so right that you swear you could start crying from relief. You’ve never felt that way before from just a kiss. Your chest could burst.

When he pulls away, you feel frozen in time. Your eyes are closed and his lips are right there, a hair’s breadth away. You swallow, touching his chest, palm flat.

“Was that okay?” Luke asks.

You nod, then slide your lips over his again.

You come together in a way that can’t be described as anything other than desperate. Your hands touch him in any way they can and Luke’s do the same. You move in tandem like you’ve got a language of your own– an indignant hum from you followed by a sweet “I know” from Luke before he touches you exactly the way you want.

Kissing the whole time, Luke gets you on your back. Your lips only part to remove your shirt, then his. Luke’s big hand cradles your jaw and neck, keeping your head and mouth exactly where he wants them. He guides you with a surprising amount of experience and sureness, although maybe he’s fueled by the same feeling of rightness as you are.

He opens you on his other hand, snaking his hand into your pajamas shorts because he can’t be bothered to remove them. His hips roll against your thigh, his long torso displacing your pelvis from his as he kisses you. He’s big– you knew it height-wise, but now you can feel him against your leg, and you want him to fill you. You want him to claim you, to take you– you want to give all of yourself to Luke. It’s madness and though you’re sure you’ve lost your mind, the crack in your chest that pours out love for Luke has taken control of your body.

After three fingers and a lot of whimpering from you, clutches at Luke’s hair and bruising kisses working in tandem with your noises, Luke works your shorts down. He breaks from your lips so that he can take you in beneath him. He touches your waist and the curve of your stomach, the one that you cringed at for so many years as a teen but finally accepted in your grown age.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says reverently, eyes portraying nothing but sincerity.

You can’t say anything to that, nothing that can match his utterly genuine sentiment or portray how grateful you are that he took the time to say those words, so you kiss him again. You muster up an embarrassingly wanton ‘please,’ which you draw across his lips like a paintbrush.

You can’t get enough of saying his name as he presses into you, his heavy body blanketing yours. You can feel his every muscle move as he works into you and you’ve never felt more like a masterpiece. There were times when you made fun of the phrase ‘making love,’ but sex with Luke feels intensely like you’re creating something tangible by coming together in this way.

The moans and cries that you’re trying to stifle so that no one comes barging in should be enough to convince Luke that this is everything to you. Sweet, sweet Luke– he seems choked up when he says, “They can’t fuck you like I can.” He says the sentence like he has to prove it to you, like you’re not falling apart under his touch. He pleads with you between the words, in the spaces where you can see his breath hitch in his throat.

You’re still not sure where this night will leave you tomorrow morning. Everything, everything has turned on its head. Somehow, you feel a bit like you’ve been leading up to this for a while, not just in the past week. Luke knew it before you did.

“No,” you agree, touching his cheeks and keeping his eyes on yours. “They can’t.” You kiss him briefly, feeling his tongue swipe into your mouth before you pull away. “I’m yours.”

Luke actually keens at that, his arms straining as he shifts his weight to fuck into you harder. Because you’re so close, the bed isn’t moving enough to bang against the walls or creak on its boxsprings, and you’re glad. This is a moment for just you and Luke– you don’t want anyone hearing. You don’t want anyone to be around. You hope that they’ve all miraculously disappeared and you and Luke are the last people in the house, maybe even on Earth.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” Luke repeats, his forehead meeting yours. You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale, his breath automatically syncing with yours. You’re overwhelmed, but deep in the back of your mind, there’s a voice reminding you about an ancient tradition in Polynesian culture where forehead-to-forehead contact and breathing together is sacred, like you’re sharing the breath of life– like there’s some power in the universe, a god or many, clicking things into place.

He unravels first, fucking you through his release with urgence akin to the sentence he said before. Always trying to prove himself– but Luke has always been enough for you. Maybe not always in this way, but now, there’s nothing he can do to shake your favor. All of the feelings in your heart have been poured out, shared and mixed with his own, and it’s created a puddle– or a bubble– around the pair of you.

It’s been written that sex is when two people come together as one. You finally understand what they mean, joining Luke in the seas of ecstasy.

Sweet nothings and touches like worship follow. Your hands can’t get enough of Luke’s strong figure. He runs his fingertips along your body like he’s in awe of your figure, like he gets to touch a statue so lifelike and beautiful that he can’t believe it was ever a block of marble at all.

The concerns about what will happen tomorrow don’t exist here, in your dark bedroom with Luke stuck to you like glue. For now, it’s just you. Together, breathing, touching, loving– there’s nothing else that could matter. This is it.

note: i have to work on my grad school app in the coming days, so this will probably be the last blurb/oneshot until i finish the application. but, i might get bored of writing that and could pop in to do another smut piece here and there ;) hopefully i'll chat with y'all soon! but i don't want to rush this grad school app LOL

#puck-luck's 1k celebration #puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes smut #luke hughes blurb #lh43 #nhl #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #hockey smut

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jacesvelaryons · 4 months ago

Text

His Chosen Bride (Senator!Coriolanus Snow x Capitol Reader).

Chapter 1

masterlist

series masterlist

excerpt

summary: senator coriolanus snow seems on top of the world with everything in his life ahead of him except for one thing. the perfect bride. in his pursuit, your life changes forever.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: thank you everyone for your patience as I prepared this!! i hope you all love it and show your support through likes, reblogs and especially comments of what you thought! i love hearing what my readers and other people in the fandom think about my work, so any of your thoughts would be appreciated.

requests OPEN

Upon his return to the Capitol, his reputation restored, wealth acquired from the Plinths who so generously named him the heir to their grand fortune, his path to power was paved for him and he knew he just had to take the strides to get to the prize. The Presidency.

Coriolanus Snow, scion of one of the oldest and most elite of bloodlines of the great Panem families was home, his shameful exile to District 12 remembered by no one and purged from the registry.

Enrolled in university and an apprentice gamemaker, he was eventually promoted to become Senior Gamemaker upon Dr. Gaul’s semi-retirement and her preparation to hand off the reins to her protégé. Her brain child whom she molded from the vestiges of his sorrow and pain, of his loss in the districts and what hardened him into the man he was now.

When he graduated with honours from the political science department, it was only a few months before he was elected in a landslide to become the youngest Senator in Panem’s history, relying on his contributions to the recent games, memories of his late parents to those of a certain age to secure his win.

He would have considered re-election for another term before advisors of his and other cabinet members of the old, sickly President Ravinstill were close to swearing their support but all echoed the same thing that he lacked, they said. It was not his youth, he was wise for his age they said, but he was not married. If he had a wife, they said - they would be on board for his presidential election. And it seemed that election would be sooner than later, even before his first term finished.

Coriolanus needed to find a wife, not just of good breeding, but of the most impeccable lineage, from among the most illustrious hundred or so families of Capitol society. It was a given it would be purely political and strategic, someone whom he could not love and open his heart to after his previous tragedy pursuing such.

The perfect bride. The search for the perfect companion, the woman whom he would call his wife, his future first lady, and mother of his heirs. The ideal woman who would bridge the gap between his dreams to make them a reality.

He could not just choose the first possible candidate recommended to him or that caught his eye, Coriolanus had to devise a thorough, multi-step testing process to find his perfect wife, his bride.

A rigorous procedure would be curated in finding her. Interviews, tests, exams, genealogical inquiries, fitness tests, and practice scenarios will be prompted from eligible candidates, already filtering through those only from the old, grand families upon application.

Digging through his family library into the latest edition handbook of noble and elite families of the Capitol’s upper class, the creme de la creme, ignoring recently disgraced clans, ones full of scandal and controversy, with plenty of illegitimate children, and extinct ones rotting in poverty nearly like his own had he not reversed their fortune.

He scheduled a meeting with his advisors and closest allies on creating the program, the selection process, examinations and interrogation, and how to make the announcement for the families of these eligible girls to put their names in, with their consent or not.

Coriolanus Snow was born from the upper echelon of society, and only deserved the best woman with whom he would continue his lineage with and hail his presidency with. No one had dared, rather self-important he could argue if he cared, to make as many girls clamour for his attention rather than to propose to a woman of his choice.

Just as he was about to put the book down and shut it closed, a name caught his attention. Yours. Your lineage, accomplishments, your etiquette were second to none, and he had to have you. At all costs. He would burn heaven and hell, but the question remains - would he win you over? Or will he have to force your hand no matter what?

Besides, he requires others to choose from, even if you are the most qualified. It would not do well for your ego to have the satisfaction you were chosen for. He wants you to want it, to beg for it, claim it and aspire to be one worthy to be by his side, motivated by the competition who would slit your throat and ruin your reputation for it.

And yet a lingering thought crept up his mind. He had brought life back into the Hunger Games, that was on its dying breath before his arrival, why not another? Everything is a game if you try hard enough.

…

A brightly lit room surrounded you as you grabbed a few more pieces of dandelions and baby’s breath bunches for your bouquet, in your floral arrangement lessons for the week. Under the watchful eye of your teacher, a premiere florist who is hired by the Capitol’s elite for the most fashionable and well-sought events every season.

Hailing from one of the oldest families among the Capitol’s blue bloods, your family may not be the wealthiest but definitely prosperous to be among them, yet your lineage is prominent even before Panem’s founding, the most ancient of them all.

In your family home’s perfectly manicured garden, you immerse yourself in the arrangement, something that would impress your teacher yet also something you would find pleasant in a vase by your study. No way would someone of your heritage be found associating with anything subpar.

After your studies at the Academy, your lessons and tutoring would never end, usually something different for each day. Piano, ballet, etiquette, floristry, household management, painting and so on.

As you gathered a crimson bow around the branches of your bouquet, you could hear murmurs among the uniformly dressed maids and servants around the stately home, as your mother jaunted towards you in her glossy designer heels.

“Yes, mother?” You greeted politely, observing the unreadable expression on your mother’s face.

She approached you carefully, gently taking your hands in her own, soft and having never experienced hardship.

“A great honour has been bestowed on you, daughter. A promising Senator has taken a liking to you, and wants you to be considered for his future bride.” Your mother smiles in celebration and pride, and your brows furrow in consternation.

“A Senator as old as father? A man old enough to be my grandfather-”

“Hush, darling. He is young, from a proper family of the elite family unlike those Plinths, new money scum. Senator Coriolanus Snow, the son of late General Crassus Snow and his wife Victoria Snow. He is only twenty four, I think you would like him.” She brushes your hair behind your ears, but you turn away from her, pushing her hands away.

“Twenty four, when I am eighteen?”

Your mother shrugs. “It is the way of the world I suppose. I was your age when I met your father. Eighteen and he was twenty one, a match fit for the sort like us.”

“You mentioned I was being considered but no outright proposal or courting has begun. What do you mean?”

She unveiled a large envelope she was holding behind her back, taking it out for you before a gold hued canvas invitation was unveiled.

Dear Y/N L/N and family, I hope this letter finds you well. As I have progressed through my career as a gamemaker and politician, it has been too long since I have navigated through life without a lifelong companion and wife.

You are a woman of unblemished character, accomplished in many ways, intelligent, well-bred and would fit the bill of what a man like me seeks in a future partner.

There is no guarantee that you must receive this invitation and accept, but rather that your name will be included in a pool of candidates to be considered. I hope that you and your family would view this as a position of honour, and even if you shall not be chosen, you will be compensated for your time and this shall only raise your standing in our society.

Please reply to the number and address attached below with your response, and I would be beholden and pleased to hear if you would put your name forward to possibly become my future First Lady.

Sincerely, Senator Coriolanus Snow

You could not believe it, the humiliation of not being asked directly for one’s hand in marriage but having to compete with other ladies of society and grovel for his attention.

“Are you and papa seriously making me do this? The Hunger Games to be someone’s wife and heir maker?!”

Your mother sighs, shaking her head as she crosses her arms. “You do not understand, child. I have heard of other elite families whose daughters, sisters, nieces such as the Heavensbees, the Cardews, Dovecotes, among a few have been invited and all have accepted. No one would even think to refuse a Snow!”

“But it is not guaranteed. How would I not be offended if he did not make a guaranteed offer but wants me to participate like I am in a beauty pageant. I have to close off even entertaining other suitors and I am not even assured that I will not be left dry and humiliated if I was not chosen.”

“Your grandmother was Miss Panem many years ago before the war and those rebels ruined everything, I am sure he will choose you. Even if he did not, any other unmarried peer of yours would scoop you up in no time, that if Snow perceived you as someone potential, they are from the cream of the crop.”

You sighed, putting down your shearing tools and your bunches of daisies and baby’s breath. You never liked roses.

“You have always aimed for the stars, daughter. Would you pass on an opportunity like this or be forgotten to the tombs of time?” Your mother suggests, walking over to you with a guiding hand on your shoulder. “Choose wisely if you want to make something of yourself, to not pass on opportunities like this.

Golden letter in hand, you stared intensely at the dark line above your name, signifying whether you would submit your name or not. With a bold stroke of your ink pen, you sign your fate and future away. I agree to participate.

Let the games begin.

His Chosen Bride Taglist:

(if your name is bolded, I put in your user but it didn't show up when prompted so I'm not sure if you got notified!) Please let me know if you'd like to be added and reminded every time I update.

@xsunaxrinx @bialuvss @emma0320 @callieyanderechan @crimsonred13 @starcrosslove @castellandiangelo @sylmthadmnglla13 @tragicmiserybone @o12lk22gr @anna-stasia @paumartinezsstuff @coriosbunni @nora4us @jupiterstearx @corvinaweeb @batman1asf @imperfectophelia @madmaxsalltoowell @vicky2408 @folklorelogy @bradpittwh0re @linaa20 @abcde601375 @kickmybark @emynunez21 @princessofthereach @maeve-a24 @ellie-bellie-29 @ashfromurfire @dante-pearl @yuuuumii @kxksksjjd @everythingjp @frill0 @aslalali @addriaenne @joyfulyouthlover @rbrsvb @motomami111 @imamybubbles @x-gabrielle-x @crystalstars88 @cc13723things @izzy02soph @shycandykitty @thtweirdointhecornr1917 @drpeperrlover11 @starmaiden @itz-me-cherie @papi-chulo69000 @meetmeatyourworst @sombodynotimportant @hyunjinspdf @bellaramseysgirlfriend @mari-mari12 @kis9na @lvrdilfs @mizuki80mizuki80 @deago21 @hafisjfjsit @miniatureblazellama @livid-euphoria @sugaxmamii @kropka4321 @jamesyrobin @joana2934 @kotadislikesthissite @byisy @shinae28 @atlasedelgard @eimearj123 @urfavewh0r3 @sophs-sofa @dreammie-marrie @cos-ilsee @nikolaikirche0 @bigwmc66 @mandoskenobi @theswreties @soniusstuff @1lovesnowballs @bitvhese @craftycloudcollection @byraaaaan19 @mythic-moon-moth @reading-in-velaris @bestboymikey @marytargaryen @cleverpeachheropersona @adeline32sblog @snowdrops-png @lysonal @tiffdx @bingxuu @noothemoo

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milla-frenchy · 2 months ago

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His favorite game

2k1 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: you meet a corrupt security guard. (Un)fortunately, he's hot Warnings: 18+ mdni. Javi's pov, age gap (reader is 22, Javi in his 40s), darkish, dubcon, coercion, power imbalance, degradation, oral (m), piv, creampie

a/n: this is written for @toomanystoriessolittletime 's follower celebration. I got this prompt/plot (darkish Javi P) Congrats on your milestone 🥳🥳

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 dividers @saradika-graphics

“I can suck your cock, if you want.”

Javi scoffed, until he realized she was dead serious. His dark eyes were on her, as he was leaning against his desk and she was sitting in front of him in a chair. He could see the worry in the shoplifter’s eyes. Concern that he'd call the cops.

So she told him the first thing that came to her mind. She thought he was handsome, anyway, with his brown hair, his slim waist, and his broad shoulders. His uniform, which would look ridiculous on anyone else, suited him well. She was sure he’d be devastating, in a bar, wearing some jeans and a t-shirt. She was also pretty sure she’d try to seduce him, that man in his forties, the perfect dilf. And hopefully ending up with him in his car or in his apartment.

“You wanna suck my cock?” he mocked. “And asking me to forget about the police, right? That's what you're telling me?”

“Yeah.”

He checked her ID, to be sure she wasn't under age.

Then he pointed at his crotch with his chin and lit a cigarette as she got on her knees and pulled his cock out. She sucked his tip, his cock, his balls, and he shot his cum deep into her throat, even before he finished his cig.

That's how it started. A week after his first day at the job.

After he had returned from Columbia, it helped him to forget his past life.

To forget that he didn’t get along with his father anymore, after he had told him that he wouldn’t take over the ranch.

To forget that he had lost himself in every woman he fucked, creating an endless circle.

To forget that he had never drunk and smoked so much in his life.

To forget that in the past some people considered him a hero. It was as if he wanted to prove them all that they were wrong.

To forget that he had given too much to the agency for his life to end up like that.

So since that first time, he took the habit of spotting women he could easily convince. The easy targets. Either too shy, or on the contrary those who weren’t shy at all. He really liked shutting up brats with his fat cock.

He loved the hunt, he loved spotting those who wouldn't say ’no’ to him. Either because they wouldn’t dare, or because they would easily take the challenge, the thrill, the chance of blowing him off in his office.

Javi sees a group of women passing in front of his security office. Twenty-somethings. He can notice these types of groups from miles away now. Young women who think they deserve everything because they’re pretty. Or rich.

He watches them laugh as they walk past him. Look at him. They must think it sucks, being a security guard at a mall.

He leaves his office and follows them inside, at a decent distance. He watches them laugh, loudly exchange comments, barely hiding the way they are making fun of people who don't fit their standards. It only makes him smirk. He's seen so many of these brats pass by.

His steps are soft, light. No one would think he was following anyone.

He's dressed in his black uniform with the word "security" on his shoulder and his back. He pauses at the same time as them. Swirls his toothpick between his teeth, watching them.

The group finally splits up. Three of the young women head to a clothing store. The fourth, you, waves goodbye to them and goes to a record store.

He’s watching you, as you look at the vinyl record covers, then the posters on the wall. And finally, some walkmans. You don't know it yet, but you’re his target. Separated from your friends.

You leave the store, your big purse slung over your shoulder, open.

He thinks that he really wants to wipe the smile off your face. So he steals a Walkman from the store, grateful that the mall management still hasn’t installed the anti-theft devices there.

This isn't the first time he places an object in a woman's bag, just to get her in his office. To see how she reacts. See if she offers to suck him off, too.

He slips the Walkman into your bag, then lets you head for the exit, letting the detectors beep loudly when you’re about to leave. He quickly runs towards you, as you’re looking confused. He asks you to open your bag and you do it, sure of yourself, but then you see the Walkman.

“Come with me, miss. You'll explain yourself in my office.”

You object the whole time walking there, saying you didn't do anything.

He’s already hard.

He closes the office door behind you and leans against his desk. Finding yourself alone with him in this office makes you a little uncomfortable, and you shift on your feet. He takes his time, letting your anxiety build, his gaze fixed on you. Cold. Frowning. Like an adult who’s about to lecture a child.

“So, miss. I have to call the police, you know.”

“I didn’t do anything!” you reply.

“Well, is that your purse, miss?”

“Yes, it’s my purse. But I didn’t steal this. I can buy one if I want, I can afford it.”

“Have you never heard of kleptomania?”

“No, what is it?”

“What, you don’t have enough money to pay for college?”

You roll your eyes, deeply offended.

“Anyway, like I said, I have to call the police,” he says, reaching for his phone.

“Wait!” He pauses and turns back to you, raising an eyebrow. “Mmm?”

“Can’t we… can we work it out?”

“Work it out? How do you want to work it out?”

“You take the Walkman and bring it back to the store. We forget all of this,” you say, sweeping the air with your hand, as if it was just a nuisance, something insignificant.

“So you can steal again in a few days? I don’t think so.”

“I told you…,” you start to say. Then stop. “Can I offer you some money then?”

“I don’t need your money, miss. And I’m not sure you understand how serious this is.”

You bite your lip, and he sees your gaze fall to his crotch and he tries not to smirk. It's almost too easy.

“Wait! I can… do something for you, if you want.”

“Like what?” he says, keeping his tone neutral. He sees you hesitate. Sees the way you swallow. He leans toward the phone again, forcing you to break.

“Wait! I could do something.”

He raises his hands, as if he doesn’t understand what you're talking about at all.

"I could...." you start to say, motioning at his crotch with your chin.

“What? I got a stain or something?” he asks, looking at the spot you pointed to.

“Suck your cock,” you whisper.

“Excuse me, what?” He sees you roll your eyes and adds, “I didn’t hear you, miss.”

“I could… suck your cock.” Your eyes set downward as heat reaches your cheeks.

He doesn’t answer, he makes you wait for his reaction.

“If you want,” you add.

