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naeverse · 10 months

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The Black Rose

🖤 staring: Tattoo Artist Miguel O’Hara x female reader

◽preview:

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

🖤 summary:

At The Bloody Inks, the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, you meet the skilled, stone-cold and attractive tattoo artist, Miguel O’Hara. Seeking a tantalizing tattoo for your rear end, Miguel isn’t hesitant to get what he wants, especially if it’s a doll like you.

◽tw/cw: Butt Tattoo, Cunninglingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Lip piercings Miguel, Needles mentioned, Oral sex, Semi-public, Tattooed Miguel, etc…

🖤 Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Muñeca (Doll), Bebé (Baby)

◽Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🖤 Word Count: Around 9.6K

(I do not own any of the fanart or photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

You were used to getting tattoos, so what made this time any different?

You found yourself pondering that very question repeatedly, as you approached the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, 'Bloody Inks.'

Since the age of 18, you've adorned your body with small pieces of inked art, from your ankles to your shoulders. Despite your familiarity with tattoos, today marked a departure from the norm as you contemplated getting a substantial artwork for the first time.

But that wasn't what made you nervous…

It was where you were getting it.

You had a little bet with your friends about your next tattoo, and to your dismay, the idea of a butt tattoo became the central topic.

Secretly desiring one, you were always hesitant due to fears of pain and discomfort on such elastic tissue, the thought of undressing completely from the waist down only added to the nerves.

Yet, here you were, opening the door to the notorious shop…

A bell rang at your arrival along with the crackle of a searing guitar and thunderous drumbeats playing from a speaker. The music’s furious tempo of punk music overwhelmed your senses as you were hit with the smell of ink and antiseptic, and a hint of sandalwood. You stepped inside, your black tennis shoes, on wooden scuffed floors as your eyes roamed the dimly lit lobby before you.

A black leather sofa sat in one corner, a front desk before you, and a few sculptures and decorations covered the worn wooden floors. Despite everything inside, your attention was instantly captured by the gallery of designs that covered the black-brick walls of the tattoo parlor.

There were many sketches and finished pieces that were put on display, an assortment of vibrant colors and intricate details bringing life to the lobby. Mythical creatures, mandalas, floral designs, phrases, and abstract patterns decorated the walls, each one telling a different story and waiting to be chosen and etched onto willing skin.

The counter was empty when you arrived, a soft, dim glow of light hanging from chains on the ceiling cast an amber hue throughout the lobby. You stood patiently at the black desk, fiddling nervously with the bottom of your white t-shirt and pondering if you should go through with this tattoo…

“Oy! We have a customer!”

The loud outburst from a male with a British accent cut through the rather quiet lobby, making you jump. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest whilst you overheard the small conversation between the British male and who sounded like a female coming from further in the tattoo parlor.

“Gwendy, love, I’ve been dealing with the past few customers for a while now. Why not deal with this one, hmm?” The girl responded with a scoff.

“Hobie, you know you haven’t done shit.”

“Ah…you got me there love.” The British guy said with a chuckle. “Well, stop playing around and help the customer.” The girl laughed as you soon heard the sound of heavy footfalls becoming louder and louder. It wasn’t long before the identity of the British male was revealed to you.

The black curtains that separated the lobby from the back of the tattoo parlor opened to unveil an ebony guy with thick black hair and piercings. His hair was styled chaotically on his head, but you had a feeling it was purposeful with the way he carried himself. He had unmistakable confidence and not a care in the world for anyone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, a black t-shirt covering his lean body as his combat boots thudded against the wooden floors.

He came behind the counter, turning his dark brown eyes upon you, instantly making you a little intimidated. “Aye, name’s Hobie, and welcome to the Bloody Inks. Are you here for a piercing or a tattoo, love?” He asked, his slender fingers locating a pen and notepad from his side of the desk.

You chewed your inner cheek, drumming your thumb against the handle of your small bag.

This was your last chance to back out…

To decide to go on with life without the tattoo on your rear or to face your fears and get the beautiful inking.

It wasn’t long before you already had your answer, giving the male before you a small smile. “I’m here for a tattoo.” You said bringing a smile to Hobie’s pierced lips. He glanced down at the notepad, his pen gliding across the page. “Can I see some ID?”

You were used to this question and already had your ID in hand, placing it into the ebony male’s palm. He barely glanced at it before returning it to you. “Nice, have you been to Bloody Ink’s before?” He asked, causing you to bite your lip nervously.

“No, this is my first time.” He looked up at you, his pierced lips pulled back into a smirk. “Ah, great! I’ll make sure the big boss does your tattoo then.” He said with a smile, but you couldn’t help becoming a little more anxious. The boss was going to be the one giving you your tattoo.

The tattoo on your bottom…

You gulped, hoping the male wasn’t scary-looking or a perv.

“O-kay!” Hobie exclaimed, pulling you from your thoughts as he finished writing. “Now, I’ll give you a book to look over the designs whilst the boss finishes up in the back,” Hobie said, pulling a black, hardcover album from under the desk, placing it into your hand, then motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa.

You followed along to his instructions, taking the black book in your hands and moving over to the leather couch where you sat down. Hobie then left, going behind the black curtains and drawing them close once more.

To pass the time and decide upon your tattoo, you look over the many designs inside the book. Each was skillfully sketched by hand and each held their own, unique form of beauty. Your eyes glazed over blazing skulls, graceful elephants, motivating quotes, to lastly land upon a beautiful flower.