“You’re telling me you’ll blow me, and in exchange I won’t call the police?” he asks, as he has done dozens of times before.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty two.”

“It’s the first time I come across not only a thief, but also a slut, that wants to suck my dick to get away with shoplifting,” he lies to you.

“And this is the first time I’ve come across a security guard so corrupt that he’s willing to accept it.”

“Watch that mouth.”

“Or what?”

“Or I will fuck it.”

The way you squeeze your thighs together doesn't go unnoticed.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you wanna suck my cock to leave this office free.”

“I… wanna suck your cock, so you won’t call the police.”

“Good girl,” he praises in a tone you haven’t heard from him before. Directive. Dark.

“Now come here. Get on your knees and beg for it.”

You turn to the door, worried that someone might come in.

“Don’t worry. Nobody will interrupt us.”

You walk over to him, as he’s leaning against his desk, and kneel down.

“I said, beg for it.”

“Pl…please?”

“Oh you can do better than that. Your father ever taught you good manners?”

No one has ever spoken to you like that, and the tingling between your legs makes you stop breathing for a few seconds.

“Please, can I suck your cock, sir?”

“Much better. Maybe you’re a quick learner.”

“Fuck,” you whimper.

“You like that, huh?”

You don’t answer, eyes fixed on the ground. He grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger and makes you look up at him.

“No need to be shy or deny it. You’ve squeezed your thighs together twice in the last 2 minutes. Take out my cock, miss,” he orders.

You comply and unzip his pants, before sliding them down his thighs. He’s hard. You pull it out of his boxers and stare at it. Holding your breath again.

“Think you can handle it?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, you’ll have to. Come on.”

You wrap your hand around the base of his shaft and lick up the precum that oozes out. Giving it a few licks.

“Don’t tease. I saw you, with your friends. Thinking you're better than everyone else. I hope you can do better than that with your mouth, now.”

His degradation turns you on. You take him in your mouth, struggling to wrap your lips around his tip. You feel your panties soaking wet. You apply yourself, sucking the head, licking his shaft and his balls, which are resting heavily against his thighs.

“Keep looking at me when I’m letting you suck my cock.”

God, you think. You're so turned on that you’d let him fuck you right now. You lick his shaft, tongue flat, eyes fixed on him. Tears well up in your eyes when he forces his way down your throat.

“You wet?” he asks, his cock in the back of your throat, his hands holding your head against him. You try keeping yourself back from gagging, and nod.

“Get up,” he says, releasing you. “Take off your clothes. Show me.”

You undress mechanically, then he grabs your hips and presses you against his desk, forcing you to spread your thighs, as he slides his body between them. He presses his hand against your pussy and hisses.

“You're dripping, baby. You need it bad, huh?”

You nod.

“Say it.”

“I need it, fuck! That's what you wanna hear?”

He smirks then grabs his cock in his hand and thrusts into you in one go, and you can't help but scream.

“Quiet,” he says, jaw clenched, covering your mouth with his hand, and starts fucking you hard.

“Watch it. Watch how I'm splitting you in two,” he says, finally removing his hand.

“Fuck, fuck,” you mumble as you look down and watch his cock plunge into you, soaked by your wetness.

“Pussy’s squeezing me so hard, fuck. Turn around,” he says, as he grabs your arm and bends you over the desk. He thrusts in again and grips your hips, slamming into you.

“Worth it?”

“Wh… what?” You can barely breathe, let alone speak.

“Whoring yourself for a Walkman?”

“Shit… I didn’t fuckin’ steal it.”

“I know,” he growls.

“What?!” you exclaim, trying to stand up, but he grabs your shoulder and presses you roughly against the desk, the weight of his body on your back, as he keeps pounding into you fast and hard.

“I wanted to wipe that smirk off your face. Make you beg for my cock. I know a slut when I see one,” he says in the hollow of your ear. He slides his hand down to your pussy and brushes your clit with his finger. Slows down the pace. Fucks you gently, trying to get what he wants.

“Now you’re gonna come on this cock. You’re gonna give it to me, like a good whore, baby. ‘cause that’s what you’re good at.”

“You’re… a fucking freak,” you pant. But you don’t fight, don’t resist. A part of you thinks it’s hot, the way he got you. And you want to come, need to come, he’s fucking you too well. You let your orgasm rush over your body, your pussy clenching on his shaft. He freezes deep inside you and comes, covering your walls in white ropes.

He stays pressed against your back, his hands tight around your wrists.

“I knew I picked a good one, today,” he smiles against your ear.

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runariya · 1 month ago

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🤫🥸👑

younger prince jjk whipped for his personal older maid reader

(smut+yandere+royal) part of the prompt game pairing: prince!Jungkook x virgin maid!female reader genre: royal!AU, yandere, dark romance warnings: yandere, obsessive JK, slight age gap, foul language, smut, rough unprotected sex, OC's a virgin, big cock JK, slight choking, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: 2.426

a/n: sorry for taking so long 🫣

The silent halls of the palace suffocate him. They always have, ever since he was a child. Jungkook thinks the place reeks of falsity—the opulence, the luxury, the endless corridors that wind around like the schemes of the nobles who haunt them. He reckons it’s all just a gilded cage, and he’s always hated it. His footsteps echo in the stone passageways as he walks towards his quarters, the coldness of the marble under his boots matching the numbness inside him. Or at least, what used to be numb.

Because now, there’s you.

His personal maid. Older than him, not by much, but just enough to make your place in the world seem worlds apart from his. He was a prince. He is a prince. The future king, they say. The one who will inherit the empire, rule the kingdom with strength, with dignity, with the coldness of royalty.

But he doesn’t care for any of that.

Not anymore.

No, his thoughts no longer circle around crowns or thrones or the weight of the empire resting on his shoulders. His thoughts, his every waking moment, every fleeting breath, are consumed by you. You. You’re all that matters now. And he wonders, as his hands flex into fists, how long it will be before you realise what you mean to him.

The thought of you slipping away—of you being pulled from him by duty, by the whims of others, by the wretched rules of the court—makes something dangerous stir not only in his chest but in his mind as well. He’s not naïve. He knows how people view him, how they expect him to carry on the family line with a perfectly selected queen. Some noblewoman who’s been groomed for the role since birth, someone who will help keep the balance of power in the kingdom.

As if he could stomach the idea of anyone else standing beside him.

As if he’d let anyone else have you.

The mere idea is enough to send his mind spiralling. He pictures them, the lords and ladies of the court, whispering behind his back, their thin-lipped smiles pretending to know what’s best for him. But they don’t know. They don’t know what he knows. They don’t feel what he feels. None of them understand the way you’ve burrowed into his soul, the way you’ve taken root so deeply that he can’t imagine life without you. Nor will he allow it.

Jungkook’s steps slow as he approaches his chambers, knowing you’ll be inside, as you always are, waiting for him. You belong to him in a way no one else ever could. Not in the way the maids belong to the palace, serving out of obligation, out of duty. No, you belong to him. You’re his. You may not have said the words aloud, but he knows it’s true. He’s certain of it.

And if anyone dares stand in his way, dares to suggest you aren’t worthy of him, he’ll burn the entire empire to the ground. He’d light the flames himself, with a smile on his face, and watch as the palace crumbles to ash, every noble who thinks they can control him turning to dust.

The door creaks open when he pushes it, the sound low and unassuming, like everything else in this world that tries to hide its ugliness behind a façade. But there’s no hiding from him. Not anymore. He knows what he wants, and he’s done pretending he doesn’t.

The soft shuffling of your movements reaches his ears before he even lays eyes on you, and something in him relaxes. Only slightly, but it’s enough to stave off the tightness in his chest. You’ve been tidying his room, preparing it for him like you always do, folding the linens with that careful precision he’s come to associate with you. But today, when he sees you, there’s something different. Something in the air between you that crackles undeniably.

You don’t look up immediately, your hands busy as you straighten out the edges of his bed. You’ve always been so diligent, so focused on your work, but Jungkook’s not interested in the bed or the state of his room. He’s only interested in the way you move, the way your fingers brush the fabric, the way your brows knit in concentration. Every part of you is a symphony, a perfect, quiet melody that plays for him and him alone.

But you don’t know that, do you?

You think you’re just another maid, doing your duty, keeping your head down in the presence of royalty. You don’t see the way his eyes follow you, the way his pulse quickens every time you enter the room. You don’t feel the way his thoughts darken when anyone else even looks at you.

He crosses the room silently, his gaze fixed on you, as though his presence might startle you if he were too loud. And maybe he wants you to be startled. Maybe he wants you to feel the same tension he feels every time you’re near him, the same overwhelming obsession that threatens to consume him and never let go.

You must sense him there because your movements slow, and then, finally, you glance up at him. Your eyes meet his, and something inside him twists so violently he almost flinches. But he doesn’t. He keeps his expression carefully composed, though his mind races, his thoughts deafening him.

You look beautiful.

You always do.

But today, in the low light of his quarters, you seem almost unreal, like a vision conjured from his deepest desires. He wonders if you’ve always been this perfect, or if he’s just started to notice it more. You tilt your head slightly, a questioning look in your eyes, but you don’t speak. You never do unless spoken to first. Always so obedient. Always so good for him.

That’s why you belong to him. Why you need to belong to him.

“Your Highness,” you finally murmur, your voice soft, as though you’re afraid to break the quiet that settled between you.

But Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. His thoughts are too tangled by the sight of you, by the way you look at him as if he’s just a prince. As if he’s not the person who lies awake at night thinking about you. As if he’s not the one who will do anything to make you his, no matter the cost.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” His voice comes out sharper than he intends, and he sees the way you flinch ever so slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing over your face before you quickly mask it.

“I haven’t, Your Highness,” you say quietly, lowering your gaze. “I’ve been fulfilling my duties.”

“Your duties,” he repeats, bitterness seeping into his tone. “Is that all I am to you? A duty?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t dare to. But the silence that stretches between you feels suffocating to him. Jungkook’s jaw clenches as he steps closer, and the room suddenly feels far too small, far too close. He’s so near to you now, so close he can see the way your breath quickens ever so slightly.

The way you try to hide it.

But he notices. He notices everything.

“I’m only doing what’s expected of me,” you whisper, and the words send a rush of fury through him. What’s expected of you? What about what he expects? What about him?

Jungkook grabs your wrist, and though he isn’t rough, the movement is sudden enough that you gasp softly, eyes wide as you stare at him. He can feel your pulse under his fingers, racing, and it makes something primal stir in his chest. You’re his. How can you not see that? How can you not feel it the way he does?

“I won’t let them take you from me.” His voice is low, a near growl, and he watches as confusion flickers across your face.

“I don’t—”

“They’ll try,” he continues, cutting you off, his grip tightening just slightly around your fragile flesh. “They’ll try to take you away, tell me you’re not fit to be by my side. That I need someone better.” The word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. As if there’s anyone better than you. As if there’s anyone else at all.

Your lips part, but no words come out, and he can see the fear in your eyes now. Not fear of him—no, you’d never be afraid of him—but fear of something else. Maybe you’re starting to understand. Maybe you’re beginning to realise what he’s known all along.

“You’re mine,” Jungkook says, his voice lowering to a whisper, as though it’s a secret only the two of you can share. “Do you understand that?”

He doesn’t let go of your wrist, even as you try to pull back, ever so slightly. His eyes bore into yours, searching, demanding. He needs you to understand. He needs you to see what he’s willing to do for you, how far he’ll go to keep you by his side.

“Your Highness, I—” Your voice trembles, just a little, but you stop yourself, as if unsure of what to say. As if you don’t want to say the wrong thing.

But there is no wrong thing. Not when it comes to you.

Jungkook’s grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb brushes over your pulse, and he can now feel the soft, frantic beat of your heart. He wonders if it’s because of him, if you feel anything for him the way he does for you. And if not, well… he’ll make you feel it. He’ll make sure you understand just how deeply his devotion runs.

Because if anyone dares come between you, if anyone tries to stop him from making you his queen, they’ll pay. They’ll all pay.

“I’ll burn this place to the ground before I let them take you away,” he murmurs, and though the words are quiet, the conviction in them is absolute. He means every syllable. He’d destroy everything if it meant keeping you by his side. The palace, the court, the entire empire—it’s all worthless compared to you. None of it matters without you.

Your eyes start to tremble, and he can see the uncertainty in your gaze, the way your lips press together in shock. But you don’t pull away. You don’t protest. Maybe you’re starting to understand. Maybe, deep down, you’ve always known.

Jungkook steps closer, his breath ghosting over your delicate skin as he leans in, his lips dangerously close to yours now. He watches the way your eyes flutter shut for a moment, as if you’re trying to steady yourself. As if you’re waiting for what comes next.

And then, without another word, he closes the distance.

His lips press against yours, a gentle touch at first, but it quickly becomes more, so much more. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as something dark and possessive roars to life inside him. You’re his. Finally, you’re his. There’s no going back now.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and for a moment, the world is silent. Peaceful. Like the storm inside him has quieted, if only for a moment.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, but filled with a promise that he intends to keep. No matter the cost. No matter the consequences. “I’ll always protect you.”

There’s nothing stopping him now as he pushes you onto his perfectly made bed—nothing, not even you—as he lifts the layers of fabric from your skirt, baring your naked cunt to him. Transfixed by the sight of your leaking juices, Jungkook takes the back of your knees, pushing you further to the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t want to waste any more time, can’t waste any more time as he tears his trousers down, aching cock springing free from its confines, slapping against his abs. His impatience is so thin that it’s even shown in the way his cock twitches towards you, as if it knows exactly where it needs to be.

“My queen, my good girl.” Jungkook pulls you closer, pushing with all his might into your tiny, weeping hole, not caring that it’ll be a tight fit, knowing you’re made for him, made to take him as he pleases.

The yelp, followed by a long moan as he splits you in half, burying himself inside you, is everything he needs to completely lose his mind, fucking into you with no restraint. It doesn’t take long for him to notice the bit of blood coating his cock with your arousal, knowing that this is the ultimate sign—you’ve been waiting for him and him alone.

“Your Highness,” you cry, fingernails digging into his forearms as he can’t seem to slow down, his burning eyes not knowing where to look—your face full of need, your tits bouncing with every pounding thrust, or your cunt so perfectly sucking him in.

“You want more? Hm? Want everything I have?” Jungkook can’t hold back, can’t control himself as he leans down, pressing ever so slightly on your delicate neck.

Your eyes roll back at that, uncontrollable moans drowning out the squelching of your cunt, abused over and over again. And when your hand finds its way into his hair, tugging him like you know he needs it, Jungkook knows you’re meant to be.

“You’re mine!” he growls, high from all the emotions finally unleashed. “Fucking mine!”

“Jungkook,” you sob, and he knows he needs to show everyone that this is final, that you’re a part of him—a part never to be removed.

He releases your throat, hands gripping your hips, certain he can feel his cock hitting your navel, bringing him closer to paradise than he’s ever been.

“Fuuuuck.” Jungkook throws his head back, too overwhelmed by his high and your own orgasm, spasming around him, to hold back any longer.

As he paints your walls, he can’t bring himself to slow down just yet, the overstimulation adding the cherry on top of the dessert that you are.

Your cries and moans soon quiet to heavy panting as he pulls out, and he doesn’t care about the mess you’ve made. It’s perfect, a testament to the love you share. It has to be.

And while you lie there, nearly passed out before him, your eyes still locked onto his, he knows he’s invincible now.

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hatorishimaselfship · 2 years ago

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😚 Write about the first time something romantic happened between you and your F/O.

Under cut!

Word Count: 1,401 Warnings: Age gap, Adult x Minor, Body Transformation Mention, Curses

The day had already been a long one for Hatorishima, and classes were about to switch over - she’d be getting new students any week now. It filled her with a little bit of excitement, but also dread. She was just a teaching assistant, rather than the proper teacher, so it wasn’t as daunting as it could have been but students could be rowdy. Even here, where most people knew to sit politely and listen in on their lessons, it’s not unheard of for a few delinquents to slip through the cracks. This had her up all night baking several goods to calm herself - cookies, lemon bars, blondies, and more. She even had two slices of chocolate cake saved in a tupperware for her lunch break. She forgot to eat them when her lunch break came around, and the end of the day approached.

Meanwhile, Yashiro Nene, a first-year highschooler had gotten into several scrapes that day. She had eaten a mermaid’s scale, becoming cursed to retain the form of a fish forever and serve under a mermaid. She had encountered the ghost known as Hanako-san, one who split the curse between himself and Nene to allow her to become human again, as long as she wasn’t wet - and worked under him. Hatorishima had overheard the scuffle and witnessed the situation, being adept at spotting yokai. That Hanako-san ghost had told poor Yashiro he’d allow her the “bare minimum” of a normal life.

Yashiro seemed mostly okay with this, even working under him, as long as she got to be human. She was made to clean the girls’ bathroom for the end of the day as Hatorishima graded papers, worried about the girl and how things would fall when the full emotional weight finally hit her. Yashiro may not have been her student yet, but a student cursed by yokai was her student regardless of classes.

Once the bell had chimed and Yashiro was freed from her restroom cleaning prison, she began to pass by Hatorishima’s classroom - now was the teaching assistant’s chance - the teacher had left earlier that day, and nobody else was in sight. Hatorishima opened the door and got to speaking, a little nervous, especially when Nene jumped back in fright.

“A-ah! Sorry for scaring you.” Hatorishima began, thinking over the student records of her class-to-be. “Yashiro Nene, correct?” A small nod from the student to confirm, Hatorishima smiling slightly as she manages to muster up the courage to bring everything up. “You’ll be in my English class next week - though, I’m a teaching assistant, not a teacher - Um, I… saw what happened today.”

Nene’s taken aback, not sure how to respond. What happened today? She can’t just tell a teacher she got turned into a fish! They’d never believe her, she has to think of whatever else it was that this person might’ve seen! “O-oh! Um, if it’s about the bento… Um, I didn’t mean to scare Minamimoto-senpai! I just wanted to gift him something nice! I didn’t know he’d get so worried! Very sorry, miss!” she begins to ramble, wanting to make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble, waving her arms frantically.

The teaching assistant chuckles a little, not to make fun of Nene, but to try and reassure her things were okay. “No, not that. You’ve not done anything wrong, Yashiro-san.” Hatorishima confirms. “I can see yokai, and I saw what that ghost had you go through. Becoming a fish… the mermaid in the classroom… it must have been so scary for you, huh?” her voice softens, wanting to make sure Nene knows she’s not being scolded. “As your English class’s teaching assistant for the year, starting next week, and someone that can see yokai - I wanted to offer you a safe person to talk to whenever things become difficult with that ghost or yokai in general. You can speak to me whenever you want, even if I’m busy with class. My name’s Hatorishima Hajime, but feel free to avoid the Sensei honorific, I’m not a full teacher.”

Yashiro, hearing about the situation being related to the yokai - the seven mysteries - the thing she was trying to avoid mentioning, causes her to pause for a moment as she processes the information. “WH-WH-WHAAA!?” She exclaims, her face full of shock. “PLEASE DON’T TELL ANYONE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED, HATORISHIMA-SENPAI!” Yashiro begs. Senpai - She’s still older than Nene, and it feels wrong to not use an honorific at all.

Hatorishima shakes her head, tone still soft. “Don’t worry, Yashiro-san. I wouldn’t air your struggles openly when they seem to be causing you a lot of stress… and for Hanako-san telling you he’d only give you the bare minimum of a normal life… it’s incredibly cruel.” Hatorishima reaches into her bag, pulling out her tupperware - both slices of chocolate cake still in tact, neither eaten.

Yashiro finally notices the weight of those words - the bare minimum of a normal life… not a full life, like she wanted. The bare minimum. It would mean there’s so much that she doesn’t get offered. The potential she never ends up marrying… the potential she never moves in with the person of her dreams, when she finds them… the potential that she’d never get to have enough time with her friends. She begins to tear up, the tears slowly turning into full-blown crying.

“Bare minimum…?” she whimpers. “He did say that… didn’t he?” Her voice shaky, her eyes cloudy from the water flowing from her tear ducts. “Hatorishima-senpai… does that mean I won’t have a full normal life?” She questions - if this teaching assistant can see yokai, she might know what yokai mean more.

“It might, Yashiro-san…” Hatorishima admits, not wanting to lie to this girl despite her age. If she’s truly being limited, it’s best to be honest… however, it doesn’t sit right with her to let this girl go through such a heavy struggle alone. She can’t stand those words from the ghost. Bare minimum? It doesn’t just fail to sit right, Hatorishima’s sure that it isn’t right.

“You agreed to Hanako-san’s terms, but… Are you really okay with that, Yashiro-san?”

“Of course not!” Nene manages to give back, looking up to the woman with her eyes still leaking tears, scales forming on her cheeks from the moisture - it’s clear the curse wasn’t fully mitigated when that happens, too - such a heavy consequence for only a partial fix to the curse. Hatorishima is certain this ghost isn’t treating Nene well.