You gasped, instinctively reaching out to trace a finger along the intricate lines of the sketch. You could already imagine the rose’s petals on your bottom, sprouting out in full bloom across your right, no… left cheek.

The circular pistil was visible and drawn so full of detail that it felt like it was jumping out at you. A few leaves could be seen peeking out the top of the rose as you felt like this design was for you.

Like it was drawing you in…

…

“Have you decided?”

A deep, husky voice asked inside of the quiet lobby. You jumped in your seat, eyes snapping up to see someone was occupying the counter…

But it wasn’t Hobie…

A tanned male with a muscular, large build was now present. Standing tall and broad, his physique showed proof of his dedication to the wellbeing of his body due to his swell and bulging muscles. His chiseled features were framed by a strong, defined jawline, a sharp nose, and dark smoldering eyes.

His bronze skin held tattoos that were intricately etched on his skin, each design holding a mysterious story across the backs of his hands, on his arms, and even along his chest and neck. They accentuated the contours of his muscles and added even more allure to his already magnetic presence. He placed his hands on the desk, his eyes still trained on you, his taut body dressed in a mere black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he made such simple clothes look like it was woven by the gods.

You didn’t know how long you’d been gawking at him in utter shock and disbelief at the magnificence before you. It wasn't until he moved once more, beckoning to you with two inked fingers that you snapped out of your trance.

You gulped, gathered up your bag and the black album, and made your way to the counter.

The closer you got, the more attractive and intimidating he became. His bushy eyebrows were drawn low over his amber eyes and his mouth, holding two ringed piercings on the opposite ends of his lower lip, were pulled into a scowl.

He looked stern, but you pondered if that was just his usual look.

“So have you decided on what piece you wanted?” He asked again, but you were still baffled by how drop-dead gorgeous he was that you almost misheard him once more. “Y-yes.” You stammered, gulping thickly, your finger still holding the page of your desired sketch. He hummed, holding his large hand out to you, motioning to the black book. You complied, placing it open into his palm, the hardcover open to the page of your tattoo choice.

It felt relieving to not have his stern eyes on you anymore, his amber orbs looking at the sketch you’ve chosen in the book. You bit your lip nervously, eyes trained on him whilst he looked over the design before he turned his gaze back up at you. “You know that’s an ass tat, right?” He bluntly asked which made heat rise in the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes, I know.” You replied, causing his eyebrows to rise for a brief second in surprise. “Well…Okay then.” He said, closing the book and holding the page with his thumb. “I’m Miguel, I’ll be your tattoo artist for today.”

Your heart dropped at his words.

You didn’t know to feel excited or nervous as hell, knowing he’d be the one touching you so intimately. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long as he gave you a curt nod, a gesture that hopefully meant, 'You too.'

He motioned with his head to the back of the tattoo parlor, the entrance that was covered in black curtains. “Follow me.” He commanded in a gravelly tone. You gulped, following behind him through the black drapes to venture further into the tattoo parlor.

Instantly when you entered, the smell of ink and antiseptic became more potent, the sounds of the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled your ears along with the playful banter between the two artists from before.

“So Gwendy, you still believe just because you're in your twenties now that you can order me around?” Hobie asked the girl from across the room. She chuckled, looking away from her male client who was getting a skull tattooed onto his leg to over at Hobie. The girl had blonde, wavy hair and black piercings that covered her face. Two studs styled her eyebrow and a hooped one could be seen on her nose.

She smirked at the ebony male. “I didn’t say anything of the sort and stop calling me that. You know my name.” She laughed, eliciting a snort from Hobie. “Aye, but I like Gwendy better than Gwen.”

Miguel groaned in annoyance, looking between the two young artists. “Stop this nonsense and get to work.” He barked at Gwen and Hobie which surprised you, every muscle in his backside tensing up after his outburst. The conversation ceased to be replaced with just Miguel and your footsteps and the buzzing of the tattoo needles, but Miguel’s previous words didn’t seem to affect the two artists’ since after you both left, their conversation started up again.

Miguel grumbled under his breath, his grip on the black album tightening. You walked behind him down the hallway, his tall and broad being completely blocking your view around him. Every time you looked up, you came face to face with his muscular backside that was covered in his black T-shirt that looked to be straining against his musculature.

You clutched your purse while walking down the hallway to watch him enter a room. When you looked over, you saw a name tag on the door that read 'Miguel O'Hara.'

‘This must be his own personal tattoo room.’

You thought, your stomach clenching on cue as you followed him into the room. Your eyes instantly took in the attractive strangers’ workspace, the room you would also be spending the next hour or so in.

The tattoo room seemed to be more grand, more important than the one the two artists’ Gwen and Hobie were in. The walls were decorated, once more, with black and gray masterpieces of artwork, but these were more sci-fi and futuristic than the ones displayed in the lobby.

Spotlights hung from the ceiling carefully positioned to cast a focused radiance upon the vintage leather chair in the center of the room. The space smelled strongly of ink, antiseptic, men's cologne, and…

Smoke.

But not the typical smoke from a fire, more like from tobacco.

You couldn't help but wonder if the fine male smoked. You didn't want to assume or stereotype, but he looked like he would…

Your eyes soon graced over the main attraction of the room, the tattoo chair and station beside it. The seat had a black leather cushion that looked soft and very comfortable. It appeared, overall, brand new as if no one had hardly sat in it. A steel workstation was positioned beside the hot seat, the surface covered in an assortment of tools like a painter’s palette. The main one catching your eye was the needles and the gun.

You gulped, stepping more into the room as Miguel was rummaging through a nearby closet, the sound of metal and items clattering inside. He glanced momentarily over at the flower sketch inside of the black album before returning to get the items he needed.

You’ve learned, so far, that your tattoo artist was a rather quiet man. He barely spoke, and merely did things without providing a reason or explanation. He rummaged through the closet, next to the cabinets of a few counters and then a small chest in the room, trying to find all of the items he needed to, what you can infer, tattoo your desired choice onto your skin.

Your eyes never left him, watching his massive build transverse around the room, moving things, picking things up, putting them to the side all whilst holding an aura of unshakable coldness that dripped from his very being.

It was intimidating, yet alluring, nonetheless.

Once Miguel found the items he needed, he placed them onto the steel workstation.

With the way he was going about things, you would have thought he'd forgotten about your presence; as he was completely engrossed in what he was doing, placing a piece of stencil paper that held the floral design you wanted onto the workstation, along with black ink tubes, napkins, bottles of creams and other things.

However, you couldn’t focus…

You were highly nervous.

You stood nearby, clutching your purse whilst Miguel covered the tattoo chair with a few gray towels, before returning to organizing his workstation, and handling his tattoo gun. His thick, inked gingers deftly glided across the metal tools and inks when he finally looked up at you. You noticed his dark brown eyes roam your figure, meeting your eyes once more as he fiddled with the needles and tattoo gun.

“Which side?” He asked suddenly, placing the gun down on the workstation. You were baffled, confused about what he meant. “W-what?” You stammered, watching him take a seat on a black rolling stool. “You want your tattoo on your bottom, correct?” He asked, causing you to nod at his question. “Then which side?” He inquired once more.

You gulped, biting your lip. You pondered, remembering the artwork of the black rose from the album book and how beautiful it was, briefly deciding with yourself on which side. “O-On the left.” You replied after considering.

He hummed, nodding whilst placing a pair of black latex gloves onto his table.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down and lay on your stomach.” He directed, pressing a button under the chair with his foot, causing the backing to lean back.

Your heart quickened and your stomach clenched. This was what you were worried about…

The undressing part.

It wasn’t that you had an unattractive body or weren’t familiar with the acts of intimacy, it was the thought of him, a handsome stranger having his stern gaze on your sensitive area.

How he’ll have to be studying your flesh, taking in every curve and dot whilst he worked in etching the beautiful tattoo onto your rear that made you a little reluctant.

You hesitated, clutching your purse once more. Your nervousness started to become palpable as you noticed Miguel looking up at you. He took in your tentativeness, his stern face softening at the sight. He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his lip piercings caught in the ceiling light.

“Are you sure about this?” His deep and rough voice filled the quiet room, his movements coming to a halt. You chewed your inner cheek, pondering his question. “Yes…I’m sure.” You replied, causing him to click his tongue. “Then what are all these nerves coming from?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement seems to make his pecs more defined against the black fabric.

“I’ve seen you aren’t new to tattoos.” He said, his amber orbs probably taking in the small, tattooed quotes and patterns covering your body in minor spots before meeting your eyes once again. “So what’s the problem?”

You sighed, meeting his eyes.

Strangely, you felt like pouring your heart out to him.

Despite his coldness, you had a feeling whatever you told him would stay in this room…

“I’ve never got a huge piece done before.” You told him, which was partly the truth. Miguel hummed, his gaze on you intense. “That’s it?” You bit your lip anxiously once more, fiddling with the zipper of your purse. “N-No…I guess I’m nervous about…

Undressing.”

You uttered, biting your lip. However, Miguel seemed unfazed, only nodding in understanding.

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly which made your eyebrows furrow. “Y-Y/N.” You hesitantly replied, bringing a tight-lipped smile to Miguel’s lips. “As you can see. Y/N, for the tattoo you’ve chosen, it’s required that you undress from the waist down.” He said, his amber eyes searching the room before landing on a decoration that sat on a counter.

He stood up, picking up the small porcelain sculpture of a gray woman’s naked body. The piece looked rather small in his massive hands.

“You see here.” He turned the female around, pointing to the left side of the gray sculpture’s plump rear end. “This entire side will need to be revealed for me to work.” He explained, lowering his finger to point underneath the left cheek. “And the tattoo would end underneath the left buttock.” He said, setting the sculpture to the side, and turning his eyes back onto you.

“For other tattoos, I wouldn’t have asked for such things and simply allowed you to keep your undergarments on and work from there.” His tone was gravelly and rough as he spoke to you. “But I'd like to be cautious, so I ask you to remove everything.” He informed you, which made you feel better about the process, but still wary.

Miguel, looked you up and down, tapping his finger against his thick thigh, noticing that you were still hesitant. “How about this,” He began, his words instantly piquing your interest. “I can turn around and allow you to undress and get into a comfortable position on the chair.” He said. “I’ll even give you a towel to cover yourself with.” He proposed with a straight face. “How does that sound?” His demeanor and gravelly tone contrasted greatly with his kind and understanding words.