Hatorishima inhales, and gently brings Nene closer, into a hug - she knows she shouldn’t hug a student like this, but Nene seems to really need it. “I know, Yashiro-san… it’s really scary.” She gently comments, rubbing her back. “I really shouldn’t be saying this to a student, but… if Hanako-san won’t offer you a full life as a consequence of agreeing to his terms… how does it sound if I try to give you one?” She thinks on how to explain this to Nene, wanting to come up with the right phrasing, hoping it wouldn’t appear as odd - before stating it outright.

“I’m an adult, so… I’d open up a lot more opportunities for you that ghosts like Hanako and friends your age might not be able to. Ones that your parents might not be able to, as well, if you don’t want to explain the curse.”

As Nene is hugged and reassured, she feels herself calming down, even if the tears don’t stop and her cheeks stay stained wet with her crying, she’s able to muster a response. “You’d really do that for me, Hatorishima-senpai?” she questions, to be met with a nod in response. She starts to smile again, hugging the teaching assistant tighter than the initial embrace began. “I… I think I’d like that. Um… if you’re going to be involved in my life so much to help with that… you can call me Nene-chan now.” she mumbles under her breath - hoping Hatorishima might need to ask again, but the green-haired adult picked up on it the first time.

“... You’ve been crying, Nene-chan.” she points out - an obvious statement, but one that needs addressed - she points toward her classroom desk and the tupperware. “How about we get you some water or ramune, and you can share the chocolate cake I baked? Let’s calm you down before home. It’ll mark a nice start to your spiting-Hanako full life”

#proship self ship #proship selfship #proshipper #proship #comship #comship selfship #comship self ship #age gap self ship #age gap prompt game #age gap f/o #fictional other #adult x minor fiction #age gap prompts #age gap ask game #blackheart-biohazards

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magicdustsworld · 3 months ago

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Redemption

Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: For you, freedom comes in the form of college life. However, soon you come to realize that tethering liberating steps for way too long will get you to situations you don't want to be in.

Tropes: Professor/Student, explicit smut

Warnings: profanity, age gap (Reader is in early 20s, Levi is in his early to mid 30s), drug abuse, smoking, alcoholism, implied nudity and blackmail, body shot, toxic college life, toxic friendship dynamics, college/modern AU, no mentions if y/n.

Word count: 3.6k

Event: submission for levievent under the prompt of day 10 - age differences.

A/N: after a lot of contemplation, I have decided to let it be a two-shot series. The next part will contain filthy smut, hopefully updated by tomorrow and pls excuse any mistakes on this part, my laptop broke down so I had to type it on my phone. Hope you enjoy!

Divider credits - @cafekitsune

|NEXT|

This isn't supposed to be happening.

You aren't supposed to be bend over your professor's desk, skirt raised up and have your cunt pulsating over his cock like a damn virgin.

He clicks his tongue, "Filthy brat," tightening his hold over your binded wrists as his pelvis smacks against yours in a uniform rhythm. "Don’t tell me you're cumming so soon. We haven't even started yet."

Your cheek rests on the hard mahogany desk, polished and clean as your eyes roll back from the way his cock just hits your g-spot with every thrust. The drool runs down your lips, too lust drunk to care and too traversed beyond reality to give him a verbal answer as he continues to assault your puffy folds with his shaft. Slick runs down your thighs, dripping on the floor as the room reeks with the combined juices of your arousal. He reaches down, pressing his thumb on your swollen bud and you're sent over the edge.

Shit!

How did this happen?

You have been caged your whole life.

Therefore, when freedom came knocking at your door, you didn't have any second thoughts from breaking free of the chains that binded you to a gilded cage. For you, freedom came in the form of college life.

If anyone from your highschool years saw you now, they wouldn't be able to recognize you with the 180 degree turn in personality, makeover and peer choices. A complete change. The most significant change could be your schedule. While you were living under the stern gaze of your parents, you had a timetable to maintain which prescribed when and how you should be present at particular places. That timetable was taken, crumbled up and thrown in the trashcan as soon as you got the gist of dormitory life. Besides, with your peers indulging in situations they shouldn't be, why should you hold back? (Like c'mon, you need to live your life as well)

Previously, you'd spend Friday nights in the confines of your bedroom while blasting your favourite playlist in your earphones and doing your homework. Now, the same music would boom but you are swaying your hips to it, bopping yourself and getting lost in the game of dance under the neon lights of the frat house. Red cups and beer pongs would escalate, which you readily partook in with the addition of forgettable one night stands. You told yourself that you liked the air of random hook ups while you were high, for it left you guessing that which brother of the fraternity you had fucked or not. While vodka and a night of reprieve was one thing, you looked forward to the coke. The very coke which once inhaled, made the euphoria burst in your system while ecstasy took over and you'd find yourself falling under the spell of intoxication.

Mind blank as a canvas and too high on serotonin levels, the fog of inebriation would cloud your eyes and you'd get lost in another midnight rhapsody. Can you blame yourself? College is meant for trying out all the pleasures of life, right? A hub for fuck boys and girls seeking validation from each other by fucking their daylights out. The minority who inclined themselves to academics were clearly missing out on all the joys life had to offer.

However, you didn't know that your favourite coke would be the reason of your downfall.

Maybe, you should have known better.

No– of course, you should have known better.

What were you thinking?

You should have stayed inside that night instead of going out to the same frat house, when you had an important physical chemistry exam the next day.

As far as you can remember, you were paired with a jock of the football team for flip cup. Although, hazed memories you noted the strawberry blond hair styled back and amber eyes. Maybe his name was John? Or Jean? Whatever, you only remember winning the game and getting your hands on the coke. Sooner than anyone had the time to comprehend, you were lining the powder on your finger edge and inhaling it generously.

Did it not raise a series of ooh's and aah's from the onlookers?

Like all the previous nights, your eyes were open wide with the crimson tint staining your sclera as you got lost in the ebullient maelstrom. Combined with the alcohol already running in your system, it didn't take long for the waves to crash ove. In this reverie you didn't realize when you were situated on the table, with grains of salt being sprinkled over your navel by your partner. He dipped his head down– mouth filled with tequila– swirling and lapping the warm muscle over your skin, feasting on the granules and you didn't even care with all your senses falling numb.

Anyone can guess what would be the outcome of attending an exam when the after effects of the powder fails to cease. With a pounding headache and being unaware of most of the answers, you can't say you were surprised to see your grade.

The capital F beside your name stares back at you from the mark list.

"Can't be that bad."

"It is."

"Not so," Your friend giggles, raking her fingers through her ash-blond hair. "It's only one exam, cheer up."

You bit your inner cheek, heaving a deep sigh. "This exam marks forty percect of my overall grade, Hitch. And with the way, my marks have gone down the drain, I don't think I'll even be able to pass this year."

That's an honest concern on your part because the final report would be sent to your parents as well and if they ever saw you failing one class, you don't know what hell they'll raise. Besides, the excuses of sickness and tougher lessons can only be used so far. (Plus, your heart thumped in your chest with the thought if they ever find out about this new lifestyle of yours... let's not think about it).

"You know," Hitch muses, leaning back on her Chair as she blows a strawberry bubblegum in her mouth. " You can ask for extra credit."

"Yeah sure," You don't bother to hide sarcastic tone, rolling your eyes and choosing to rest your chin on top of your palm. "There's no chance."

She raises an eyebrow, "Why not?"

"It's professor Ackerman," That almost comes out as a whine. "He is ruthless as he is, always with the poker look on his face and I can swear he won't even smile at a clown."

A sheepish smile curls up her lips but before she can speak, you start again.

"Plus, I am already on his bad books. Do you think he'll be all unicorns and rainbows when I ask for credits?" You fold your hand over your chest, gritting your teeth as if the cause of your predicament is the man in question; he isn't but you need something to get off your vexation. "That's straight up walking in a lion's den and I am sure he will come for my head."

"Oh, girl..." She sighs, interlocking her fingers together and perching them over the tabletop. "But why would he even do that when you will give him a show?"

That catches your interest, "a show?"

"A show," She nods, the upper pair of her teeth is revealed as she smiles, waving her finger in a circular motion in the air. "Just follow my advice."

You have never heard an advice as bad as that.

Correction:

You have never found yourself following an advice as bad as that.

Still, you find yourself here. Outside your professor's office, gazing at the ivory sign engraved with the obsidian lettering – Levi Ackerman, while you contemplate on how much this plan can go wrong. (In your opinion, 100%).

However, you are desperate and your desperation has brought you here. So why not...?

You knock on the door. Once. Twice. Stating your name as you suck in a deep breath, squaring your shoulders.

Please don't let it be long.

A deep voice reverberates from inside, "State your business."

"I would... like to discuss about my grades. May I come in, sir?"

"Yes."

You breath in, the knob turns and you set a foot inside.

"Remember," Hitch says, crossing one of her leg over the another. "You gotta look desperate." The tilt of your head and parting of your lips, garners her to explain more. "The first two," She snaps her fingers to the collar of your shirt, "Unbuttoned."

"What?!" On instinct, you fold your hand over your chest, twisting your torso in the opposite direction. "Are you out of your mind?"

"You want to increase your grades or not?"

"I do but–"

"No buts," The girl shushes you with a finger over your lips. "You want to get your way through college, you follow me. Got that?"

Left with no choice, you find yourself nodding.

The clicks of your heel seems to echo in the vast expanse of his office. It's almost afternoon and the orange glow of the setting sun pours into the space marring it with the similar hues. Late classes are adjourned for the day as the marks were announced. On top of that, its Friday. Therefore, regular classes would be starting after the weekend. The campus is almosy empty except a few staff and students lurking around the corners; a perfect opportunity to follow the plan.

Your find your professor to be seated across his desk, engrossed in reading a file while a pen is nestled between his thumb and pointer. As soon as he is aware of your presence, he looks up at you.

Instead of halting, a good distance away from his desk, you are walking up to it. Letting yourself stop within a meter of his proximity.

"What do you need to discuss?"

Prompt and straight to the point—as expected.

Lips breaking into a grin, you spin a strand of your open hair around your fingers. Leaning forward–it's apparent, what you're aiming at–you speak, "I was wondering... if I could get some extra credit in your class, sir?"

"He is your professor, that's your minus," She states with a lilt of her mouth. "But you're his student, that's his minus."

Levi raises an eyebrow, "Extra credit, you say?"

"He is a man, after all. And all men are perverts, give them a show of your assets and they'll be dancing on your drums."

He continues with a twitch of his lip, "And why would I do that?"

"Give him all the performance he needs," Her eyes darts south, she tugs on the fabric of your skirt."The shorter this is, the higher your grades will be."

"You seem to know all about their psyches." You comment, pinching your lips and smoothening the material over your knees.

That evokes a laugh,"Babe, how do you think I keep my grades up?"

By following the same advice she has given you.

In accordance to her, a face full of makeup with tits on show and the skirt raised enough to give a generous view of legs—one can make the professor's their very own puppets. So, once the same advice and opportunity is presented to you, why should you back down?

"Well," You start, plopping yourself on the chair across him, crossing your legs one over the other–hiking up your (already)shortened skirt. "I am sure we can work something out like..." arching your elbow on the table, you let your manicured fingers drum against your cheek; a seductive approach. This should work. "You don't want one of your students to be held back now, do you, sir?"

He stares at you for a solid minute. A blink of his eyes follow.

You shift in your position—offering him a rather salacious view of your cleavage. Come on. Your visage holds innocence akin to a child learning the first steps of the world.

One thing about Professor Ackerman that enthralls you is just how attarctive he could be despite his age. Probably a decade older than you but he certainly carries the enigma of a young man charmed with the maturity of someone his age. Gray eyes, dark bangs in an undercut and he just dresses so much better than all of the male peers you have encountered. And a lot better than all of your filthy hookups.

Even then, he is a man. Just look at it. The silence is stretching for a minute too long and dare you say, its almost suffocating.

While Levi's eyes are on you—something which you do want—he rather seems to be scrutinizing your behaviour than satisfy his inner perverse attitude.

Maybe he keeps this face even while jerking off.

That thought alone raises a cinch of chuckle to escape your mouth. His eyebrows furrow. At last, he speaks. "How long have you been in my class?"

Seriously? Is he so keen on continuing this game of back and forth. Shouldn't he be asking you how much grades you require by now?

"Patince is the key."

Hitch's words ring in your mind and you follow her again. "Since the start to second year?"

He crosses his arm over his chest, muscles flexing under his dress shirt as he leans back on his chair. You mark how there's a gleam in his eyes before he continues, "And how many exams have you taken until now?"

"Three? Why are you... asking that?"

"You'll know soon enough," he pauses, letting a string of tension to seep in through his body language. And as much as you don't want it to bother you, it is bothering you. "In which of those exams have you got a grade over sixty percent?"

"Um, uh sir–" You fumble over your words, raking your brain for any suitable response and while your grades is actually being discussed—a pang of exposure swirls in with the way you are dressed. "I don't remember..."

"Never."

"O-oh," Unease ripples through you, crumbling the calm veneer you are trying to maintain.

His gaze hardens, a tick of jaw and the creases on his forehead just shows he isn't in the mood for your performance. "Why?"

Only a low chuckle is released, attempting to depress the palpable tension."My bad... ah– you see, I don't have a good memory and that's why my grades are... well, you know."

"When have you ever cosulted me with the problem regarding your memory?" He cocks his head to the side, inverting the hourglass on his table. Shifting his attention back to you, he asks, "Besides, have you ever truly followed through my lesson in class? Ever tried to do your assignments by yourself?"

"Of course, I did," a clear cut lie but he doesn't have to know that. "But they are too difficult. You can't blame me, college is tough on its own and I have so many subjects to study–"

You wish to continue with your rant but the terse call of your name stops you on your tracks. His lips are curled down and he looks at you with utter disdain as if you were a bug. "If you have even paid a bit of attention in my class then you should know that I mark half of your grades by your attentiveness and student conduct. Something–" You swallow a lump in your throat, slumping your shoulders and hiding your chest from his gaze. "–you clearly lack and with the absolute shit you write on your answer sheets, you should know better than to expose your body in the name of discussion."

Blank.

You are completely blanked out.

What is there to say even?"

You chew on your lower lip, eyes flickering to anywhere but him. Clutching the mesh of your skirt in your hold. This meeting isn't unfolding like anything Hitch said about. You manage to exhale a breath, trying to hide your with your hairs, "Sir... I guess, I should take– I should leave now."

Only slightly you raise yourself from the chair, Levi speaks again, "So soon?" You sheepishly nod, giving way that this encounter wouldn't be to your favour. "We were just getting started. Besides, there's something more I need to discuss with you."

You look at him from beneath your lashes. It's funny how timid you are now. "Like what?"

"I've heard rumors of students getting their hands on question sheets by– let's say, means," He opens his drawer, pulling out a folder. "So... I played a little game with y'all. Changing the question paper, last minute was tedious- but doable." He twists his lips, picking out a A5 sized paper with contents hidden from you. He keeps his eyes on it while speaking again, "Humorously, you seem to answer only those questions perfectly which were leaked–"

"Excuse me?" You intervene, quickly. "I have no connection with this paper leak mess."

"Then how do you explain your tardiness with the paper, this time?" Steel eyes have shifted to you, "As much of a bratty student you can be, you aren't the type to completely fail unless–"

"You're just accusing me or something, I haven't done. When I say I have no connections with paper leak, I mean it."

"Then how do you explain your–"

"I don't fucking know. Just a coincidence or– whatever!"

"Coincidence? You really expect me to believe that?"

"It's not on me if you believe me or not. I have gave you my statement and you should know better than to accuse me of something just because you hate me."

"Very well, then" He tilts his head, shrugging his shoulders. "I will just have the dean rusticate you–"

"You can't do that. I didn't even know about all this."

"You want to tell me that you weren't cursing out loud while writing the paper? Don't try to lie, Zacharius told me about your indency in exam hall."

"That was because I was high on coke not— no, I–" Your eyes widen as soon as you realize your fumbling. Lips parted, you are more apprehended as the blood drains from your cheeks. "No, I- uh... I didn’t mean that, j-just a slip of tongue."

As for Levi, he merely stares back at you and... is that a smirk on his lips? It sure is. A triumphant ghost of a smirk directed at you while you began to drown in the whirlpool of despair. "At least, you remember that."

He flips both the paper to you and if your heart wasn't beating with a 10x speed before, it sure is now. Your jaw hangs open, shoulders becoming rigid and the air knocked off your lungs like you've been punches to the gut.

Pictures.

They are pictures, yes and it would have been fine of it was just that but it isn't. In the very pictures, you find yourself. One with a cigarette between your lips and from the background it is starkly evident that it's the college campus. The second is more precarious for you're clicked with some of your pals but it's shot in a way that only your face is visible while the group blows on a pot of Marijuana.

You wrestled with a deep-sated fear, eyes thoroughly scrutinizing each speck and corner of the photos—something, anything to prove that it isn't you. That it's framed, that all of it is a big misunderstanding. The dread of facing your professor overshadows all the protests stringing on your mouth; they won't even be let out if you try.

"It's a shame really," His voice echoes, the screeching of the chair is heard before he is sauntering over to the other end of the room. "I had better expectations from you."

You don't register the mocking call of your name, physically unable to. The adrenaline surges through your veins, goosebumps arising on your body with each passing second.

You need to leave. Run. Soon. Now.

You find yourself frozen in your place.

"I wonder what your parents would have to say–"

"No, sir." Instantly you crane your neck over to him, nails digging on the armrests of your chair. Your shoulders rise and fall as the hypertension settles in you. Your heart is thumping in your ears, fingers are trembling with anticipation and to add insult to the injury, darkness has started to commence. "Not my parents, please sir. Th-they– I don't know what they'll do to me. Plesse sir, j-just not that."

He leans against the door of his office, gazing at you with mere casualty, "You think you are in the position to make requests?" His irises flicks to the corner of the room. "You've made your bed. Now lie on it."

"Sir, please–" You are on the verge where you wouldn't have a second thought before begging on your knees. Something's pooling in your eyes and it stings as bad as your nails on the wooden armrests. "Anything but that. I will complete all of your assignments and I'll personally improve my grades without anyone's help. Sir, just one chance, please."

He huffs, twisting his lips as if a mirthful play is being presented to him. "Why should I believe you? Have you ever given me a reason to know you're reliable?"

"Sir, I have to try." Instantly, you stand up, marching over to him. "And– and I know I've been indecent–"

"Irresponsible and obnoxious, as well."

"Yes," It's painful but you have no other choice. "I know and I am sorry. Really sorry, just give me another chance."

He tips his head towards you, narrowing his eyes, "You think, you're redeemable?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, I am ready to do anything to prove it to you."

His eyes sparkles with something you can't decipher, "very well," He straightens up, taking a singular step towards you—only now, you're aware of how limited proximity but before you can contemplate, he speaks, "Let's start your first lesson on redemption."

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oceandolores · 3 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 4

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘴,"

summary: life has been perfect, just you and him, but the shadows of both of you and Joel's past has been haunting you again...

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, r4p3, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 4

masterlist of the series

previous | chapter 3

next | chapter 5

The sun seemed to shine a bit brighter these days, casting a warm glow over your life since Joel had become more involved in it. His presence brought a newfound sense of safety and comfort, not just for you but for him as well. Joel, once a cold and distant figure, began to soften, melting into a warmer, more open person whenever you were around. It was as if the world belonged to just the two of you, and the bond you shared illuminated both your lives in profound ways.

Joel was now a regular at church, attending Sunday services and every fellowship event with renewed purpose. His participation didn't go unnoticed, especially by Tommy, Ellie, and Maria, who observed the positive changes in him. Joel still remained a man of few words, guarded and cautious, but your presence had undeniably brought a light into his life, guiding him out of the shadows.

For you, Joel became the protector you desperately needed. Whenever your father’s temper flared, you could escape to Joel, finding solace in his arms. He calmed your storms, just as you eased his burdens, becoming each other's anchor. You often sneaked out together to the lake or climbed into the back of Joel’s truck to gaze at the stars. Those moments felt like the world stood still, with only the two of you and the infinite sky. Joel found himself no longer lost in the darkness; instead, he had found his light in you.

However, you both had to maintain a facade, keeping your relationship discreet to avoid the prying eyes of the community. Sneaking out, lying to your father about being at a friend's house, and stolen moments of intimacy became part of your routine. While you hadn't taken your relationship to a sexual level due to your trauma from Jamie, the nights spent cuddling, kissing, and talking were enough for Joel. Though he sometimes felt the stirrings of desire, he respected your boundaries, focusing instead on the depth of your connection.

Joel sometimes took you out of town, exploring Austin or Houston. You visited night markets, played in arcades, and strolled through bustling streets. Joel despised arcades, but the sound of your laughter and the sight of your carefree smile made every annoying game worthwhile. Every time you smiled, it was as if a sunbeam pierced through the clouds in Joel's heart, warming a place he had thought forever cold.

"Got another project comin' up," Joel said one evening as you sat together in his truck, overlooking the hills. "A big one. Tommy thinks it's too much work for the crew we got, but I reckon we can handle it."

"Tell me more about it," you prompted, even though construction details often went over your head. You loved hearing Joel talk about his work; the passion in his voice made you feel closer to him.

"It's an office building downtown. Gonna be a challenge because we gotta keep the old facade. Means a lotta careful demolition, precision work. Gotta bring in some new folks, too, ones who know their way around older structures."

You nodded, trying to visualize it. "Sounds complicated."

"It is," he admitted, a touch of pride in his voice. "But we got a good team. Tommy's been talkin' to some contractors. We need people who can do the job right, you know? Can’t afford any mistakes."

"I believe you can do it," you said earnestly. "You’re amazing at what you do."

He chuckled softly. "You’re sweet." Joel's hand reached up, his rough fingers gently caressing your chin. His touch was like a warm breeze on a chilly evening, comforting and electrifying at the same time. Joel’s gaze held yours, his brown eyes deep and intense, like molten chocolate, filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher but felt deeply within your soul.

Every touch, every look from him, made you melt. It was as if you were a snowflake landing on a sun-warmed pavement, vanishing into a pool of warmth under the intensity of his presence. You giggled, the sound light and musical, breaking the silence.

"What?" you asked, a smile playing on your lips.

Joel shook his head slowly, his smile spreading across his face, tender and genuine. "Nothin', darlin'," he said, his voice calm, gentle, and sincere.

Joel couldn’t fully grasp his feelings, but being with you made him feel alive in a way he hadn't in years. He knew this might be wrong, but it felt so good, like a burst of sunlight through storm clouds, casting colors on a world that had been grey for too long. Ever since Sarah and his wife had passed, his life had been a landscape painted in shades of grief and loss. Ellie had brought back some light, but what he felt with you was different, something more vivid, more profound.

His world had been a desolate canvas, splashed with only the darkest hues. But you were the burst of color, the brush of a vibrant dawn, illuminating the shadows that had consumed him. You were his beacon, guiding him from the darkness, painting his existence with the brightest of shades. And though it scared him, it also filled him with a warmth and a hope he hadn’t dared to feel in a long time.

***

After school, you found yourself in the familiar warmth of the kitchen, the comforting scent of vanilla and sugar filling the air. Your mother, in her element, was bustling around, gathering ingredients for a cake and cookies.

"Can you grab the eggs from the fridge, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice gentle.

You nodded, reaching into the refrigerator. As you handed her the carton, her hand brushed against your back, right where the still-healing bruises were. You flinched, unable to hide the sharp intake of breath.

Your mother's eyes widened, guilt flashing across her face. "I'm so sorry. Does..does it still...um hurt?" she asked softly, her voice trembling slightly.

You forced a smile, shaking your head. "No, Mama, it's okay. It's getting better."

She hesitated, her eyes lingering on you with a mixture of worry and sorrow. "I know I haven't... I haven't done enough to protect you," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry for that. I'm just... I’m so afraid of your father."

You placed a hand on her arm, trying to offer some comfort. "Mama, it's alright. I understand. Let's just focus on the baking, okay?"

Your mother nodded, her relief palpable. She turned back to the counter, trying to regain her composure. "So, have you noticed how Joel’s been coming to church more often lately?"

You tensed slightly at the mention of Joel, careful to keep your expression neutral. "Yeah, I noticed."

Your mother smiled, though it was tinged with curiosity. "You know, he’s changed a lot over the years. He used to be so different when Sarah and his wife were alive."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity. You knew bits and pieces about Joel’s past but had never heard the full story. "What was he like back then?"

"Joel was a wonderful father and husband. He adored Sarah and Jane," your mother said, her eyes softening with nostalgia. "Jane and I were good friends. They were high school sweethearts, you know. Joel got Jane pregnant in high school, and they got married right after graduation. He worked so hard to provide for them."

You listened intently as your mother spoke, the rhythm of her words blending with the sounds of baking—mixing bowls clinking, the oven humming softly. Joel had never brought up his past daughter and wife when he was with you. It was as if a part of his heart was still locked away, guarded against the pain of revisiting those memories. You felt a mixture of sadness and curiosity, wishing he would open up to you but understanding his need to protect himself from that pain.

As your mother continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Joel’s heart was still closed off, like a house with the windows shuttered, sunlight struggling to seep through the cracks. "After they died, Joel was never the same," your mother said softly, her voice carrying the weight of her memories. "He isolated himself, barely spoke to anyone. He stopped coming to church, buried himself in work and alcohol. It was like the light went out of him."

You continued to bake, your hands moving automatically as you processed your mother's words. The more you learned, the more you understood the layers of grief and resilience that made up the man you had come to care for so deeply.

"Did you know his wife well?" you asked, curious about the woman who had once been such a significant part of Joel’s life. You felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing that Joel had once opened his heart fully to another woman, something he hadn't done with you yet.

Your mother nodded, her smile tinged with sadness. "Yes, she was one of my closest friends. Jane was kind and loving, always had a smile on her face. They were perfect together. Losing her was a blow Joel never really recovered from."

You felt a pang in your chest, imagining the life Joel had once had—a life filled with love and happiness that was abruptly shattered. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, understanding the depth of his loss and the strength it took for him to keep going.

Your mind swirling with thoughts. Joel had been through so much, yet he found the strength to care for Ellie and, in his own way, for you. He was like a fortress, strong and unyielding, yet vulnerable to the storms that battered him.

Your mother’s voice brought you back to the present. "Since he adopted Ellie, he's shown glimpses of the old Joel. But he still struggles. He’s still grumpy and distant. It was as if he built a wall around himself, shutting out the world to avoid more pain."

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of empathy for Joel. He had been through so much, yet he found a way to care for you and Ellie. "And now he's starting to come back to church," your mother said softly.

"It's good to see him more involved again. He deserves some happiness."

You smiled, though your heart was heavy with the knowledge of what you shared with Joel. "Yeah, he does," you agreed, hoping that somehow, against all odds, you could both find the happiness you deserved.

Your mom glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "I wonder what’s changed in him," she mused. "Maybe he’s finally opening up his heart for another woman."

Your body tensed at her words. She continued, "Ever since he became a widower, there have been plenty of women interested in him. It’s a small town, you know. Everyone knows everything. But he's always been so... cold and distant. Joel is handsome, successful, and a gentleman. Don't tell your father I said that." She chuckled, and you just smile to her.

Inside, you couldn't help but agree. Joel was indeed handsome and a gentleman, so different from your father. Your father, who should have been the epitome of kindness and morality as a preacher, was anything but. His exterior was polished and righteous, but inside, he was rotten. Joel, on the other hand, seemed rough on the outside but was truly good at heart.

Your mother sighed, "It’s good for Joel, though. It’s about time he moved on and built a new life. Maybe he’ll find a nice woman his age, someone who can be a good mother to Ellie. Adam needs his Eve, after all."

Her words made you uncomfortable, a knot forming in your stomach. You couldn’t bear the thought of Joel with someone else. The jealousy gnawed at you, knowing your mother would lose her mind if she ever discovered you were the reason for Joel’s recent change. You also felt a pang of insecurity, realizing how much older Joel was, how he could practically be your father. There were so many women in town who were more age-appropriate for him, attractive and mature, whereas you felt small and insignificant in comparison.

You focused on mixing the batter, trying to push away the uncomfortable thoughts. "Yeah, maybe," you mumbled, not trusting yourself to say more.

Your mother didn't seem to notice your discomfort. She continued to chatter about the town gossip, but your mind was elsewhere. You wondered if Joel ever thought about these things—marry a nice woman and built a new life? You knew he cared for you, but could he see a future with you, or was this just a fleeting moment in his life?

As you finished the cake and placed it in the oven, you couldn't shake off the thoughts swirling in your head. Joel was a beacon of light in your life, but the future felt uncertain. You wished you could ask him, but the fear of his answer kept you silent.

The cookies were done baking, and your mother placed them in two jars. "Take these over to Joel’s house and then to Tommy's," she said, handing you the jars and placing them in a sturdy tote bag to make it easier to carry on your bike.

You nodded, appreciating the excuse to see Joel. As you rode your bike through the familiar streets, the wind swept across your face, carrying the sweet scent of summer and the promise of evening. The sky was a canvas of blue and orange, painting a picturesque scene straight out of a movie. You loved this town—the southern charm, the way everyone knew each other—but part of you hated it, longed to escape its confines and the shadows that lurked within your home.

Arriving at Joel’s house, one of the bigger ones in the neighborhood, you parked your bike in the driveway and grabbed one of the cookie jars. Knocking on the door, as you always did instead of using the bell, you expected Ellie to answer since Joel’s truck wasn’t in the driveway.

The door opened, and instead of Ellie, it was Joel standing there. His face softened the moment he saw you.

"Hey, Mr. Miller," you said, deliberately using his formal title to tease him a bit.

Joel chuckled, his eyes warm. "Hey, doll."

You lifted the jar slightly. "Mom sent some cookies. She thought you might like them."

Joel took the jar from your hands, his fingers brushing yours. "Oh, that's nice of her, well, do want to come in?"

"Maybe for a little," You followed him inside, the familiar coziness of his home wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Joel set the jar on the kitchen counter and turned to you, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"You alright?" he asked, sensing your unease.

You smiled, trying to brush off your worries. "Yeah, just... thinking about stuff."

Joel stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your chin. His touch was rough but tender, sending shivers down your spine. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You nodded, looking up into his eyes. They were deep pools of warmth and safety, and every time you looked into them, you felt like you could melt. "I know," you whispered.

For a moment, you just stood there, lost in each other's gaze. Joel’s eyes held something you couldn’t quite decipher, a mix of emotions that made your heart race. You giggled nervously, breaking the silence.

"What?" you asked, feeling self-conscious.

Joel shook his head slowly, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Nothin'."

You giggled again. "You have to stop looking at me like that."

Joel raised an eyebrow, still smiling. He's leaning in to kiss you, "Like what?"

You blushed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Before Joel could kiss you, you both heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Quickly, you stepped away from each other.

"Oh, hey, I thought I heard someone knocking," Ellie said, entering the kitchen.

"Hey, Ellie," you greeted her. "My mom and I made some cookies, and she sent you some. I thought I’d drop by for a bit."

Ellie grinned and walked over to you and Joel. She glanced at Joel, noticing his slightly flushed face, and raised an eyebrow. "You okay, Joel?"

Joel cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, just, uh, a bit of dust or somethin'."

Ellie opened the jar and took a cookie. "These are great. Thanks!" She turned to you. Joel took a cookie as well, taking a bite and nodding in approval.

"You made this?" Joel asked, looking impressed.

You blushed a little. "Well, I just helping my mom."

"I take that as a yes and this is good," Joel said, his eyes warm.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a rush of warmth from his compliment.

Ellie turned her attention to you. "So, how’s school? I haven’t seen you much lately."

You shrugged. "Just busy with a lot of things."

Ellie nodded. "I heard you’re in charge of the church dance troupe for the event next week."

"Yeah," you said, smiling.

Ellie smirked playfully. "And I heard Pastor Ben picked you as soon as he saw you. I think he likes you."

Joel’s expression changed, his jaw tightening slightly. "Who's Ben?"

Ellie glanced at Joel, oblivious to his jealousy. "Pastor Ben is the new young pastor who’s going to be taking over while Father Gibson is away for a couple of weeks."

"Yeah," you added. "He’s just helping out while my dad is on a trip to New Orleans for the church."

Ellie nodded enthusiastically. "He's super popular with the girls at school. They all think he’s really handsome."

You laughed lightly, trying to diffuse the tension. "He’s just being friendly, Ellie."

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he forced a casual tone. "How old is he?"

"Not sure," Ellie said, shrugging. "Maybe late twenties?"

"Oh," he said.

Joel's face remained impassive, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his emotions. He didn’t want to show too much, to let on how much it bothered him that someone else might have an eye on you. After all, anyone would notice your beauty—your presence was like a beacon, drawing people in with your pure, radiant light. Men and boys alike found themselves captivated by you, your allure almost heavenly. Joel, despite not being religious, found himself silently praying that he could keep you to himself.

He knew that your beauty wasn’t just skin-deep. There was something about you that felt untouched, ethereal—a stark contrast to the gritty world he had come to know. You were his salvation, a glimpse of purity and hope in his otherwise dark and turbulent life.

Ellie changed the subject, sensing the awkwardness. "Anyway, are you excited about leading the dance troupe?"

"Yeah, it should be fun," you replied, grateful for the shift in conversation. "It’s a lot of work, but I think it’ll be worth it."

"Maybe you want to join, Ellie?" you said teasing her, "Oh hell nah," Ellie answered making a disgusting face, you chuckled.

Joel remained quiet, his eyes flicking between you and Ellie. You could tell he was still processing the idea of Pastor Ben, but he seemed to be trying to push it aside.

"Well, thanks for the cookies," Ellie said, taking another bite. "They’re delicious."

"Glad you like them," you said with a smile. "I should probably get going. I need to drop the other jar off at Tommy’s."

Joel’s expression softened as he looked at you. "Let me walk you out," he said. As Ellie remained engrossed in the cookies, Joel gently took your hand, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"When is your father leaving for New Orleans?" Joel asked in a low voice as he guided you towards the door.

"Tonight, around eight," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Joel’s eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Can you sneak out tonight?" he whispered, his hand lightly caressing yours.

You smirked and nodded, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

Joel’s eyes darted around, ensuring no one was watching. "I’ll pick you up behind your house at nine," he whispered, his voice a mix of excitement and caution. His rough hand felt like a contrast to your soft skin, a stark reminder of the different worlds you both came from, yet a perfect match in this moment.

You felt a flutter in your chest, a combination of anticipation and desire. His touch was electric, sending a rush of warmth through your veins. You wanted to hold onto this feeling, the thrill of the forbidden, the secret moments that were just for the two of you.

Joel leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to your cheek, ensuring no one was watching. You felt your heart race, the sensation of his lips lingering on your skin.

"I’ll see you later," he murmured, stepping back slightly. "Take care."

You nodded, trying to contain your excitement. "You too," you said softly, your voice tinged with the happiness you felt inside.

The whole way to Tommy’s house, you couldn’t stop blushing. Riding your bike, you felt the wind rush past you, the world around you vibrant and alive. The sky was a brilliant canvas of blue and orange, the southern landscape unfolding like a scene straight out of a movie. Each pedal felt lighter, the anticipation of the night ahead filling you with a sense of freedom and exhilaration.

Reaching Tommy’s house, you parked your bike and grabbed the jar of cookies. Knocking on the door, you took a deep breath, the smile on your face unshakeable. Tonight held the promise of something special, and you couldn’t wait to see Joel again.

The house was a quiet, still tableau of ordinary life, its corners cast in the muted hues of nightfall. Your mother’s soft, tired footsteps echoed as she busied herself with the last-minute preparations for your father’s departure. From your vantage point in the dimly lit room, you could hear the rumble of his stern, authoritative voice as he issued his final instructions for his absence.

“Behave yourself, Evelyn. Take care of your duties.” your father’s voice cut through the air like a blade to your mother, “Make sure the house is in order," He said to your mother.

Your mother then called you from downstairs. “Come say goodbye to your father before he leaves.”

You descended the stairs with a heavy heart, each step a reluctant march towards the formality of your father's departure. His figure loomed large in the dimly lit foyer, his stern face illuminated by the flickering light from the chandelier above. The space around him seemed to shrink under the weight of his presence, a constant reminder of his authority and control.

Your father, already dressed in his traveling attire, turned to face you as you approached. His expression was as impassive as ever, his eyes scanning you with a critical gaze that never quite softened. “I expect you to behave while I’m away. Keep things in order, take care of your house duties with your mother and don’t let any mischief slip through. Pastor Ben will be in charge for the next two weeks."

You offered a formal, almost mechanical embrace, your body stiff as you pressed against him. The touch was brief, a quick and emotionless exchange that spoke more of obligation than affection. His words felt like a final checklist, a list of expectations that you had long learned to adhere to.

With a nod, you managed a polite, “Yes, daddy."

As he turned to leave, he gave one last instruction, his voice trailing off as he stepped toward the door. “Remember, be a good Christian girl. Stay close to God. Make sure you’re not a burden to your mother.”

After he had gone, your mother’s weary voice called from the kitchen. “Sweetheart, would you like something to eat? There are leftovers in the fridge. I’m quite tired and I think I'm gonna go to bed early,”

You shook your head, feigning a lack of appetite. “No, I’m full, Mama. I’ll just head to bed.”

“Alright, dear,” she replied, her tone soft but tinged with fatigue. “Don’t forget to pray before you sleep.”

You watched her retreat to her room, her movements slow and burdened. The house felt emptier as she disappeared from view, and you knew it was time to execute your carefully laid plan.

With a quiet sigh, you slipped out of bed and crept to your window. The night was still and serene, the air cool against your skin as you pushed the window open. The backyard, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, felt like a secret world just waiting to be explored.

You carefully climbed out of the window, landing softly on the grass below. The night sky was a canvas of stars, each one a twinkling reminder of the possibilities that lay beyond the confines of your everyday life. The cool breeze ruffled your hair, carrying with it the scents of the garden—jasmine, freshly cut grass, and the distant promise of freedom.

In the darkness, Joel’s truck waited, a silent sentinel against the backdrop of the night. The vehicle was cloaked in shadows, its lights off to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. Your heart raced with anticipation as you approached, the thrill of the forbidden making your steps lighter and faster.

Sliding into the truck, you were greeted by Joel’s familiar presence. His face, partially illuminated by the dim interior light, softened as he saw you. A warm smile spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling with the same excitement that you felt.

Before you could say a word, Joel’s lips met yours in a passionate kiss. It was a moment of pure, unrestrained connection, the outside world falling away as the heat of his touch enveloped you. The kiss was fervent, a melding of stolen desires and whispered promises, each touch a testament to the intimacy you shared.

Joel’s hands were rough and warm, their contrast to your soft skin sending a shiver through your body. As he pulled away, his eyes held a deep, unspoken affection that spoke louder than any words could. “Hey there, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm in the quiet cabin.

The truck’s engine roared to life, a low, rumbling purr that vibrated through the seats. The world outside seemed to blur as Joel drove through the empty streets, the city lights casting fleeting golden streaks across the windshield. Each streetlamp was a beacon in the darkness, guiding you through a night that felt like a dream.

With every mile that passed, the weight of your ordinary life lifted, replaced by the vivid colors of this stolen moment. The night sky above was a tapestry of dreams and possibilities, a perfect backdrop for the intimate adventure you were embarking upon.

The truck rolled to a gentle stop at the top of a secluded hill, its path winding through the darkened landscape like a secret road leading to a hidden sanctuary. The night sky stretched out above, an endless canvas dotted with twinkling stars, their cold light a delicate contrast to the warm cocoon of the truck's interior. Joel’s touch was a constant comfort, the warmth of his hand against yours a promise of the intimacy you shared.

You and Joel made your way to the truck's open bed, where a soft blanket had been laid out. The fabric was cool beneath you, but the warmth of Joel’s body beside you quickly dispelled any chill. You settled in together, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace as you both lay back to gaze at the sprawling expanse of the cosmos.

The night was a silent witness to your closeness, the stars above flickering like distant, celestial eyes. The moon hung low, casting a soft, silvery light over the landscape, making the moment feel surreal and dreamlike. Joel’s presence was a soothing balm, his breaths steady and calming against the backdrop of the night.

As you both lay there, the peacefulness of the night was punctuated by your conversation. The topics ranged from trivial to profound, each word a thread weaving the tapestry of your shared moment. The serenity of the night made every laugh and whisper seem more intimate, more precious.

Then, Joel’s voice broke the quiet, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. “Tell me more about this Ben,” he asked, his tone light but edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

You chuckled, rolling onto your side to face him. “Ben? Oh, he’s just this new pastor. He’s always paying attention to me, it's weird...my friends keep telling me like he likes me, but he's not really my type. He's...too boyish,” you said, trying to convey your disinterest.

Joel’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Boyish? He’s an adult.”

You smiled, playfully snuggling closer. “Yeah, but he’s not you.”

Joel’s eyes flickered with something akin to jealousy, though he quickly masked it with a nonchalant shrug. “Jealous?” you teased, noticing the subtle shift in his demeanor.

Joel gave a soft chuckle, his laughter mingling with the ambient sounds of the night. “I’m not jealous.”

You continued to tease him, your light-hearted jokes breaking through the quiet night air. Each laugh and playful nudge seemed to draw you both closer, your bond solidified by the shared humor and intimacy of the moment.

However, your mind wandered back to the conversation you’d overheard with your mother. The stories of Joel’s past, of Sarah and Jane, lingered like shadows at the edge of your thoughts. A wave of curiosity and a tinge of apprehension washed over you.