You thought it over for a while before nodding at his suggestion. He rose from his seat, retrieving a black towel from the closet, and placing it onto the tattoo chair that was already covered in gray towels. He then returned to his rolling stool and turned around to face the wall. “Let me know when you are done.” He said, his voice, husky and deep.

“O-Okay.” You told him, the uncertainty, evident in your voice. Your eyes took in his muscular backside that was straining against his black t-shirt. Every bulging muscle was visible through the fabric.

You bit your lip, feeling rather odd but proceeding on.

You closed the door of his tattoo room and set your purse down on the floor. You exhaled deeply, calming yourself down before looping your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts, slowly drawing them down, your eyes trained on him.

Miguel was completely solid and unmoving. His arms crossed over his chest and his back still facing you. He was so quiet, that you could almost forget he was there.

Well, almost…

When the black fabric of your shorts was nothing but a puddle around your ankles, you stepped out of them, tossing them to the side. You gulped, standing in just your white shirt, black tennis shoes, and panties. You heaved a quiet sigh, chewing your inner cheek.

This was the hard part…

You were about to undress completely…

You exhaled deeply, reluctantly slipping your thumbs into the elastic band of your black panties, pulling them down, and exposing your sex to the tattoo room. You hissed, feeling the cool air against your core. Hastily, you removed them from your being, tossing them to the side along with your shorts.

It felt so weird standing in a foreign place with your rear completely unveiled.

You wanted nothing more than to cover up…

Your eyes shifted over to Miguels’ broad backside, still in its same position.

“Everything alright?”

You jumped at his sudden question, his voice was thunderous compared to the total quietness that had once filled the room. “Y-y-yes.” You squeaked, swiftly moving to climb onto the tattoo chair, laying on your stomach, and placing the black towel over your bare rear to conceal yourself.

After Miguel’s abrupt question, he didn’t say anything else, and neither did you, despite being ready. It took a while for you to tell the sexy, and rather intimidating tattoo artist that you were all set. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest every time you thought you were prepared to do so.

You rested your chin upon the backs of your hands, laying flat on your stomach. You heaved a sigh, feeling rather ridiculous at how scared you were.

You chose to come here, just like you chose to get this tattoo.

‘No reason to back out now.’ You thought, wetting your lips before getting the artist’s attention. “I-I’m ready.” You muttered, causing an instant creak from Miguel’s stool to be heard.

“Good.” He uttered, the sound of the wheels from his seat gliding across the black marble flooring filling the room. You soon felt his presence to your right, seeing him in your peripherals, sitting tall and large on his stool next to you on the tattoo chair. His dark brown eyes continuously glanced over at you before roaming your body, his facial features unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out, or was merely looking at you to see if you hadn’t fainted on his chair.

“You seem…tense.” He commented in his usual dead tone. You looked over your shoulder at him to see his large hands attaching a black ink tube to his tattoo gun. His black tattoo arm sleeve was visible under the projecting light of the ceiling as his amber eyes were trained more on what he was doing rather than you.

“Y-yes. I’m still a little nervous.” You confessed, feeling your hands begin to tremble slightly. Miguel looked up at you, the light bouncing off his two lip piercings on his lower lip. “If I start and your body is not relaxed it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” He said bluntly, setting his tattoo gun onto his workstation. His words didn’t help, only causing your heart to quicken in pace and freak you out even more.

Because how could you possibly calm down?

It felt utterly impossible…

You weren’t nervous about the needle, or getting tattooed to begin with. You were experienced when it came to the inking process. What was working the nerves was the thought of his stern gaze and calloused hands feeling up your bare bottom. His gloved thumbs pressed into your rear, his amber eyes trained on every piece of you from the waist down which was making you nervous as hell.

Miguel eyed you, taking in your troubled expression as you lay upon his tattoo chair. Your bare bottom, covered in a black towel and your chin resting on your hands.

“Let me relax you.”

He abruptly said in almost a commanding voice rather than as a proposition. His suggestion made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help the naughty thoughts that came to your mind at the thought of him ‘relaxing’ you.

"And h-how would you do that?" You asked, watching him rise from his stool, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you.

"I'm going to give you a massage."

He declared. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected proposal, your entire body suddenly heating up. "I've never heard of a tattoo parlor doing something like that." You admitted, feeling him adjust the chair's height to match his towering 7-foot frame, bringing the seat up to his waist.

"That's because you've never been to the Bloody Inks before," he said, a hint of amusement found in a usual cold voice. "There's a reason we're notorious in Nueva York, Y/N " he explained. "If we did what every other parlor did, we'd be just like any other tattoo shop…

Isn’t that right?”

He whispered, his voice sending shivers down your back. “I-I guess so.” You replied as without warning you began to feel his thick fingers on your shoulders, caressing small patterns into your blades. You gasped, the feeling instantly making you melt into the chair.

“You okay?” He asked, every touch of his thick fingers against your tensed muscles making you shudder. “Mhm.�� The hum being pulled from your very being and coming out more forceful than you attended whilst Miguel continued his massage.

Miguel’s tattooed hands were large and strong, tracing the contours of your muscles and pressing gently into them. Suddenly, you winced slightly, the tension resisting his skilled touch. “Relax,” He uttered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated from the depth of his broad chest. You shakingly nodded, eyes fluttering closed at the wonderful sensations. “O-Okay. I’ll try.” You replied, trying to calm yourself.