“Joel,” you began tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper, “how come you never tell me about your life?"

"What do you mean, doll?"

"About Sarah and Jane,"

Joel’s body stiffened beside you, his hand retracting from its position on your waist. The shift was palpable, a stark contrast to the easy closeness you’d just shared. His face hardened slightly, a veil of discomfort settling over his features.

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “What do you want to know?” he asked, his voice guarded and distant.

You felt a pang of regret, your heart aching at the sight of his discomfort. The stars above, once a symbol of wonder and possibility, now felt like distant witnesses to a moment of unspoken pain. You struggled to find the right words, the metaphors of your own emotions becoming tangled in the reality of Joel’s guarded heart.

“I...I just want to understand,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “I know about your life, but it feels like there’s so much more you haven’t shared.”

"And you knew about mine, all of it," you said again.

Joel’s silence was heavy, a deep, almost tangible weight that pressed against your chest. The night seemed to stretch on forever, the stars above a cold, indifferent audience to the emotions playing out beneath them. The warmth of Joel’s touch was still there, but it now felt like a fragile thread, tenuous and delicate.

Joel’s gaze softened, but the weight of his past seemed to anchor him, pulling him into a place he wasn’t ready to share. “It’s not easy to talk about,” he admitted, his voice trembling with a mixture of regret and sadness. “Some things are just too hard to revisit.”

Your heart ached at his vulnerability, and you reached out, your voice gentle. “You can open up to me, Joel. I want to listen. You always listen whenever I’m down. I’m here with you,”

Joel’s eyes flickered with a storm of emotions, a mix of frustration and something else, but he remained quiet. You pressed on, your fingers lightly grazing his hand. “Do you ever think about them?"

A tense silence followed, Joel’s expression darkening. He clenched his jaw, struggling with the weight of his emotions. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, his voice strained and edged with anger.

You tried to close the distance, your hand still resting on his. “Joel, it’s okay to open up.”

But before you could say more, Joel’s frustration erupted. “I just don't want to talk about it!” he snapped, his voice sharp and louder than you’d ever heard.

You flinched, your heart racing as the sudden intensity of his reaction hit you. The night, once a haven of comfort and connection, now felt oppressive, the stars above seeming distant and indifferent to the turmoil unfolding below.

Joel’s eyes widened as he saw the fear in your gaze, and his anger dissipated almost immediately, replaced by regret and sorrow. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to—”

You tried to steady yourself, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. “It’s okay,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. “I’m sorry."

Joel’s face crumpled with remorse, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. “No, no, it’s alright,” he said urgently, his hands trembling as they held you close. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

You let yourself sink into his embrace, the warmth of his body a balm against the sharp edges of your fear. Joel’s arms were strong and reassuring, his apologies sincere as he gently stroked your back, his touch a contrast to the harshness of his earlier words.

The night around you seemed to settle, the tension easing as Joel’s grip tightened, holding you as if he could shield you from the weight of his own emotions. The stars above continued to shine, their distant light a reminder of the vastness of the world and the smallness of your own worries in the grand scheme of things.

Joel’s voice was soft now, filled with the weight of his remorse. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just...I just can’t talk about it right now.”

You nestled closer against Joel, the warmth of his body enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort. “It’s okay, Joel,” you murmured softly, your voice a gentle caress against the backdrop of the night. “I’m sorry to push you, but I want you to know that I am here. Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be right here, just like you are for me.”

Joel’s fingers brushed against your hair, a tender gesture that spoke volumes. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, a whisper of affection that traveled down to your cheek and finally to your lips. The kiss was brief but sweet, a promise of connection and understanding. He pulled you back into his embrace, both of you gazing up at the star-speckled sky.

The vastness of the night felt like a canvas, stretching out endlessly before you. You could feel the weight of your desires and dreams mingling with the cool night air, and a yearning for freedom began to take shape in your heart. “Joel,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “I want to go out. I want to get away from all of this. Will you come with me one day?”

The sincerity in your voice carried a longing for escape, for a fresh start where the past could no longer cast its shadow. You wanted to run away, to leave behind the chains of hurt and disappointment and start anew with Joel by your side. The dream of leaving it all behind, just the two of you, was intoxicating—a chance to be free from the constraints of your everyday lives and the ghosts of your pasts.

Joel’s eyes met yours, a flicker of determination lighting up his features. He could see the raw honesty in your gaze, the hope that shimmered like the stars above. “I promise you,” he said, his voice steady and sincere, “one day, we will. We’ll get out of here and start fresh. Just you and me.”

You felt a flutter of relief and happiness at his words, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from your heart. The idea of a future together, unburdened by the past, seemed within reach now, a possibility painted against the backdrop of the night sky. Joel’s promise was a beacon of hope, a light guiding you through the darkness.

You lay there, side by side, under the vast expanse of the universe, the stars shining brightly above you. The night felt endless, full of potential and promise. The warmth of Joel’s presence, the softness of his touch, and the certainty of his promise wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, making the future seem just a little bit brighter.

In the quiet moments that followed, you allowed yourself to dream of a different life, one where the past was a distant memory and the present was filled with endless possibilities. With Joel by your side, the journey ahead felt less daunting, and the dreams of escape and freedom seemed like they could one day become a beautiful reality.

***

The sun cast a warm, golden light over the school grounds as you and your classmates, including Emma, practiced your dance routines for the upcoming church event. The afternoon air was filled with the sounds of music and the rustle of your movements as you and your friends rehearsed, perfecting every step and spin. The new Pastor Ben, fresh from Mexico with his wife Jemima, observed with an encouraging smile, his presence adding an extra layer of excitement to the practice.

Pastor Ben, young and charismatic, was the center of attention for many of the girls. His charm and good looks had quickly made him popular, and you could see why. Though you knew he was married, the admiration from your friends was palpable. Jemima, his wife, had been less present in the community, focusing on settling into their new life. You hadn’t interacted with her much, and you were more familiar with Ben’s friendly demeanor and the sparkle in his eyes that made him somehow likable among your friends.

As the practice came to a close, you and Emma walked outside the school, discussing the day’s rehearsals and sharing your thoughts on the choreography. The conversation was light-hearted, filled with giggles and the occasional sigh as you both reflected on the challenges and progress made.

Suddenly, Pastor Ben appeared beside you, his presence both surprising and pleasant. “Afternoon, girls. How did the practice go today?” he asked, his attention clearly focused on you.

You could feel the warmth of his gaze as he continued, “Any difficulties? How are you finding the choreography?”

You answered, your voice steady but with a hint of nervousness, “We’re making good progress. There were a few tricky moves, but we’re getting there.”

Ben nodded, his eyes never straying far from you. “You’re doing really well. I’ve noticed you’ve been putting in a lot of effort. It shows.”

Emma, ever the enthusiastic friend, chimed in, “Oh, we’re just working hard! It’s been a lot of fun, though. Don’t you think Pastor Ben has been so encouraging?”

Ben smiled at her but turned his attention back to you. “I’m glad to hear that. I just wanted to check in and see how everyone’s doing. Is there anything you need help with?”

You felt a mix of emotions—flattered by his attention but also a bit uncomfortable given the context of the situation. Ben’s genuine interest was clear, but it was hard not to feel like you were under a spotlight.

“Thank you, Pastor Ben. I think we’re okay for now. It’s just a matter of practice,” Emma said.

He nodded, “If any of you ever need any extra guidance or just want to talk, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m here to help.”

As Pastor Ben walked away, you felt a twinge of relief mixed with lingering confusion. You were still processing the interaction when Ellie’s familiar voice broke through, startling you slightly.

“Oh, that’s Pastor Ben,” Ellie said, a playful tone in her voice. She tapped you on the shoulder, making Emma and you turn to face her.

Emma grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yep, that’s the new hot pastor,"

Ellie looked between you and Emma with a knowing smile. “So, what’s the gossip on Pastor Ben?”

Before Emma could answer, you asked Ellie if she was heading home. Ellie shook her head, her excitement palpable. “Nope, I’m going out with Joel. We’re going to practice shooting. You know, for deer hunting. Joel and I usually do this.”

Just then, the sound of a truck horn pierced the air, and Ellie waved enthusiastically. “Ah, there’s Joel now. See you later, guys!”

You watched as Ellie walked toward the truck, your gaze meeting Joel’s for a brief moment. You tried to hide your blush, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest whenever Joel was near.

Emma then suddenly said, "Ah the town's DILF,"

You choked caught off guard. “What did you just say?”

Emma laughed, leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, DILF—‘Dad I’d Like to’—you know the type. Joel’s like the ultimate Southern gentleman. He’s got that rugged charm. He looks like he works with his hands, and I bet he smells like Marlboro Reds. Everyone’s talking about how lucky Ellie is. Goddamn, he's just hot,"

You felt your cheeks flush deeper, a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. “Emma, stop. He’s much older than us.”

Emma raised an eyebrow playfully. “Oh come on, you’re telling me you’ve never thought about Joel that way? I mean, he’s your dad’s best friend in high school, but just tell me you have right?”

You glared at Emma, trying to hide the twinge of jealousy you felt. “Emma, that’s inappropriate."

Emma pouted in mock innocence. “Oh, come on! Don’t be so uptight. We’re just talking. I’m sure you’ve had some thoughts, especially with how close you are with Joel right?"

You shook your head, trying to suppress the tumult of emotions bubbling inside you. “Seriously, Emma, I don’t want to talk about this.”

Emma grinned, undeterred. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. But you have to admit, Joel’s a pretty interesting guy.”

You gave her a half-smile, trying to brush off the teasing. “Emma..."

Emma’s grin remained as she walked alongside you, her excitement infectious despite your lingering discomfort. You both made your way home, your thoughts tangled with the events of the day.

As you approached your house, Emma’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Hey, you know what? My parents are out tonight. How about a sleepover at my place? We can hang out and have some fun. It’ll be a nice break before graduation.”

You hesitated, “I don’t know, Em. I’ve got a lot to prepare for graduation.”

Emma’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, come on! It’ll be fun. Jim will be there too, and he’s a blast. Plus, you’ll have me to keep you entertained. What’s the harm?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask your reluctance. “I don’t want to be the third wheel.”

Emma’s expression softened as she playfully pleaded. “Oh, please. It’ll be fine. Just come hang out. If you don’t, my parents might not let Jim over if it's just both of us. Pretty please?”

You sighed, weighing your options. Emma’s persistence was hard to resist, and you knew it would be a good chance to take your mind off things. “Alright, alright. I’ll come. But let me ask my mom first.”

Emma’s face lit up with joy. “Yes! Thank you! I promise we’ll have a great time.”

As you walked inside your house, you found your mom in the kitchen, preparing a simple dinner for herself. The smell of food filled the air, a comforting reminder of home.

“Mom, Emma invited me to a sleepover at her house tonight,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Is it okay if I go?”

Your mom looked up, her face reflecting mild surprise but also understanding. “A sleepover? Well, I suppose it’s fine. Just be sure to come home early tomorrow."

You nodded, relieved by her response. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be back early.”

With your mother’s approval, you quickly gathered your things and headed back outside to meet Emma. Her excitement was palpable as she waited for you by the front gate.

“Great! Let’s go!” Emma chirped, grabbing your hand and leading the way.

As you walked to Emma’s house, your mind was still clouded by the earlier events. The thought of spending the evening with Emma and Jim was a welcome distraction from the swirl of emotions you had been feeling. You hoped it would be a chance to relax and clear your head before facing whatever came next.

Hours later, the three of you were lounging in Emma’s cozy living room, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls. After an exciting board game session, you settled down to watch "Gone with the Wind." Emma and Jim sat close together on the couch, their whispered conversations blending with the movie's dialogue. You tried to focus on the screen, but their growing intimacy was hard to ignore.

Emma giggled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. You glanced over just in time to see them exchanging a tender kiss. Their kisses grew more passionate, and soon they were making out fervently. You turned your attention back to the movie, trying to block out the sounds of their affection, but it was no use.

"I'm going to take Jim to my bedroom," Emma said, her cheeks flushed. "Is it okay if you stay here alone?"

You nodded, your heart pounding. "Yeah, it's fine. I want to finish the movie anyway."

Emma smiled and led Jim to her room, leaving you alone in the dimly lit living room. The hours passed slowly, the film a distant backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your mind. Their muffled voices and occasional moans filtered through the walls, filling you with a mix of curiosity and discomfort.

The next morning, you woke early and decided to make breakfast for everyone. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the kitchen as you worked. Emma was the first to join you, her hair tousled and eyes bright.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said, giving you a warm smile. “Did you have fun playing board games last night?”

You returned her smile, feeling a genuine sense of friendship. "Yeah, it was fun. Thanks for inviting me."

Emma smiling to you, "You're a good friend," you smiled at her.

You hesitated at first, then asked the question that had been on your mind. "So, uh... about last night... did you and Jim...?"

Emma blushed slightly but didn't shy away. "You mean, am I not a virgin anymore? Yes. and I'm really in love with Jim. He's so kind and supportive. We’re thinking about getting married after we graduate, moving to a big city like Austin or Houston to start our lives together. He can work in a garage, and I'll stay home."

Her words made you think of Joel, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. "Have you ever been in love?" Emma asked, noticing your pensive expression.

“I don’t know,” you replied hesitantly. “I think about someone a lot, but I’m not sure what it means.”

“And have you ever... you know, had sex?” Emma asked.

Your body tensed, the memory of Jamie’s forceful actions coming to mind. You decided to lie and shook your head.

“Typical preacher’s daughter, stay pure, hon,” Emma said, her tone sincere rather than mocking.

You swallowed, feeling a mix of discomfort and curiosity. “How does it feel like?”

Emma’s expression softened. “Well, when you’re with someone you truly care about, it can be really special. It’s not just about the physical aspect, but the emotional connection. It’s like sharing something deeply personal with someone you love and who loves you back. It can feel very intimate and fulfilling.”

You nodded, trying to understand her words. “But isn’t it scary? Does it hurt?”

Emma smiled gently. “It can be, especially the first time. But when you’re with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe, it’s a lot easier. It’s important that you feel comfortable and loved.”

You took in her words, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “What if I’m not ready for that yet?”

Emma reassured you. “That’s completely okay. There’s no rush. It’s important to wait until you feel ready and comfortable. And remember, there are other ways to show affection and care for someone.”

You felt a bit of relief. “Like what?”

Emma leaned in slightly, her voice gentle. “Like, for example, giving him oral pleasure. It’s a way to show that you care about him and want to make him feel good. But it’s really important that you’re comfortable with whatever you choose to do. Communication and mutual respect are key in any relationship.”

You blushed, feeling a mix of curiosity and embarrassment. “I don’t know much about that. It sounds kind of… complicated.”

Emma smiled warmly. “It can seem that way, but you’ll learn what feels right for you and your partner as you go along. The most important thing is to have open conversations and make sure you’re both on the same page.”

You nodded, absorbing her advice. “Thanks for explaining."

Emma’s words lingered in your mind as you processed what she had said. The idea of intimacy was something you hadn’t explored deeply, shaped by the teachings you’d grown up with. Your father’s sermons had painted it as an ultimate sin, a taboo wrapped in layers of guilt and religious doctrine. The notion of sex had always been shadowed by the fear of moral failure, a breach of sacred promises that could never be undone.

Emma’s perspective, however, was a stark contrast. She spoke of intimacy as a beautiful, shared experience between two people who cared deeply for each other. It wasn’t just a physical act but a manifestation of affection and connection. It was a way to express love, to show that you cherish someone in the most personal and vulnerable way.

You thought about Joel, and how his kindness had touched you. His presence was like a gentle light breaking through a stormy sky—offering warmth, comfort, and a sense of security you had rarely felt before. The idea of pleasing him, of sharing something deeply intimate, seemed like a way to express your gratitude, to show him how much you valued his care and support.

It was as if you were standing at the edge of a beautiful, uncharted garden, its entrance hidden behind a veil of mist and uncertainty. The garden represented a space of connection, where the blossoms of affection and mutual respect could flourish. The thought of stepping into this garden with Joel was both thrilling and daunting. It was a step into the unknown, where the flowers of shared experiences and emotional intimacy awaited.

You contemplated the possibility of finding a way to share this garden with Joel, to offer him a gesture of affection that went beyond words. Maybe through a physical expression of care, you could bridge the gap between your feelings and his, creating a shared space where love could grow and flourish.

Emma’s reassurance and gentle explanations provided a new perspective, one that allowed you to see intimacy not as a forbidden act but as a potential expression of love and appreciation. You wondered if perhaps, in time, you could navigate this new terrain with Joel, guided by mutual respect and deep affection.

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 10 months ago

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hiii!!! can you do a larissa x student story based on the song teachers pet? like they are in a secret relationship and they are very kinky together but they need to be careful and the reader sometimes doesn’t like being kept a secret so she tells her but larissa says it’s just for their protection though it’s okay and then larissa gets touchy and seduces the reader and they have dirty hot sexy time🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

Under My Thumb ~Dark!Mommy!Larissa Weems xFem Student!Reader

Summary— Reader, a student at Nevermore, has found herself in a complicated, toxic, manipulative explicitly sexual relationship with the one and only principal of Nevermore, Larissa Weems. What happens when Reader tries to talk to Larissa about it, when she starts to get tired of all the mind games and secrets…? Anon Response— Hiii @mxmmyviolet !! Thank you for the request! I love how detailed it is, and I would love to write it for you. Great song choice as well, very fitting. Hope you Enjoy! ♥️

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, darker, smut, themes of manipulation, age gap, grinding, humping, implied fingering, implied g!p, implied g!p fucking and smut, taunting, teasing, mommy kink, manipulation, guilt, guilt tripping, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

You were having a shitty day. You had a lot on your mind, finals were going on and a bunch of mental health crap that you just didn’t have the time for.

And like any shitty day by the end of it, you ended up in Larissa’s office. It was an unhealthy habit, you had to admit. It bugged you. But you couldn’t get enough of the woman. And your feelings overrode the logic on this one. Most of the time anyway.

You entered Larissa’s office after she called you in from knocking. Larissa stopped her work and looked up at you with a smile.

“Darling, I— what’s wrong…?” She began to enthusiastically greet you, but quickly changed direction as she saw your face.

You threw your things aside and by her fireplace, before coming around the woman’s desk. Larissa opened her arms and indicated for you to sit in her lap.

You didn’t hesitate, plopping into the older woman’s lap and curling up into her figure. Larissa looked down at you with care and concern, her hands wandering and caressing you lovingly.

“Talk to me, Darling… please…” Larissa pled.

You nodded slowly. You sat up a little more in her lap and took a deep breath, meeting her gaze.

“I… I don’t like being a secret…” you whispered, tears threatening to come to your eyes, “It’s— It’s destroying me…”

Larissa’s eyes widened and she nodded. Her one hand came to your hip, while the other tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“Oh Darling… I know it hard, but it’s what’s best… We need to keep it a secret for your own protection…” Larissa purred,

Larissa’s hand then began to wander from your face to your collarbone, to down your curves, where it stopped at your hip.

When you didn’t seem swayed by her words, Larissa’s eyes darkened and she smirked lightly. She leaned in and let her lips ghost the shell of your ear, making you shiver.

“It’s all for you, Darling…” Larissa purred in your ear, her hands starting to grind your hips against her lap.

You squeaked lightly and immediately moved your hands to her shoulders. You tried to say something, to use your logic and explain to Larissa, but then she started to bite you… bite your ear, bite your neck, bite any exposed skin… and you were a goner…

“You know I’d never do anything with the intention of hurting you…” Larissa darkly cooed, sucking on your pressure point and making your eyes roll back and your hips jolt into her lap.

Your breathing was shallow and spiked, as your hips began to give in to the grinding that Larissa’s hands were subjecting you to. Your eyes started to roll back as more and more jolts of pleasure ran through you, your core being stimulated oh so deliciously and working you up to your climax.

“Just want to take care of you, Darling…” Larissa husked in your ear, continuing her assault on your exposed skin with her mouth and tongue.

When your grinding became less controlled and more desperate, the blonde began to bite your sensitive spots along your neck, shoulders and exposed chest. She drew more and more whimpers and mewls out of you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Don’t you want mommy to take care of you, sweetheart…?” Larissa seductively husked in the shell of your ear, nipping the side of your neck rather hard after her question.

Your hips jolted against her frame with even more vigour and a desperate yelp escaped your lips. Larissa then suddenly stopped, bringing your humping to a swift stop as well as her mouth assault. She looked at your with a wicked grin and twinkling eyes.

“Right, Darling…?” Larissa cooed darkly, “You want mommy to take care of you, right…?”

Your breathing hitched and your pupils were already blown out. Your head was swimming, and all you could think about was Larissa Larissa Larissa…

Larissa’s firm hands… Larissa’s sultry and seductive tone… Larissa’s sharp tongue… Larissa’s assaulting mouth… Larissa… Larissa… Larissa…

“I… yes m-mommy—” you stammered followed by another needy mewl.