You shakingly exhaled, feeling Miguel’s hands move down your back, his soothing caresses focusing on the crease that began the arch of your ass.

“Damn, there's a lot of tension here.” He commented, adding more pressure into his fingers and kneading the soft tissue in that area. You let out a contented sigh, his large hands enclosing around the sides of your waist. His thumbs pressed into your skin through the fabric of your white t-shirt, rubbing small patterns into your lower back. You groaned softly, the sensations he was bringing to you felt so good.

His touch, mysteriousness, voice, coldness, everything about him was so hot.

His fingers soothing places in your back that you didn’t even know existed, bringing you closer to tranquility.

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing and running his palm along the center of your back, making you shiver. You exhaled deeply, your limbs feeling heavy and relaxed. “Mmm, good. It feels good.” You replied with closed eyes.

“That’s good to hear.” He said, his hands leaving your body.

“But I can’t help but notice you are still tense.”

Miguel said, making your eyebrows furrow as a sense of emptiness filled your being without his touch.

“W-what do you mean?” You inquired, entirely puzzled. You didn’t feel a single bit of tension in your backside. A feeling of pure relaxation filled your being, leaving you confused about what he meant by such things.

But it wasn’t like you were skilled as a masseuse yourself, so you could be mistaken.

“Yes, you are still tensed.” He uttered, running his fingers along the center of your backside, over the curve of your ass to rest a hand on your rear that was covered in the black towel.

“Here, it needs my attention.”

You were shocked and in disbelief, instantly becoming speechless; but despite your bewilderment, Miguel continued talking. “It’ll only make sense to massage where I'll be working. It’ll help loosen the muscles of your rear, making tattooing it less painful.” He explained, but it still didn’t stop the huge blush that spread across your face. You didn’t know how to respond, stuck between your own uncertainties and desires.

“T-this will be… beneficial?” You asked shakingly, trying to push past the naughty and erotic things that were filling your head. Miguel hummed. “Yes, I’ll be tattooing your left buttock, so it’ll help make the tattoo process smoother…

For you, I mean.”

You bit your lip. The butterflies, going rampant in your stomach. You didn’t know what to do or what to say, but then the realization that he was going to have to see and touch your bottom anyway when the actual inking process began led you to put your worries to the side and agree.

“No. I don’t mind.” You said, thankful that Miguel couldn’t see how red you were due to your face being away from him. Miguel hummed, his previous touch seeming to linger upon your skin.

“I’ll have to remove the towel. You okay with that?” He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. You shakingly exhaled, nodding. “Yes.”

You felt him lift the black towel from your bottom, the cool air rushing over your bare rear. You sucked in a breath as before, Miguel didn’t warn you, his warm hands groping your cheeks and instantly beginning to knead the fat of your ass.

This time, the sensations were different.

On your backside, the massage was more relaxing and tranquil, but on your rear, it felt more personal, more…

Intimate.

His touch made you feel pleasure beyond anything…

You bit your bottom lip harshly, trying to muffle the erotic cries that wished to escape whilst Miguel’s calloused hands worked wonders on your rear. His fingers pressed firmly into your left cheek, squeezing the fat before moving along the sides. It was a process that you pondered if it was professional or not, but it wasn’t like you cared.

His fingers knead into your soft flesh, like dough, making you see stars every single time. You were slowly becoming wet, your arousal spilling from your exposed sex to gradually coat your thighs and drench the gray towels underneath you.

The massage was good.

Dangerously too good…

A sudden moan broke free, filling the tattoo room when he roughly groped both of your cheeks in his large hands, spreading them apart. You instantly blushed horribly, embarrassed beyond anything.

“O-Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry.” You briskly replied, wanting nothing more than to hide. You didn’t know how the hell Miguel would react.

Would he cease his wonderful massage?

Tell you to leave?

Would things get hella awkward now?

You felt like a complete idiot, mentally facepalming yourself for giving into the pleasure of a total stranger.

But to your surprise, Miguel did something you weren’t expecting.

He chuckled.

For the first time since you met the menacing and large Latino artist, he showed an emotion that didn’t make you feel so freaking intimidated. The sound of the small, deep laughter that passed his lips was honestly breathtaking, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

“No need to apologize.” He replied, drawing your attention back to him and his wonderful massage. His touch on your rear became more soft and gentle like he was taking his time with you.

“It just shows I’m providing you what your body needs.” He replied, moving his hands onto your thighs, caressing them with his thumbs before running his hands up to fully cup your asscheeks into his hands. You moaned softly, your body instinctively arching up into his waiting palms. Miguel snickered, giving your ass another squeeze when everything stopped.

His movement on your rear ceased, his small laughs, movement, everything!

You lay there, waiting for anything to happen when you suddenly felt his pierced lips against your ear.

“Let’s drop the act, Cariño.”

He whispered, his breath warm on your face and his piercings, cold against your skin. Your heart dropped, and your body instantly became hot.

You tried to speak, to deny what he was saying, but your quivering lips wouldn’t form the words.

He snickered at your speechlessness and how flustered you were, the sound sending tingles throughout your entire being and going straight to your throbbing core.

“Let me relax you how we both desire, Y/N.”

He hummed, resuming his touch on your rear, but this time it was different. It was purposefully more erotic. He gave your bottom a sensual squeeze with one hand, his other moving up to stroke your hair.

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

It felt surreal.