Larissa quirked her head and grinned like a Cheshire Cat in delight.

“Good girl…” she cooed wickedly.

You were still feeling slightly guilty and a little manipulated, but not to worry… Larissa was going to make that all go away with her shapeshifting cock.

~~~

Larissa Weems Masterlist

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cillivnz · 1 year ago

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Hi 👋 I see you write for Lord Dimitrescu (miss a spot, hit the spot was brilliant and I would devour more) and I saw that you are taking requests, what do you think about monster hunter!reader x Lord Dimitrescu? You can take this in whichever direction you like best, but I do have a prompt idea!

Lord Dimitrescu and his sons find a trespasser on their land and Dimitrescu takes her in as his guest/prisoner thinking that she is a clueless lost traveler, not knowing that she's a hunter willing to get close to him by any means necessary, even if it means seducing a monster. Gaining access to his infamous library full of books on how to kill every monster known to man is just the first step, what she really wants is to find out the family's weaknesses and get lord Dimitrescu to let his guard down enough for her to kill him and every last member of his twisted family. Or at least that was the plan...

I just love villain gets the girl/ corruption stories and the idea of someone rolling up into that castle with every intention of wiping out the evil that lives there, but getting seduced instead... 😍😍😍

Love your work!!!

façade of seduction [lord dimitrescu]

PAIRING — LORD DIMITRESCU x MONSTER HUNTER!READER

WORD COUNT — 12.6k+ (i’m so sorry, it’s for the plot!)

WARNINGS — SMUT. eighteen+. AFAB!reader, dark arts, necromancy, the supernatural, mentions of murders, beheadings, cannibalism, vampirism, extremely dubious consent, cursing, extreme gore (blood, cuts, stabbing, mass murder, executions, etc.), reader uses seduction as a tactic, death of family, size kink, age-gap, degradation, pet-names, mentions as well as performed oral sex (talk of male!receiving, performed cunnilingus), fingering, female masturbation, mentions of male masturbation, unprotected penetrative sex, weird & unspecific AU, creampie, cum-eating, breast/nipple play, clit stimulation, extreme descriptions (?), kinda sorta brat-taming.

A/N — whoa, baby! she’s done! firstly, let me just shower this anon with kisses for trusting me such an amazing prompt! thank you, you beautiful soul. i had a blast writing this, and i’m sorry i couldn’t finish it sooner :’( you’re a literal genius, i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this, and thank you for the kind words! secondly,

i tried incorporating as much lore from the game as i could, majority of the plot is my own fictional work, and the rest [credited to the game] may have been tampered with to suit the plot of this fiction.

Lady Elvira Natalia Stoica is an original character — INCLUSIVE OF ETHNICITY, RACE, COLOUR, BODY TYPE, etc. the only definite characteristic she has is that she is reader’s doppelgänger with an identical appearance, and that her family is of the same origin as The Dimitrescus (Romanian).

Alcina Dimitrescu’s gender-bent version is named Alcides Dimitrescu in my fiction. the credit of his sons’ names goes to @angel-hawthorne ’s comment under this post.

there’s some deliberate references to my other Lord Dimitrescu fiction. read it HERE!

NOTES [excuse inaccurate translations]

"Idiotilor! Așa ne tratezi oaspetele?" : You idiots! Is this how you treat our guest?

"Oaspete? Dar ea—" : Guest? But she—

"Scuzați-vă." : Excuse yourselves.

căprița mea mică : my little doe

cameristă : maid

Pentru dumnezeu! : good god/for god’s sake!

𝓗unters.

Your father before you, and his before him. Monsters, demons, deities; anything of supernatural order, possessing paranormal traits needed to be laid down, and your family was bestowed with the responsibility to do so. They told you, you were god-gifted; possessing an astounding memory. It was as if you soaked in every word you read in journals rich in paranormal history, and carved every word into your brain with your own hand.

Those ungodly creatures fumed at the audacity of a mortal family killing the abysmal aristocracies in the name of slaughtering abominations.

How proudly you awarded yourselves the title of Vânători de urâciuni — Hunters of Abominations. Soon enough, though, the leaders of the Four Houses knew a lesson needed be taught, example be set; actions have consequences, and after all, you were mere mortals. Audacious, dangerous mortals.

The last of the Four Houses needed to be hunted down. Your father, your uncle, your brother managed to wipe out the other key members, before it was about time the reaper caught up to them. Weeks, months went by in weeping for them, never letting their caskets dry, but it was about time you stopped mourning. This isn't what you were raised to do — whom you were raised to be. There was no way in hell you'd let the last Family standing think that the danger was over, not when you found out that it was on their cue, their command, that the guillotine that slashed through your family's head held high, became the inevitable demise of the men of Vânători de urâciuni.

'Fuckers even had the audacity to send the heads back, all nice and packaged, and signed. It was then, you realised, the weight of your name's responsibility lies on your shoulders, now. Mother was too deep in the waters of depression, perhaps, vengeance would serve as her lifeguard, and you sought to get it. For her sake, and yours.

Packing the the remnant of your belongings, primarily, lore on whatever mutation resembled that of what you've heard the family to be; barbaric, and vampiric, you set voyage to Castle Dimitrescu, the Lord's stronghold within the vicinity of a titular Eastern European village; Romania, in other geographical terms.

After weeks on foot, travelling from place to place and squeezing in some good o'l slash-and-dash of monsters into your quest, you reached the abysmal castle. The oppressive aura surrounding The Dimitrescus' colossal abode could be felt miles away from its actual foundations, the monotonous venus blue atmosphere, the trees that have been decayed for decades, peering into your periphery, mortifying the sight of Castle Dimitrescu, even more. You shake off a shiver, determined strides leading you forward. An ominous forest welcomed you, seemingly, the flora responded to every step you took on the onyx soil; you were not too far from the gigantic gates of the castle, deciding to take a breather and assess just what you were dragging yourself into, the massive mountainous foliage providing a safe haven, temporarily.

Rummaging through the contents, page after page, you landed on Wendigo. You knew your ancestors categorised mutations in the same category as a Wendigo, it being the severest form of inhumanity; the mutated man would resort to cannibalism, still humanoid — tall and pale with elongated limbs and pale yellow eyes. If the Dimitrescus were anything like a typical mutated Wendigo, you hadn't thought this through. Then, you remembered your brother's journal.

He was vague with words, often scribbling up a précise at the end of a hunt. Too consumed by your tears, you initially forgot about it, until you realised halfway through your voyage that your mother packed his journal for you, and some documentations recorded by your father and your uncle in their youth, though, you highly doubted you'd be coming across an extinct creature.

There it was — the last page of his journal — the twenty-seventh page to be precise, with triple the pages still empty; clean slates like a reminder of his unlived life, the life that was taken away from him.

You smiled fondly at his handwriting, letting your fingertips trace the scribbles, how deeply the quill was engraved into the paper. You remember laughing at his handwriting, growing up, how your mother would ask him to get a doctorate to match his stereotypical physician's handwriting, but this is all he knew — all you knew. Hunting was your profession, your life and lifestyle, and now, inevitably, your demise, too. You began reading, as I said, your older brother, a master at scribbling précise.

You were unsure, however, when he'd got the time to write down about The Dimitrescus, having never come face-to-face with the tyrants. It seemed your brother's first guess, too, was 'Wendigo', which he scratched down, only to pen it down again, bigger and emphasised, once he enlisted 'Cannibalisme'.

Your heart sank at the etchings.

Even for someone like him, these were too cynical, like he were losing his mind at the mere thought of them: 'one LORD — THREE SONS', it read. 'Blood disease??', 'PARASITE??', 'VAMPIRISM'? That would mean— "Oh." You stood corrected when just below the analysis was a remark, "NO WEAKNESS TO SUN OR WEATHER". Sometimes you swore you and him had the same braincells, always jumping to the same conclusions, which only made the desire to avenge him overpowering.

Your eyes traveled to the end of the page, the last of ink spilled on the worn out pages of your brother's journal, 'NEOPAGAN CULT', 'BLACK GOD'. With widened eyes, and a sinister feeling you couldn't yet shake away, your eyes dart to the next, last page.

There was a symbol maniacally delineated, labelled as the same reports on the previous page. 'NEOPAGAN CULT SYMBOL', and at the bottom of the page, the last thing your brother ever did write was, 'THE CULT OF THE BLACK GOD'. You subconsciously traced the diagram, only to see the graphite taint your fingertips. Your mind was racing two hundred miles per hour, trying to put the pieces of a fatally intricate puzzle together. Your brother's journal, the last of the contents were mere observations, unlike the rest of the pages that are filled with methods of executing generations of monsters.

But for The Dimitrescus, the fact that 'most powerful family' was written with emphasis only made you scowl. You searched frantically in your bag for the journals of your father, your uncle; anything that spoke more about this parasite and the said Black God.

Glancing back at the foot of the palace, you had to do a double take when you saw the guards leave the premises, bread and wine in hand. Their chuckles could be sound from the heart of the forest, even though they repeatedly 'shushed' one another, saying "the Lord" would put their "heads on a stick".

You take their departure as your cue and pace quietly towards the castle. You stood face to face with the colossal gates, doing your level best to push them open, just enough to sneak in, but the big dumb fuckers wouldn't budge. Scoffing, as fate would have it in your luck, you began scanning the perimeter for any safe way in, otherwise, you sure as hell knew how to make an entry.

"Ain't no fucking way," you'd pretty much lost all hope, not realising when your brother wrote down, "tall", it included the infrastructure, too. It was then your eyes noticed one particular stone brick placed slightly outward, and the one above it, and then the one above it, outward enough for you to step on, up, and grip the grotesque grill, securing the premises from people exactly like you.

The first step up was easy, the stone steady enough to carry you, or so you thought for when the second you stepped onto the next one, the one below fell to the ground, shattering to bits. You eyed the stone your foot was on currently, leaping when realisation hit you. By the time you rock-climbed your ass up to the top, the whole way up had crumbled down. You gripped the gothic grill, not taking the maker of it to be a sadist, for it sliced the flesh of your palm even through the slightest contact. You winced, looking back at the broken rocks, perhaps, a good omen; no one would suspect you climbed up the wall, now.

Crossing the grill, you jumped down as silently as a human could, looking back at your newfound enemy, the grill, only for it to be leaking with crimson. You groaned at the sight of your blood, thinking you were better than this, letting some metal get the best of you, but the immense pain from the cut made your head a little dizzy. Shaking the odd feel off, you proceeded leftward, walking further in to be greeted by what seemed to be a courtyard.

No servants, chamberlain nor staff was seen out and about, quite contrary to what one would expect from the functioning of a castle this mighty. Though the odds were in your favour, it didn't seem so; it's quiet, too quiet. Nothing other than a raven's screech and the flap of the wings of a murder of crows was heard for miles. Your steps had quickened at the sight of a door, finally leading you inside. As you inspected it, you sensed a magical aura around it; you could use a spell to crack it open, but that would cause bring attention you did not need at the moment. So, you pull a pin from your hair and apply the cheapskate thief method, and lo and behold, you were in.

Fuck yeah.

Closing the bulky door as silently behind you as you could, you were slammed right back into it, while what felt to be a talon instead of a hand wrapped around the back of your throat. "Well, well, what do we have here?" Said an anonymous voice, cuing laughter from two more.

Fuck, no.

The last thing you remember was a pair of hands squeezing your waist, one choking you, while one hand ghosted over your face, causing a wave of unconsciousness to pass over you.

Chained; you groaned, a pounding ache ringing in your head like an alarm, your eyes blinked, close to a hundred times to get accustomed to your dark, unfamiliar surroundings, while your nose burned with the stench of— burning bodies?

You lifted your head to see three tall figures illuminated by the feeble attempts of a torch. "Alas, sleeping beauty wakes." You heard one taunt, a raspy baritone to his voice, "No fun — I prefer them unconscious," said another with a similar tone. "Well, you're no fun if you don't like to watch the fear in their eyes when they beg you for their life," said the third. The conversation flowed more amongst themselves, quite rude to not have included the meat of the matter — you, but what more could you expect from The Dimitrescu Boys? Oh, you were sure it was them. 'One lord — three sons', you remembered, and no odds suggested they were servants or guards. Not with the way expensive jewels embellished their stallion necks not-so-subtly, like an all-time reminder of their aristocratic status. 'Pathetic,' you thought, it seems no matter the day or age, the breed of "daddy's money" remains as obnoxious as ever.

While they bickered amongst themselves, you took the time to take in their appearances: Handsome, irrelevant. Tall, but no more than an average case of gigantism in most villages. Yellow eyes, but not humanoid — no, fully, thoroughly (so it seems) human. Could this be another variety? Hybrids, perhaps, since Vampirism was in the books of possibility. That could explain their immunity to weather conditions. Their facial features became vivid all of a sudden, and you noticed the blood smeared all over their faces. Paying heed to your iniquity, perhaps even irked expression, the boys smirked devilishly; not charming, dangerously, Lucifer-ishly, but satanically. You weren't into the lighter side of magic like your mother, only using it grotesquely, but you knew aura-reading, even envisioning, like the back of your hand, and theirs was sinister: an abysmal shade of black surrounding them, with occultism dancing between their physical forms in the fiery colour of hellish hues.

"Tell us, what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?" One questioned, "Hm, never seen one so beautiful." "Is she even real — ethereal." "Makes me almost not want to eat her." Your eyes widened at the last remark, "Eat her in a different way, I'd definitely." Their shark-like smiles grew wider, subconsciously causing you to back away from them while they inched closer, ready to pounce on you and relish your beauty. "What do you have there, boys?" Asked the deepest voice you'd ever heard, from the other side of what you now realised was the dungeon. You were taken aback at the intrusion, silently thanking your saviour, even if it were the man himself — Lord Alcides Dimitrescu, head of Familia Dimitrescu.

His sons scattered immediately, letting their father rest his eyes upon you. "Food, father," one spoke eagerly, as if trying to impress his old man. "We saw her trespassing in the courtyard, and then she came inside." Spoke the other. "You could have her," said another, "If you save us a taste." Your face lost its colour when a ice-cold hand wrapped itself around your throat, yanking you up with one lift, and throwing you towards the bars between you and the mammoth Lord. His devilish expression— softened? "Elvira!" He exclaimed softly, reaching for your face, but the second his hand tried to snake past the bar, he winced in contact, the metal bar hissing with effervescence. Weakness?

"Idiotilor! Așa ne tratezi oaspetele?" The man was fuming: a flabbergasted expression on the said idiots' faces. "Oaspete? Dar ea—" "She can do as she pleases in my home." The man spat venom like thunder, his hateful expression turned to apologetic and caring in the blink of an eye when he turned to you. "Let her out this very instant." He glared at his sons one last time before turning away and saying, "The longer you wait, the more severe will be the outcomes."

So you were rushed out the dungeon and sent to the guesthouse.

The chamberlain had been waiting for you there at the direct orders of her master. "Lady Stoica, We're truly very sorry for the inconveniences caused to you. The Lord gifts you these gowns as his sincerest apology. He'd love for you to join him for supper once you have freshened up. Step out of your chambers, when you're done, and I'll be happy to take you there." You didn't acknowledge her, only awaited her leave so you could examine the gowns she had motioned towards while babbling courtesies you didn't give a fuck about. It'll definitely take more than four gowns to earn forgiveness for the treatment meted out to you down in the dungeons, but you wanted to give the tyrant lord a little bit of credit, for the gowns were stunning.

As you took in the details of each cloth, you came upon a note, which read: Sweetest Elvira,

Forgive my imbecile progeny, if you think they are worth it, but let us celebrate your presence, still, in my abode. Would you be so kind to accept my invitation for dinner? I have long yearned your company since the last time Lord and Lady Stoica visited.

Hoping to have you with me,

Alcides Dimitrescu.

Your blood boiled at his handwriting. It was the same intricate, royally cursive writing that signed the parcel of your family's heads.

You headed into the bath with murder on your mind; no matter how many times you'd sink into the warm waters, the heat only aggravated your fuming self. It was rosewater, the scent made your mind trail back to days of yore: when your mother would set up baths like this for you, the sweet scent of herbs and nature's warmth filled your hateful mind with nostalgia, then worry. Your mother had the most fight in her, no doubt about that, but that didn't mean she resorted to it easily; always seeing the best in people, giving them countless chances to repent. A generous, godly trait, but fatal in a world dominated by people like the man you were to meet with for dinner— supper, or whatever. You were just glad you weren't being served as the main course.

For now.

As you dried yourself up, your mind replayed the conversations, the characteristics and behaviours of the family. How he called you, 'Elvira'. Yes, Lady Elvira Natalia of Familia Stoica, another noble household your family put an end to. The irony lay in her appearance: the two of you looked alike — no, identical. Perhaps minor attributes set the difference between you two, or the fact that you put a bullet between her eyes — eyes just like yours; it was the reason why the Vânători de urâciuni men hesitated to kill her — sister, daughter, and niece. Not you, never had you hesitated. It's what set you apart in a man's world. If a woman's emotions got the best of her, than lucky for you and unfortunate for the whole world, the only feelings coursing through your mind like the blood in your veins were bloodlust. Blood and Lust, as your mind trailed back to Lord Dimitrescu—

Alcides fuckin' Dimitrescu.

He was tall, so tall, he had to crouch to an uncomfortable extent just to get a proper look at your frame through the dungeon bars. His raven locs and beard: neat as a lord, rugged like a pirate; his sharp nose, his thick, furrowed brows, his luscious lips and those eyes. Those fucking amber eyes, captivating, devouring you like a fox after literal meat. Their hue was as fluorescent as a Wendigo's, then how was he not like one? How is he so devilishly handsome?

Stuck in a limbo, half- hypnotised with hazy memories of the Lord, memories you were yet to make with him, you were left enchanted; like he had cast a spell on yo— "Holy fuck." That's it. It's the only logical reason behind such profound emotions. He had cast a spell on you. It could've easily been the waters, you had bathed in them, let the rose waters soak every inch of your skin. Or worse, his eyes? You had definitely not been that out of it to imagine them glowing in the dark, but if he truly practised necromancy at such a profound level that a mere look in your direction left you enamoured, then you had to come up with a plan, and come up with a plan fucking fast.

Despite your certainty that the only way you'd feel something so unlikely for a man who was responsible for the death of family, was via nécromancies, you still had to be sure. So, you performed an indication ritual. In a vessel, you stored the possible method of enchantment — the bath water — along with the blood of the enchanted. You prick your finger deep enough to get ample beads of crimson out, letting them drop into the vessel. Now, if by dawn, the contents of the vessel turn potently black, your suspicions are true, and the tyrant Alcides, indeed, cast a spell on you, but if it were to remain colourless, than the worst of your concerns has arisen, for you'd have willingly let lust overpower the balance of bloodlust in the weigh of your emotions.

Placing the vessel underneath your bed, you begin dressing. The odds were too ironic not to choose the rose coloured gown for the evening, so you wore it, feeling condemned to. Fixing whatever you deemed necessary, you stepped out of your room to find the chamberlain stationed exactly where she said she'd be.

Her breath hitched a little, eyes widening as she saw you turn towards her, "You look beautiful, Miss Stoica," was her way of seeing 'you clean up pretty nice for a dirty mess in the dungeons', but you paid no heed, letting the woman escort you.

The walk to the Lord's dining area was awkward, and fearful for the servant. There was no denying you resembled the heiress of one of the Seven Royal Families, but you hadn't thought your own victim's identity would play as your decoy in your most fatal mission.

You didn't blame them, you were dumbfounded at the striking resemblance, yourself.

The hair, the skin, the features; it was without a doubt you killed your doppelgänger that day, and though you were never one to follow rituals of lore, it says, 'the slaughtering of one's self' — a doppelgänger — 'is the greatest sign of one's power and control', so it was no wonder since then you had long been feared in every corner of Eastern Europe, but you never earned notoriety, nor make a fuss over the death of The Stoicas, which is why everyone in Castle Dimitrescu believes you to be her, for they think she is what you are; alive.

"We've arrived, madam. If you need me, please don't hesitate to call." She gave you a knowing look, one of empathy? Weird. Interestingly weird. You only nodded, before pushing the glass doors open, and letting yourself in.

Alcides sat with the three of his sons, you'd heard him call them Boian, Cătălin, and Dorin, not knowing which one is which, but you doubt names matter when their death's are destined by your hands. As if sensing you, something you'd mentally categorise among his vampiric characteristics, his head shot up from his sons and immediately those amber eyes were on you, ripping through your dress, eating you alive. His lifeless skin flushed at the sight of you, wet hair clinging to your frame so perfectly, he could smell the shampoo from here. How tightly the dress hugged your curves, how accentuated the rose colour of the gown made your ethereal body. Your plump, pouty lips were rosy like the gown, an even prettier colour, the sudden blush that dared to creep on your face, your determined brows raised a little at the shameless attention you were receiving, your big, radiant doe eyes widening, pupils dilating, and your long lashes batting at his direction.

"Elvira." He rose from his seats, as did his sons, heads snapping right at you to shamelessly ogle at you. On seeing that the look of disgust on your face was directed towards his sons, he shot them a fuming glare, causing them to nod an apology and immediately be seated again.

"Thank you for joining me." He said, softly, awaiting you. You moved closer, deciding to be seated beside the lord, across from his sons. "How have you been, my dear?" His hand found yours, yours minuscule in his clasp. "I had been fine, until certain miscreants accused me of trespassing."

You shot the three culprits a glare, and rightly so. Alcides eyed his sons, clearing his throat obviously when his sons remained oblivious to his cryptic signs.

"We're, uh," began one, "We're sorry, Madam Stoica," continued the other, "We didn't mean for any of that to happen, we just wanted to scare what appeared to be an uninvited guest at the time." "Had we known it was you... well, let's just say your welcome would've been different. Mostly." Finished the last, and your mind immediately caught on to the insinuation:

"Eat her in a different way, I'd definitely."

You could see the man's blood boil beside you, "Scuzați-vă." He growled, and you caught a glimpse of just how much fear he's instilled into his children, for they immediately excused themselves from the table and left with hurried steps.

"Pardon them, I don't know where I went wrong in raising them." He sighed once they were out of sight, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You've never been one to sympathise with an enemy, but maybe sympathy isn't what'll lead to his slaughter; seduction is.

You wordlessly place a hand atop his, earning a soft gasp from him. His eyes searched your face, and when you couldn't help but give him a small smile, he grinned; from ear to ear, letting his pearly fangs rise from their pillowy coverings, his lips, which he soon had to bite to control his giddiness. "Oh, Elvira," his voice was soft, a mere yearn lingering in the warmth of the room. Had it been this hot since you stepped in, or had the flush of your cheeks been indicating otherwise? "You're so beautiful." His other hand tucked the stray strand of hair falling onto your face, behind your ear. You felt a tinge of bitterness brewing in you, whatever relationship was established between Alcides and Elvira, it sure was on the better side of the spectrum.

Were you really feeling jealous of your dead doppelgänger? Well, from the way he looked at you— her — right now, you'd say he wouldn't take to her murder too kindly.

"I swear, you're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you." You blushed, so he enjoyed the new-and-improved Elvira more. "Yet you stay ever handsome." NO. You didn't mean for it to slip, you didn't mean it, you didn't think it — yet, you said it, and he fucking relished in it.

To save you from your embarrassment, your newfound guardian angels, the chef and other servants, brought in food of all sorts. Albeit the sheer hatred you felt towards them, you couldn't help but ask Alcides about his sons. "Aren't you sweet?" He looked at you with fondness, before answering, "The servants will bring them food to their quarters."

Fair enough.

You proceeded eating without another word or glance in his direction. Upon finishing the scrumptious meal, you waited for Alcides to take the lead.

Men like him relished in power, authority, and since he was born into it with a silver spoon hanging from his mouth, it was the only thing he knew.

He looked at you for several moments, an unreadable expression on his face making you more conscious than repelled, as if you craved the validation of his eyes.

He rose from his seat, one hand lingering in the air, an invitation for you to clasp it, while the other grabbed a hefty cluster of grapes by the stem. "Walk with me, darling."

He had to look painfully low to even see your head, once you rose to your height, it helped, but little aid was provided to the giant standing at 9'6.

You held his hand, the sheer size difference had you squirming in your steps.

Just imagine how beautiful sex would be with him, you wouldn't even be able to fit him— "Fuck," you whined under your breath, making damn sure your voice wasn't audible to Mount Everest beside you.

This was the spell talking — thinking; it's got to be. You withdrew your hand, pretending to fix the blouse of the dress, earning a glance from the Lord in your direction, which only stayed for a moment before the calming silence between the two of you was the only thing you could see, until he halted, pulling your attention back to him. "Fruit, my dear?" He waved the cluster, so you knew which ones he was talking about. Come to think of it, you did feel thirsty, and those grapes looked lusciously juicy.

"I don't see why not," you shrugged, not anticipated him to raise the cluster to his mouth and bite a grape off. You watched, mouth slightly agape as a perfectly fine grape rested between his fangs. Even the slightest subconscious movement could rip through the fruit, yet it stayed perfectly safe in his mouth.

He then crouched, now eye-to-eye with you. His eyebrows raised in your direction, challenging you. Challenging you to pull the fruit out of his mouth, and there was only one way to do it.

You bit your lip, you could have your fun, just until you find a reversal cure to his spell.

So, you grab onto both his wide, muscular shoulders, letting your arms cross around his neck. You smirk at him, bringing one hand forward to trace his features. He was so, so strong, to the point you were more aroused than intimated. Your hand reached his torso, you could see how your teasing placed him in agony. Slowly, you let your hand ghost over his pants, and lo and behold, he was aroused; painfully so, and you felt it immoral to torment a man so much (the fucking irony), so you palmed him through his pants, causing his mouth to hang open and out fell grape— right into your palm.

You bring the fruit up to your mouth, Alcides left mesmerised with the way your plump, perfect lips wrapped around it before ripping through it. A moan escaped your lips as the juice dripped down your tongue. "So good," you left out a sigh, and something in him snapped. Alcides flipped you around, you were now pressed against some wall that practically emerged in support of his... expeditions. He plucked two grapes, placing them in his large palm, before bringing it closer to your face. When your eyes widened in confusion, his other hand wrapped itself around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks to open your mouth, before you realised what he demanded and gave it to him; you licked about the fruit, before accepting them into your mouth. Your tongue still teased his flesh, when he pulled away. Amber eyes mere slits with obvious lust, "Now," he began, "You can say you've eaten out of the Lord's palm." He winked at you before walking away.

You steadied your haggard breathing, before deciding to follow him when a certain room caught your eye. It were as if your name was being chanted like a careful whisper, that only sounded when you were left alone. Following your gut, as a hunter as skilled as you would, you push open the heavy doors and let yourself in.

The first thing catching your eye was an obnoxious leather chair that you couldn't help but run a hand over, "Gator skin," you scowled. Though a hunter, you were against hunting — animals, that is, although you'd be hypocritical to say so when the creatures you send to hell are no less barbaric than a creature tormenting in wilderness. Still, you believed in fighting an equivalent, or even better, an apparent immortal.

On the left of it was an fireplace, charcoaled in exhaustion like it recently gave up it's flame and purpose, and in front, was a library, the source of your calling; not colossal, yet extreme in number. The whispering chant grew to a shout, a yearn for each leather-clad covering of ink spilled on paper to be touched by your feather-light fingertips, and only a fool would turn down a beseech like such.

Books of alchemy, instructional journals of God summonings, documentations on every supernatural creature that roamed the planet and how to kill them; even the Satanic Bible was on display, and you explored every single one of them. Fighting the temptation to steal every book with valour, despite how useful each would've proved to be to you in the future, you declined every book until you reached what you sought, rather, what sought you tonight. "The Book of The Four Houses", the spine read. You pulled the book out, not anticipating it to be so heavy. "The Book of The Four Houses", you read again, searching for an author, but not met by any name.

You flip through the pages frantically, in hopes to find any continuance of relevance to your brother's observations, and there it was: Familia Dimitrescu, the excerpt was titled.

"Alcides Dimitrescu was born into the noble Dimitrescu family sometime before the Great War, and through this ancestry inherited a hereditary blood disease, possibly porphyria cutanea tarda. Although his family traced their origins to Cesare, one of the four founders of an isolated mountain village in Europe, Alcides himself lived elsewhere, perhaps through a cadet branch. In the aftermath of the Second World War and the abolition of the nobility, Dimitrescu returned to his family's former lands, which had fallen under the control of a neopagan cult worshipping the Black God.

Prior to 1958, at the age of 44, Dimitrescu was lured by the cult leader, Mother Miranda, to a crypt beneath the village cemetery, where he was surgically implanted with a Cadou parasite. The purpose of this experiment was to determine his viability as a candidate who could become host to a parasitic intelligence at a later date. This experiment mutated Alcides' body considerably, granting him regenerative capabilities, retractable claw-like nails, and the ability to transform into a dragon-like monster and back again. Moreover, the parasite halted his aging process, maintaining his appearance perpetually. In spite of these impressive biological changes, the resulting mutation did not nullify his blood disease. As a result, Dimitrescu needed a ready supply of fresh human blood to maintain his health, and was therefore judged by Miranda to be a failure."

"Although Dimitrescu was of no use as a host, his claim to Castle Dimitrescu was recognized by Miranda and he was allowed to take residence in the village as one of the Four Lords, who would maintain order over the native peasantry while aiding Miranda in Cadou research. Upon inhabiting the estate, Dimitrescu took over his family's vineyard and wine-distribution business as a means of supporting himself."

"Relishing in his reclaimed noble status, Dimitrescu developed extreme caste-based views of society, seeing himself as second only to Miranda herself. He openly loathed the other three house Lords, particularly Karl Heisenberg, whom he frequently argued with. He privately bemoaned that he was not Miranda's favorite, instead being treated the same as all the others. Despite this, Dimitrescu's alliance with the other houses allowed him to rule his castle with barbarous cruelty, regularly taking in new staff to replace those who had been taken to his dungeon to be killed and drained of blood for sustenance."

"Dimitrescu's own experiments with Cadou appear to have been limited, as the only confirmed instance was an experiment begun by Miranda and monitored by Dimitrescu. In this experiment, the corpses of three men were implanted with Cadou parasites. Over the course of about a week, the Cadou produced fly-like organisms which then consumed the flesh of all three bodies. Having assimilated the DNA of these men, the flies merged to mimic their human shapes and slowly adapted their likenesses. Dimitrescu immediately formed a bond with these three men, whom he named Boian, Cătălin, and Dorin, and came to regard himself as their father. They obeyed Dimitrescu without question, and were similar to him in that they were ageless and reliant on vampirism for sustenance. However, they were incapable of withstanding cold temperatures, thus remaining trapped within the confines of Castle Dimitrescu."

That explains the overwhelming warmth of the Castle that had began to annoy you.

"Over the next seventy years, Dimitrescu and his sons systematically consumed the flesh and blood of local peasants and servants alike. The blood of maids was extracted and combined with grapes to create Sanguis Virginis (Latin for "Maiden's Blood"), a traditional Dimitrescu family wine. The female victims, now infected with Mold, lived on as Moroaicǎ and Samcă, while male victims were consumed and then hollowed out to be turned into scarecrows for the castle vineyard."

"Dimitrescu's reign of terror was not without resistance, however, as one villager is known to have stolen a family heirloom — the Dagger of Death's Flowers — in an attempt to assassinate him with its poisoned blade. The attempt failed and he was buried with the dagger in the Tower of Worship to keep it hidden from any others who might seek to harm him."

You snapped the book shut, mind whirling in an epileptic shock, replaying every single word over and over in your head, then images of Alcides, his "sons", Cadou Parasites, Mother Miranda? By the time you realised it, you were hyperventilating, eyes scattering from corner-to-corner, in search of anything less cryptic, anything less 'Once-upon-a-time-there-was-a-beautiful-boy-named-Alcides', and more 'Weakness-to-duhduhduh-kill-by-gunshot-to-the-duhduhduh'.

You threw your head back in unfamiliar pain that originated from your chest, you can't believe plain ink on paper knocked the air out of you, but then again, so did the signed caskets of your family; by the same man you now found out to be ancient and seemingly indestructible, but talk of this "Dagger of Death's Flowers" gave you hope.

Your thoughts of retrieving it were cut short when the doors burst open. "What are you doing?" roared the thunderous voice of the man of the hour, "Elvira." His voice was laced with an emotion you were too out of your head to begin deciphering. His eyes dropped to the book in your hands while awaiting your answer. "Oh, why didn't you say so?" His expression softened, causing you to raise a brow in perplexity. He walked over, the fondness in his eyes returned, causing your tense posture to relax a bit. He took the book from you, and seemingly landed on a page mentioning Alcides' life before lordship. "You really love this book, don't you? I guess it is fun to read a fan's work." He chuckled, flipping through the pages as if he hadn't seen the book in a long, long time.

Huh.

If 'Elvira', too, had been scavenging through the book of Dimitrescus, possibly for the same reason as you, maybe you're more similar than you thought.

When you looked up to his height, his eyes were already on you. "You look tired, my dear. I would be happy to take you to your quarters." He smiled, and your heartbeat was quick to quicken at that. "I'd like that, my Lord."

My Lord.

The walk to your chambers was a haze, all you could feel was the growing wetness in your panties from the way his eyes bore into you; penetrating every inch of you, consuming your conscience with the darkest desires.

Taking out your brother's journal from your bag, you flipped to a fresh page and began filling in your own conclusions. As you wrote, you began to think— not just as a hunter, but as a long deprived woman who had just encountered the most handsome man ever, who just also happened to have murdered her family.

The way he walks, the way he holds your innocent gaze challengingly, the way he looks at you like you're the most exquisite meal, and he's a man starving. You had long abandoned the trepidation and abhorrence you felt towards his cannibalistic lifestyle, instead, feeling a shameful surge of lust shoot into you. You rubbed your thighs together, laying on the bed, but dutifully still, writing every bit of knowledge you gained today; from the parasite, to relations with the leaders of the other Houses and Seven Royal Families that Vânători de urâciuni had already slaughtered, to Mother Miranda, and even what little you read about the Black God.

By the time you covered every intricate detail of a disaster waiting to happen, the heat between your legs was nuclear; the throb, unbearable, leaving you no choice but to act on your animalistic urges. You straighten up, slowly discarding the beautiful cloth that once accentuated your body, now felt like constricted bondages on it.

Once bare, you sink into the pillowy cushions of your given quarters. Something about the whole room smelled like him, but the strongest scent came from your dress, when you were pressed against him. Even both your arousals could be scented from the innocent rose dress, so you tugged it closer to you, breathing in his smoky musk scent, along with your innocent floral one. "Fuck," you groaned, fingers finally ghosting over the mess dying to be made between your legs.

You decided now was not the time to tease, so you coat your fingers in your wetness and smear circles on your swollen clit. "Fuck."

Your bud throbbed in your grasp, desperate to have a little somebody's fanged mouth on it, your nipples hardened the same, aching to have that mouth graze over them, suckle on them, taint the soft, ample flesh with sinister marks. Hell, if it meant one night of succumbing to carnal pleasures, you'd even let the fucker carve that neo-pagan cult symbol on you.

"Fuck!" You weren't thinking straight — no, you weren't thinking at all. How could you? You were under a spell, 'Yes, that was it,' you thought, more so struggling in convincing yourself than anything. Just the sheer thought of a man possessing vile notoriety, relishing in every crime you've fought against; his size, the abnormality of it all. You fantasised about how inhumanely long his tongue might be, teasing around your clit before plunging into your slit.

Oh, that's it.

You shoved your fingers inside of you, whining at how unfulfilling they were, when compared to the hands of him. You were pretty sure his middle finger was bigger than your face.

The only sound to be heard was the squelching of your pussy and your whimpering. You could only pray you weren't audible, not that you minded, because it was Elvira Stoica who'd get mocked, not Y/N Y/L.

Your pace quickened at the thought of him fucking you as Y/N. Would the thought of fucking the enemy be as tantalisingly erotic to him, too? Or would he just hate fuck you, and then feast on your flesh?

"Fuck me..—" You lost your voice when your breath hitched in your throat. "Ju-just like that, mhhm." You were so close, just a bit more... "Fuck me."

That's it, honey, just let go—

"Oh," you moaned too loud to be safe, "Alcides!"

Your legs were shaking, cunt spasming around your fingers while your chest heaved up and down, in a breathless state.

As you rubbed your high out, realisation dawned in on you.

What have you done?

You woke up disgruntled.

Still unimaginably wet, yet thankful for the release, but you hadn't forgiven yourself. Last night was unacceptable, even for someone enchanted. To make matters worse, this isn't even the first time someone put an infatuation spell on you; at least three men before this, but not to pacify an enemy, but to woo a stoic woman with only murder on her mind.

The victim of such a spell for the fourth time, yet Alcides is different. This was incredible necromancy, not like any you've encountered before. It was then you remembered the vessel underneath your bed. Almost too eagerly you jumped off the bed, still somewhat entangled in the sheets, which you threw off swiftly.

You ducked under the bed, the vessel promisingly in the same spot as you had left it. Reaching for it with closed eyes and crossed fingers, you pull it from underneath and lift it to your height.

As you peeped one eye open, then the other in disbelief, you threw the vessel with one swing of your arm. It banged against the wall, before falling to the ground with a typical, screeching metal noise.

This can't be happening. There was no way you felt what you did for Alcides, willingly. The clear contents of the vessel indicated otherwise, though. There was no mistake in your ritual, either; you added what was needed and waited long enough.

"No, no, no, no, NO!"

This can't be fucking happening. You were ready to bawl your eyes out, when one sophisticated knock erupted you. "Elvira." It was him, you knew, your body and heart knew.

When no response followed, Alcides began, "My sons and I are travelling out of estate," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for telling you on such short notice, but we won't be back until tomorrow." His voiced trailed off, as if waiting for you to reveal yourself, your reaction, anything, but you're too shaken up to give him any satisfaction. "That's quite alright, my lord." You swallow the lump in your throat, not being able to control yourself and adding, "I'll be right here, waiting." You swore you heard a groan, but were stuck in a limbo by the time Alcides left your door.

You decided all things could be said and done after bathing, so you run a bath and let the scented waters soak into you, replacing the stench of your sins with the perfumed power of blaming Alcides; but you couldn't do that anymore, could you? Not when he was never provocative.

Once you finished freshening up, you grabbed another one of the gowns Dimitrescu gave you. It was black, and beautiful; you were left speechless when you put it on. God, did he really have to make you feel beautiful when you were sent to kill his entire bloodline? "Ah, such unfortunate circumstances." You 'tsked' before doing your hair.

By the time you were done with your makeup, you were certain of today's plan: You were going for breakfast, accessing the courtyard, navigating the Tower Of Worship, exhuming the villager with whom the "Dagger of Death's Flowers" is buried; dig it out, lace the blade with gunpowder, stab all fuckers, one by one, get the fuck out, walk miles back home, and hibernate.

Sweet.

You step out of your quarters to find the chamberlain posted there, just like the day before. "If I say so, my lady?" She looked up at you, the tiny thing was adorable for the fear she felt, yet still wanted you to know that, "You look ravishing." She briefly looked you in the eye before the rouge on her cheeks became embarrassingly obvious, to her. You, on the other hand found her just as she was, adorable.

Upon entering the dining area, she silently took her leave, when you grabbed her wrist. "First Alcides, now you, too?" You asked, flirtatiously referring to both of them excusing themselves from you. "The least you could do is give me company." And how could anyone resist the sultry tone of a stunning woman?

So the chamberlain finds herself dining with you.

You insisted she sat besides you, and despite putting the maximum distance between your chairs, she complied. "So...?" You inquired after finishing your meal, referring to her name. "Oh— uh— Pasha, mi lady." You smiled, "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl." You saw her rub her thighs together from the corner of your eye. "Well, Pasha," you decided to break the awkward silence that hadn't formed yet, "You think you can take me to the Tower Of Worship?" You sipped on your tea, eyeing her while you swallowed, only to see her with widened eyes and haphazard breathing. "Me-my l-lady—..." she stammered, hesitation painted all over her soft features as if you asked her to murder The Dimitrescus herself, or eat you out, you couldn't decide which was more mortifying for the poor girl. "What is it, Pasha?" You sighed.

"Th-the area is strictly off limits— only the... family can go there." She gulped at your growingly irritable expression. "I am part of the family — the Stoica household, in case you've forgotten, cameristă."

"I- yes, mi lady. I'm so sor—" "I don't want to hear it." You interrupted, raising a hand in the air. "Will you, or will you not take me to the Tower Of Worship?" You stared at her, the impatience visible on your face, before you decided to put on the façade you knew best; the façade of seduction. "Please, Pasha," you placed a hand on her bare thigh, her little skirt leaving little to imagination.

"For me?" Were the magical words that got the job done.

So you walk with the head of the staff of Castle Dimitrescu, into the family's place of worship, to exhume the corpse of the only man with the balls to try and assassinate him.

Pasha dropped you off at the foot of the Tower, more than happy to bolt away once you told her it was okay to leave you alone.

You walk up the stairs, and into the end of Castle Dimitrescu.

For a place of "worship", the place had the most oppressive aura, reeking of the occult and unimaginable. You fought your way inside, barely getting in while the air was knocked out of you; perhaps, a barrier of necromancy, despite it, you were able to get through.

You ran from corner to corner, searched every square centimetre of the place, but no place near-resembled the tomb of an assailant. "Fuck, where is it?" Your hands dipped inside your bag to look for something, before pulling it out and beginning your rummaging.