Something you'll fantasize about your sexy tattooist…

But Miguel’s fingers running through your hair, massaging your scalp whilst continuing to tease and knead your right asscheek with his fingers made you think otherwise.

You were speechless yet again. You didn’t know how to respond, but your body was doing the speaking for you.

Your juices dripping down your thighs and soaking the gray towels under you, spoke volumes on its own. You shakingly exhaled, trying to calm your excitement.

Miguel chuckled, his fingers continuing their tantalizing play on your rear, tempting and taunting you to give in to the sexy artist.

You bit your lip harshly, eyes fluttering as he, teasingly, brushed his thumb across your slick folds. You gasped at his attempt to entice you more.

“Mmm, you are soaking, Muneca.” He growled against your ear, his lip rings brushing your lobe and making you shudder. He sucked in a breath, running his fingers up and down your slick folds, coating his digits in your never-ending arousal. He groaned at your wetness, cupping your mound, to circle his two fingers around your sensitive bud. You moaned helplessly, trembling with pleasure.

“Muneca, you want this, just as much as I do.” He uttered, pressing his fingers more against your throbbing bud, eliciting a cry to escape your lips and making you wetter.

“Let me relax you.” He whispered, his deep voice filled with desire as he removed his hands to place them on your hips, caressing gentle circles against your sides.

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

He proposed once again. His words alone made your stomach clench in want. The gray towels underneath you completely soak with your arousal.

You couldn't stop yourself. The desire blinded you as your head slowly nods at his erotic proposition.

“P-Please.” You practically begged; voice tainted with desperation for more of him. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk against your ear.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He praised, nipping softly at your ear before pulling away. His touch left you cold and empty.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

He commanded, his coldness resurfacing right before your eyes. His sternness was even more attractive and made your core throb in anticipation.

You bit your lip, lust blinding your every action, thought, and word as you rose on the tattoo chair. As he instructed, you stood up on your knees and forearms with your ass thrust up into the air.

The cool air continuously brushed along your heated core, making your breathing hitch every time. The position gave him a full display of your wet folds and the gradual drip of your arousal down your thighs. The sight alone revealed your evident desire for him which made you excited, but also ashamed.

This sexy stranger was intimidating, scary, and someone you would, normally, never align yourself with.

So what was different about him that had you practically soaking his chair?

In your peripherals, you saw Miguel move. The mere motion snapped you out of your thoughts as his massive being disappeared from view. Instantly, you became anxious, oblivious to his next actions.

A sexy groan escaped his lips, feeling his amber eyes trained on your exposed sensitive area. “That's a pretty pussy you got that.” He purred, making you blush horribly. You buried your face into your inner elbow, embarrassed for liking the compliment from someone as sexy as him.

Miguel chuckled. “Does someone like my praises? You are a naughty one, Cariño.”

He snickered. Your face, reddening even more. His fingers continued their dance along the skin of your ass, your breathing becoming more shaky and your body burning hot.

His words and touch alone were enough to make you lose control. Beads of your essence running down your thighs.

“Cariño, I've only known you for about 30 minutes, yet, there is something about you that fascinates me. Something that I love so very fucking much….

Want to know what that is?”

He asked, his voice deep and husky, yet sending a shiver down your spine; his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Y-Yes.” You shakingly inquired, curious about his answer, but also anxious for him to cease his teasing and touch you.

He chuckled at your cluelessness, running his nails along your bare rear making you shiver.

“I love that despite your obvious hesitance and, dare I say, fear, you give into your wants, Muñeca

Your desires.”

He uttered, the pads of his fingers barely touching you, but forming goosebumps, everywhere along your skin.

“I-I don't understand.” You breathlessly and honestly replied, trying your hardest to look over your shoulder at the large male but failing every time.

“You don't understand, bebé?” He purred, his fingers leaving your bottom. “Then let me turn those gears in that sexy head of yours.” He whispered, his heavy footfalls slowly walking to stand in front of you. You gulped, glancing up to see him right before you, the growing bulge in his black jeans being the main attraction.

“You come into my shop for an ass tat, yet you were nervous as hell to get it.” He acknowledged. “But despite your nerves, here you are on my chair with that sexy ass all ready for me." He said with a smirk. His hand moved to run through your hair, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers once more.

Your eyes fluttered, sinking more into the soft leather, your rear rising. “And even now, I intimidate you, don't I, Cariño?” He asked, his male cologne and the faint scent of cigarette smoke filling your nose, increasing your desire for him.

Regardless of your lust, Miguel did intimidate you. His massive body, bulging muscles, stern-drawn face, tattoos, lip rings, and cold aura made you nervous around him.

That you couldn't lie about...

“Y-yes. You do.” You confessed, eliciting a deep hum from Miguel. “Yet, you are giving yourself to me.” He whispered, moving his hand from your hair to take your chin into his calloused fingers. He turned you to look up at him, your eyes darting to take in his chiseled cheeks, massive neck tattoo, enticing rings on his plush lips, smoldering amber eyes, and dark brown hair that loomed over his eyes.

He smirked, his canines peeking out from his lips. “You are delivering yourself to me on a silver platter, Y/N.” He rasped, caressing your chin and holding your stunned gaze before pulling away. You were left breathless, gasping for air, you didn't know you were holding.

You tried to track him, his huge, menacing form returning behind you and out of your sight. “So love, despite your worries, reluctance, and inner thoughts telling you to stop and turn back.

If you desire something, you go through with it...”

Your eyebrows furrowed. You wondered if Miguel's observation of you was correct.

Were you the type to follow your desires, even though everything in you was telling you otherwise?

You pondered, if the sexy stranger was right, despite only knowing you for a short time.

But that thought soon became nothing but mush in your brain when his sudden grip on your asscheeks made your entire mind go blank. As if dipped in warmth, your body instantly melted like chocolate under his fingertips, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Miguel hummed, his breath brushing along your heated core, only making you wetter.

“And I love a woman that knows what she wants,” He uttered, pressing a kiss to your left ass cheek, making you gasp,

“What she needs…” He whispered, pressing another kiss to your other eliciting another soft moan from you.

“I can tell you are going to be tasty…”

He rasped before finally giving you what you desired and swiping his tongue along your folds.

You cried out, slumping against the tattoo chair whilst Miguel licked at your rear. He groaned, squeezing your ass and pressing his face more into your bottom, licking, sucking and completely devouring you.

You moaned uncontrollably, gripping the leather seat tightly. “O-Oh gosh.” You whimpered as Miguel continued his pleasurable assault, running his skillful hands up and down your spine, brushing your shirt up to feel more of your skin. You were becoming hot and increasingly wet, your love juices spilling from your entrance to be swallowed by Miguel’s eager mouth.

With every suction of his lips and the swipe of his tongue, it made your mind complete mush, time and space becoming non-existent. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He groaned, sloppily ravaging your core, and fucking you with his tongue.

The tattoo room was filled with your whines and whimpers, Miguel’s low groans, and the squelching of your wet pussy. Your entire body was clenching and squirming the closer you got to that sweet end.

Like his hands, Miguel’s mouth worked wonders on you. His tongue moved rapidly across your pussy, seeming to be everywhere at once. Swirling your throbbing bud, thrusting into your entrance, and lapping your delicate pussy lips. a

When it came too much to bear, Miguel held you close, preventing you from moving away from him. It only made you tremble, the pleasure consuming your entire being.

“M-Miguel, I-I’m close.” You cried out, pressing your face into the tattoo chair. He hummed, the vibrations rumbling through you and making your stomach tighten even more. “You want to cum, pretty girl?” He chuckled, moving from your desired spot to kiss along the skin of your bottom. His hooped, lip rings brushed along the skin of your ass and made you even more wetter.

You moaned softly, frantically nodding. “Yes, yes. Please, Miguel.” You whined, wanting him to bring you to your release. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk. He pressed a kiss to your right cheek before returning his skilled mouth to your puffy pussy lips once more.

You gasped loudly, his tongue darting erratically along your dripping folds. The feeling was more extreme than ever before as he continued, tugging and lapping at your sweet pussy.

You were so wet, your thighs dripping with your arousal like a relentless rain, its non-stop downpour completely soaking your legs and the gray towels underneath you. You gritted your teeth, the burning in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear, begging for a release.

Everything felt so good, you wanted to hold on, to feel more of Miguel’s tongue and hands that roamed your body, caressing you in ways that increased the pleasure by 10-fold;

But you just couldn’t…

With a loud cry, you climaxed hard onto his waiting mouth. Your vision saw white, eyes rolling as your sticky juices covered his pierced lips and ran down your legs. Miguel groaned in pleasure, gripping your cheeks harshly, widening you and licking you clean, whispering, 'So good. Such a good girl for me,’ over and over again.

It was like music to your ears.

Your eyes fluttered as he finished; tugging away from your pussy lips with a wet plop. You were dazed, falling flat against the tattoo chair, and trying to calm your breathing and come down from your epic high.

Faintly, you could hear Miguel’s boots against the black marble flooring, moving around to stand beside you, coming into view once more.

With glazed eyes, you looked over at him, breathing heavily. His chin and pierced lips were completely covered in your arousal. Like a king who had just feasted on a buffet fit for royalty, he used his fingers to wipe it off in satisfaction. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He praised again with a smirk. Your entire body and face flushed at his erotic compliment. You were speechless, not at all knowing how to respond.

For a moment you just stared up at him, still trying to figure out if what just happened, happened.

His amber eyes roamed over your form once more, lingering on your bare rear longer than anything else. He growled, stepping closer once more. “But don’t think we’re done here, Muñeca.”

“I want more.

Just one more taste”

He uttered, the words surprising you, but not as surprising as what he did next…

Everything was a blur, his large being moved so quickly it was hard to follow, especially in your dazed state.

You soon found him underneath you on the tattoo chair, his massive body laying under you and your puffy pussy lips right over his waiting mouth. His large hands roughly groping your rear, and holding you tightly in place.

Certainly, you wouldn't be able to get out of his hold, even if you tried.

You gulped, staring down at him between your thighs in shock. Your mind, not keeping up fast enough. “M-Miguel, w-what-”

“Let me relax you, chica.”

He cut you off, gripping your ass in his large, inked hands and pushing you down onto his mouth once more. You cried out, his mouth even more intense than ever.

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as his tongue circled your clit, teasingly applying more pressure and making you whine. Your fingers, instinctively, found his dark brown hair, gripping and tugging at the chocolate strands and making Miguel groan.