Indeed, you had stopped by Alcides' study before breakfast, telling the maid you 'forgot something' in there during your "time" last night, before winking at her shamelessly and forcing your entry. Sneaking out 'The Book of The Four Houses' was something you could do with your eyes closed.

Your eyes read past every word until you landed where you were made to stop, when the wave of overwhelm hit you last night. "Hall of the Four", the title read.

"The Hall of the Four, known in Japanese as Between the Four Angels (四天使の間, shi tenshi no aida?), is an area of Castle Dimitrescu." The Hall of the Four leads to the Tower of Worship, but this door cannot be opened until the four masks are placed on the Angel statues."

You groaned a string of profanities.

It's like you were set up for failure, and the worst part is, you could hear him laughing in the back of your mind— Alcides. His new abode has become the back of your mind, for he never leaves there.

Tired, disappointed and on the verge of giving up, you leave the Tower. You were a goner without the masks, and despite being in a rush to at least try and acquire them, you walked in a defeated slumber.

The chamberlain met you somewhere near the courtyard, surprised to see you walking out alive. "Lady Stoica—" "Just take me to my quarters, Pasha." You sighed, earning a swift nod from the confused chamberlain.

You walked lost, still, until you reached your room and opened that damned book again. While you scrolled through the contents, a mere note fell off, barely in your grasp.

The handwriting.

It was your brother's, but— it couldn't be. They never got close enough, which is why you're here now, right? They never got close enough. Three of the most feared, skilled men in the world of hunting never got close to one man and his three experiments for sons.

How in the hell did— Wait.

'Mask of Pleasure: Second Floor of Castle Dimitrescu',

that's where you are right now.

Everything could wait, hell, God could wait on the other line of heaven. You needed answers, yes, but something in your gut tells you it's better unknown. All that matters right now is killing him and every last member of his twisted family.

Or at least that was the plan...

You find yourself walking towards any room, with any possibility of possessing a mask. Hell, you had no idea what it looked like, but if it looks anything like the pleasure you'd be rewarding yourself with once you get the fuck out of this place, the mask won't be too difficult to find.

Soon enough you had pulled the place apart — the whole floor — except one room you hadn't set foot in. Alcides Dimitrescu's chambers.

A colossal door; you couldn't look away from the necromantic symbols etched into the woodwork. Had you not possessed the ability to see through such dark arts, you would've stepped right in and be left to deal with a fatality. You pull two vessels from your bag; the Blood of Christ and Vurxelheim, two of the purest substances on the planet, known to melt away all magic, no matter how ancient or dark, and as your expected, it did just that.

Alright, now all that was needed was to open the door, and even an amateur could do that with a pin.

Upon entering, you took in the details of his abode, almost forgetting to close the door behind you. Everything was brown; that's something you've noticed about the whole castle. Monotonously warm shades of brown, dimly lit with heat radiating over every surface. You only quirked a brow at the abnormalities. It soon came to your knowledge that the foundation of this floor is regarded as the "Hall of Pleasures". Kinky.

You looked around every corner, in every possible direction and space, but to no avail. Sighing, your head fell back, eyes closed it absolute demotivation, but when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was porcelain intricately carved, and hanging from the ceiling; a place where no mortal, but only a 9'6 indestructible titan of a tyrant could reach. It was obnoxious, if anything; placing it in a place so obvious, yet so out of reach — a direct message to show he's better than the rest, quite literally above them.

With no possible way of reaching it, you were still accessing your options when one strong arm wrapped itself around your waist and raised you up, right to where the mask hanged. "If you wanted to swing by my chambers,"

"You could've just asked, mic vânător."

Little Hunter— "Let go of me!" You writhed in his grasp, hand slowly reaching for the mask, still. "If you say so," he shrugged before letting go of you completely, letting you hang from the ceiling like a dreamcatcher. "Son of a bitch! You put me down this instant or I swear to God I'll rip through you and your experiments with my bare hands." "Ah, there's no need to get feisty, Elvira." He said, grabbing you by the waist, and putting you down, despite your kicking and struggling. "I'm only trying to help." He grunted, one hand disappearing behind his trench coat; you were ready to pounce at him, when he pulled, seemingly, the other three masks from behind.

"There you go, sweetheart. Masks of Joy, Sorrow, and Rage." He waved the remaining three keys to The Hall of the Four. You eyed him, and he swore the frowning pout was the cutest sight he's ever seen. "C'mon, they're yours for the taking, darling." He smiled at you.

"What's the catch, Alcides?" You sighed.

It's never that fucking easy, is it?

"One night with me." He simply spoke, taking your deepening scowl as a notion to carry on, "One night to decide what is it that you want, Elvira," "Or should I call you, Y/N Y/L of the Vânători de urâciuni?" Your eyes widened with horror; you hadn't processed him calling you 'little hunter', yet, and now this? This could only mean— "How did you—" "Please. 'You think I wouldn't find out about the mass murder of my fiancé? And imagine the gossip about town that it was a doppelgänger who did it." No, you were careful, he's lying — he's got to be. "Lucky for me, I get the sexier one, now." He chuckled, impressed with his wit.

When you didn't give him the satisfaction of freaking out on him, moreover agreeing to his terms, he rolled his eyes, "Pentru dumnezeu! The first mistake was the rocks you climbed on. They've deliberately been arranged like so, for trespassers like you to easily enter, walk through the courtyard, and into the quarters of my sons for them to feast upon. Then, leaving your blood on the grill? The scent agonised me. It was so difficult to put those three dogs on a leash, having never smelled something so sweet." He 'tsked', "The second mistake was trusting Pasha. It was her hand that twirled in your bath water, mixing the infatuation spell, and it was her, too, that switched the vessel underneath your bed. Very clever, by the way, very thoroughly performed indication ritual."

"But your third— baby, this mistake might as well be a blessing because it's the only fucking thing keeping me away from ripping into you slowly, and feast on your flesh for two whole days; pleasuring yourself, in my fucking castle, fantasising about fucking me."

"Oh, and the guillotine was Heisenberg, I only added the dramatic touch of sending the heads back."

You couldn't bear it.

Bottles full of emotions you've locked away for ages finally hit the concrete of reality; shattering to a million pieces while the man you still find irresistible, had an unimpressed look on his face. "Y/N. I know you want to kill me—" "Oh, honey, you have no idea." You laughed dryly, choking on sobs, but something tells you the impact of your threat didn't go in the direction you wanted because he visibly tensed when you called him, "honey".

"But," he raised both hands in defence, "I wouldn't have gotten you these," he said, waving the masks again, "If I didn't think this deserved a chance— we — deserved a chance." "You think I'll let you anywhere near me after you toyed with me like a plaything? Sent me my father, my uncle, my brother's heads to add a 'dramatic touch'?" "I should've put a more potent spell on you," he cursed under his breath, earning a scoff from you.

You pulled out a dagger from your thigh holster, and lunged at him. Caught off guard, Dimitrescu's eyes widen while you slashed through his alabaster shirt, eager to bleed some crimson into his lifelessly pale skin. "I've had it with you, brat!" He growled, the whack of his palm on your cheek took you back, and you didn't mean to moan.

The cry, it was wanton, and it had Alcides latching on to every ounce of self control he still preserved. "Alright, here's what we're gonna do," he grabbed the dagger from your grasp within a second. "You're gonna take off your clothes, lay down, looking pretty for me like you always do," he walked closer, raising his large hands again in defence. "You following me— okay," he inched closer to you, while you backed away, further into the wall. "I'm gonna feast on this pussy, then I'm gonna finger your tight hole open, and because I'm feeling generous," he grabbed ahold of your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, "I'm not gonna force my cock into your pretty little throat, you're gonna beg for it." He caressed your face, the way your doe eyes watered while staring at him, like glass he could see his reflection in, your agape lips and soft expression made his pants constrict his cock agonisingly. "And the last thing I'll be doing, even if it's my last ever," his hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you to his king-sized bed. Laying you down, and climbing on top like a wolf on a lamb, he says, "Is fucking this pussy till you finally accept that you're made for me."

His mouth latched onto your neck, easily manhandling you at the same time while you writhed in his grasp. "I would rather be dead." You spat out venomously, which only made Alcides smile. "Well, alright. I'd still pound you till you're a mere cum-dump, but I'd surely miss those pretty sounds you made when you fingered yourself thinking about me." He panted against your pulse point, baritone voice hoarse with lust.

He spread your legs, lifting both your hands up by the wrists to his face. "Tiny little things," he kissed the knuckles of each finger, "Unsatisfying, aren't they?" He showered your hands with kisses, "Don't worry, darling, I'm here now." He raised both hands so their size was visible in your periphery, before grabbing your dress and pulling it over your head. "No!" You resisted, causing him to huff, annoyed. "Don't make me tear it off, honey, you look breathtaking in it." He cooed, and your movements haltered enough for him to successfully get it off you. "Good girl— such a good girl f'me."

Immediately his eyes were on your curves, your hips — perfect for bearing the child he was about to fuck into you, your breasts, so ample, all available for his groping and fondling, your pussy almost peering out of the silk panties. "Fuck, Y/N." He groaned, about to rip your underwear off when your pleads interrupted him. "Alci-Alcides please don't." "Hm," his sharp eyes seemed to be calculating his next move. "You say no, but your body," he groaned, pressing the knuckles of two of his fingers against your clothed cunt, "Your body sings otherwise, my love."

Every second passing by was petrifying.

The mortal battle between blood and lust, two things you were the epitome of, qualities comprising your very backbone, now, asked you to break it; bend over backwards and break your back for this man.

The string of pleads you cried fell on deaf ears, which, a part of you was glad for. Maybe if you continued to put the blame on Alcides and his necromancy, you'll actually let yourself live with the fact that your desires to have him ravage in your guts is overpowering, and the carnality lay in the fact that you didn't even care about what happened after. You were serving him your body in a platter, which you had not an ounce of doubt would eventually serve that purpose, quite literally.

"Tell me you want me." He hovered over your breasts. If he wanted to play games, then games you'll play. "I want you..." you whispered, "to go fuck yourself." He would've smacked you again, but again, you would've enjoyed it. What did stop him, however, was the shit-eating grin plastered on your face that showed him you were still on planet Earth, among the living and the abominable.

"Now, why would I do that, when I've got such a pretty girl with her pussy all wet for me?" He mimicked your expression, staring into your soul until you were forced to look away, and your eyes landed right on his clothed erection. "This?" He followed your gaze, "You're going to take care of this in just a minute, but for now," he paused, his large hands turning into talons and ultimately perilous claws. Cutting through the hems of both your garments, he retracted his claws immediately. You flinched when his hands came closer to your hips, "Don't be afraid, mic vânător." His baritone voice gave you absurd comfort, the tone, reassuring. "They can't hurt you, unless I want them to." His pearly whites were like the fangs of a serpent, peering out, bloodthirsty for you.

With that, he lowered himself and dove right in.

You slithered about while his anomaly of a tongue kitten-licked your inner thighs. "I'll tie you to the fucking bed, if you don't quit squirming." He spat.

At your pussy.

You moaned in response, hips momentarily halting from the continuous resisting. "Yeah? You like that don't you, slut?" His fingers spread your slit, before spitting right into your tight hole that fluttered about nothing. "There you go, my love." He cooed in response to your whining, smoothly inserting his index finger into the same hole. A tremor ran down your spine at the sudden intrusion; the stone-cold, thick and long thing digit was a cruel thing, reaching that sweet spot the minute it bottomed out till, knuckle-deep in your velvety walls, and even calling the others to join in on the assault on your cunt.

Accommodating, now, three of his fingers, pummelling your cunt, scissoring you open, was more overwhelming than any dick you've ever taken. Maybe the fact that no one else could amount to the size of an ancient 9'6 vampiric cannibal Lord who's put his and the life of his sons in your palm.

Either you take them away, or let him take you to carnality never fathomed before, and the way he sucked on your swollen clit while fucking you with his fingers was a clear indication of your preference.

"Alcides," you moaned, nearing your high. "Yes, my love?" He replied almost instantaneously, as if finally you complied with a poor man's request. "What is it that you need, darling? I'll give it all to you." He lifted up from your pussy, leaving your clit with a wet 'pop' sound, making his way over to your breasts, while his movements inside you never faltered once. His sharp eyes searched yours, fixated on them while his hot tongue snaked out of his mouth to twirl around your hardened bud. Flesh on fire, you leaned into the feel of his mouth on you. "Fuck me, Alcides." You cried in defeat. How the mighty have fallen prey to the vultures of lust, mere carcasses of seduction.

Alas, the façade of seduction had backfired, and you had fucked up royally.

Upon hearing the trumpets of his victory through your pretty mouth, Alcides would've been a fool to refuse you. Eagerly he undoes his pants, letting his throbbing cock spring free. Your eyes damn-near saw your brain at the sight of the thing. "Alci— I can't." Seeing you panic, he began getting off on it. "You can, and you will." He hissed when his calloused thumb rubbed against the slit of his cock.

"Oh, I wanna feel that throat squeezing around me." He pumped faster, fucking his fist to the thought of you like many a night before. "But this pussy will do," "For now." He said, rubbing his length fervently against your slit, lathering your wetness on his leaking tip, enthusing a sweet mix of your cum, much more of which was to come.

"Won't be... able... to..." You spoke in between moans gaps the tip was in. The stretch was abnormal, ungodly, unnatural — exactly what you're deemed to kill. "You'll take it, mic vânător." He began to push more in, knocking the air out of your body. "Stop clenching," he groaned deeply, the sound resonating in your core. Nothing could've prepared you for this intrusion, so agonisingly painful, yet deliciously filling.

"You've... got to s.—stop... clenching." He pushed in the whole length, deadening your movements. You'd think he'd fear breaking you, but no. Alcides fuckin' Dimitrescu was thrilled to see you finally submitting, even if your body paralysed in the fear of being ripped open, your back arched, breasts stopped wavering in the air, and your breath caught in your throat.

Only when the loudest, most pornographic moan left your lips did Alcides begin to thrust into you, already drunk off of your pussy, ecstatic in ecstasy.

Despite the slow speed, his thrusts were deep enough for legs to start shaking. To your shock, he lifted your legs and since they couldn't reach his shoulder's that stood almost as stall as the fucking ceiling, they were swinging across his forearms, and at this angle he slammed his hips into you.

You screamed, damage was made to your vocal chords as well as your walls when the penetration quickly turned into pummelling, giving you zero time to adjust to the mammoth size of it. On seeing your closed eyes, Alcides smacked your face, gentler than before, yet enough for your eyes to shoot open, face contorting in pleasure at his gesture that was now among your favourites. "Don't let those pretty eyes waver away." His grip on your hips was threateningly tight. "Look into my eyes, or there," his eyes motioned downwards, and it was then you saw the immense bump in your belly. Your eyes widened in profound horror. He had most certainly torn your insides apart, you were sure.

"See how big it is— how well you still take it?" He babbled while vigourously pushing into your poor cunt. "Pl-lease, go... easy on—me." You managed to plead out, but nothing counts stop the possessed Lord. Finally, he got the chance to feel your insides, and there was no way in hell, he thought, he'd let you off easy. Not when you're the biggest threat to his existence, let you wrap so tightly around his monster cock.

Dumbfounded, cock-drunk, utterly paralysed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless attack your pussy had to endure.

Just when you thought your demise would be the sole pleasure you were forced to undergo, two of his fingers rubbed fervent figure-eights on your bundle of nerves that ached with bloodrush.

You babbled incoherences, whimpering, shaking your head repeatedly when he lifted your lifeless body, just the tip of his cock inside, and switched positions with you. Now, he laid, somewhat upright, hands crossed behind his head. Leisurely eyeing you, while you struggled to breath with his entire length upright inside your walls, his tip pressing against your cervix like an enemy threatening to break down your barriers; your walls.

"M-move... please..." you mewled, causing him to 'tsk' with disdain. "Help yourself, căprița mea mică." He raised a brow, mouth curling viciously into a smirk, "Use me as you please." Your shaky hands reached for his broad shoulders, raising then steadying your hovering self over his cock. His eyebrows wiggled in amusement, awaiting your move comically, until the feel of your walls struggling to take in his tip pulled him back into a trance of pleasure.

He let out an animalistic groan that lingered to be what you swore was a whimper, so you did your best to lift your tiring legs and plop down on his cock, upright and pulsating inside you. "I could fuck this pussy every moment for the remnant of my days." He smiled at you, large palms resting on your hot ass, slowly caressing your curves. The gesture, so contradicting to the impaling you were enduring, nearly knocked the air out of you, for when your perplexed eyes met his expectedly ravenous ones, you were shocked to see them replaced by fondness.

"If I'm lucky enough to live," he paused, hands squeezing your ass before sitting upright, pulling you with him. You moaned wantonly when you felt his cock deeper. "Let this be how we wake, how we sleep — in each other's embrace." His eyes widened, as did yours, like deer caught in front of headlights. The feigning look of innocence on his face sent your core spiralling with erotic ache, when his face, not once breaking eye contact, inched forward to stop just in front of your nipple.

You shrieked when he took complete control, earning a whine from you as you just got the hang of dominance, but when you noticed the hellbent gleam of carnality in his eyes, you knew you were in for a ride.

He suckled on your bud while fucking through you. "You're close, aren't you?" He pulled away from your nipple with a pop sound, resting his bearded face on your breast, "I know you are. 'Can feel her tightening around my cock." He chuckled, mouth back on the hardened bud in his presence. You sneaked a hand down and rubbed your bundle of nerves, fervently.

His large fingers, jealous of your own, were quick to replace them in driving you to your high. You were practically spoon-fed the orgasm, that took a toll on your fragile body.

No emotion overwhelmed every hemisphere, every neurone of your brain like ever before. Your mind went spiralling away, like an eternal shore hugging the lunar tide for the first time a night, your shore's dry spell was over, and your body did it's best to fight the feeling and drive a stake through his lustful heart, but your body was worn out; used as any lucky ragdoll would be.

The overstimulation sent you back to Earth at godspeed. His movements were sloppy, but not faltering, and soon enough, he let his seed bathe your walls a pearly shade. "Take it all— carry my seed." He moaned, absentmindedly.

When you plopped onto his shoulders, he lifted you up single-handedly and laid between your legs. You instinctively closed them; despite being too fucked out of it, you still cringed at how both your cum leaked out of you, ruining the sheets and everything between.

"Alcides, no—"

You were a second too late in pleading, for he grabbed you by the legs, placed them on his shoulders, and stood up.

You hung upside down, your pussy a stone's throw away from the man's smirked lips. By now, you knew what was about to unfold, yet the first lick to your cum-coated lips sent shockwaves down your spine (rather up?).

He moaned against your clit, the vibrations causing you to writhe in his grasp. His tongue licked your pussy clean, the circular motions on your clit, to the long licks from your clit to slit.

It's crazy how an anomaly like him became your exception — the hunter's favourite prey. With a tongue so skilled, you weren't to be blamed for succumbing to your current situation; not like you could do much in the grasp of a monster like him.

You're lucky his cock didn't fuck a new hole into you.

When his large palms let go of your hips, you wrapped your legs around his neck instinctively. You could've used his vulnerability to your advantage, had your mind not clouded in the ecstasy of overstimulation. It seemed like Alcides thought the same, for he smirked devilishly to himself, letting his talons ghost about your flesh, before slightly retracting to pinch and squeeze your nipples. He placed open mouthed kisses on your clit that not once stopped throbbing.

You shook in agony, his mouth worked tantalisingly slow on your burning hot cunt. Deciding to show mercy, an unlikely thing for the tyrant Lord, he smiled at your frame hanging tightly from his; your breasts heaving under his touch, obstructing his view of your pleasure-stricken face.

Lord Dimitrescu plunged his tongue inside you, placing one hand on your hip to push and grind you against his tongue, and you swore every atom in your body was swollen with pleasure.

"No... n-no more..." Your beseech was deemed adorable by the man tongue-fucking you. He pulled out, slithery wet tongue, coated in your juices, leaving you breathless. He lapped at your wetness, growing per minute as he so desperately coaxed more out of you.

Dumbfounded, pussy-drunk, utterly engrossed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless devouring of your pussy at the hands of your sworn enemy.

One of his hands snaked to your clit, the ever fervent pace of his movements drove you to madness. Your body stilled, eyes rolled back, breath hitched, and it was when his tongue flicked inside of you that you realised that you were doomed.

After drinking your juices clean, Alcides placed you gently on his bed, and by the time he laid next to you, you had already wandered off in dreams.

Your mother awaited your letters.

Perhaps, she'll be rejoiced to hear you alive and well, or maybe she'll be mortified that you're alive and well, and The Dimitrescus live and breath, still. Either way, she and the rest of the world better get used to you signing every final letter as 'Lady Dimitrescu'.

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