He caressed your bottom with his large, calloused hands, sucking at your sensitive bud with his hot, wet mouth, expertly flicking it. You moaned helplessly. “M-Miguel, g-gosh. It feels so good.” You cried out, instinctively, grinding your hips against his mouth, chasing another steady rising climax. Miguel's eyes fluttered close, savoring your taste on his tongue as he lapped and sucked at your sticky folds.

Your breathing quickened, his piercings grazing against your sensitive skin with every lap of his tongue against your entrance. You were slowly losing it, feeling him gradually ease his tongue inside of you before thrusting you repeatedly with the wet muscle.

You moaned loudly, rutting your hips and continuously brushing his nose into your clit, his tongue continuing its torment. A strangled moan erupted from your throat, the pleasure becoming too much. You shook uncontrollably, gripping his hair tightly and squirming on his mouth.

“A-Ahh, Miguel, I-I can’t-” You tried moving off, but Miguel firmly held you down on his mouth, his tongue, darting in and out of your entrance, fucking you with his warm, wet muscle.

The familiar feeling of scorching heat began to rise in your stomach. You gritted your teeth, his metal ringed, lip piercings brushing against your pussy lips with each suckle. He reached around, parting your lips and sticking his tongue deeply into your opening, messily lapping and sucking you.

Your love juices soaked his lips and chin to be sloppily devoured by Miguel. The room was filled with the erotic sounds of your pussy’s squelches. Silent moans passed your lips, as your head limply fell back to be caught by Miguel’s large hand.

He took your chin in his tattooed finger, pulling you back down towards him. He moved his mouth from your heated core as his intense dark eyes met yours. “I want your eyes on me.” He said, his breathing rather stable, despite almost drowning in your pussy for what felt like an hour. His tattooed hand caressed your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want to see you cum, Muñeca .” He whispered, pressing kisses along your inner thighs and nipping softly. You bit your lip, a soft moan passing your lips at his pecks. You weakly nodded, almost completely dazed.

He smirked, pressing a long searing kiss to your thigh. “Hmm, good girl.” He uttered parting your pussy lips with two thick fingers and attacking your swollen clit once more. It took everything in you to keep his intense gaze. His dark brown eyes stared intently back at you whilst his tongue and lips moved in a frenzy along your pussy.

Your body trembled horribly, fingers gripping his hair tightly to stabilize yourself.

“M-Miguel.” You whined his name over and over again. The desire to tell him of your reached peak was on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure was too overwhelming; leaving you unable to say such a thing as your release unexpectedly slammed into you.

With a loud strangled moan, you orgasmed for the second time.

Your body shook uncontrollably as your thighs squeezed around Miguel tightly. Your juices gushed out onto his eager mouth whilst a sensation of pure bliss sprouted throughout your being.

Your eyes rolled as silent and breathy moans busted from the depth of your chest. Miguel didn’t cease his torment, continuing to suckle on your puffy pussy lips, swallowing all of your sweet nectar. His lips and chin were completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and your love juices, but it didn’t seem as if the massive tattooist cared.

Until he was satisfied, Miguel continued to slurp messily at you. You were highly sensitive, squirming on his mouth and whimpering uncontrollably as he held you down with a firm grip on your thighs. When his thirst was satiated, you were relieved to hear a deep hum of delight escape his glistening lips and soon feel him effortlessly lift you from his mouth to rest your bare bottom on his clothed chest.

You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you finally came down from your high, you glanced up to see his dark eyes peering back at you. His gaze was intense and stern as always, but your attention instantly went down to his mouth and the mess you’ve made upon it.

His tanned lips and piercings glistened with your arousal. Your essence dripping down to coat the entirety of his chin. Your entire face burned up at the sight.

“Oh my gosh, I’m s-so sorry.” You hastily apologized, still a little jittery from your explosive orgasm. You reached over to grab the black towel that was left discarded on his stool to try to clean him up.

“Don’t.”

He simply stated, capturing your wrist in his large hand to halt your movement. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching him take the towel from you and toss it to the side.

You were confused, your eyes taking in his mouth and chin that was still covered in your juices. His pierced lips pulled into a smirk, his hands moving to caress your bare ass.

“I want to taste all of it, Muñeca. I'm not letting none of you go to waste…”

For the next hour or so, the room was filled with the buzzing of a tattoo gun and Miguel’s deep voice occasionally trying to soothe you.

“Beautiful Muñeca. You are doing well.”

“I promise you, this rose will look good on you when I’m done.”

“Just a little longer, I’m almost finished.”

He whispered, his gloved fingers pressing into your flesh as he applied the last finishing strokes of black ink onto the rose on your rear. You bit your lip harshly, gripping the leather cushion when finally, the buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased. The needle, no longer, harshly pricking of your sensitive skin.

“I’m finished, Muñeca.” He said, placing the gun to the side and soothingly, caressing your waist. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your eyes a little teary.

“You did well, Cariño.” He praised once more, proceeding to clean the tattoo, applying an antiseptic ointment and covering it, all whilst speaking to you.

“Although, you’ve surprised me.” He said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d become a crying little mess on my chair.” He teased, making the two of you laugh. “I won’t lie, I thought so too.” You confessed, feeling him finish up putting a protective sterile bandage over your freshly inked tattoo.

“I wouldn’t have let that happen on my watch.” He said with a smirk, motioning to you with a finger for you to stand up. “Carefully.” He sternly said, giving you a pointed look. His voice had its usual coldness but also held a hint of affection in his tone.

That maybe the sexy tattooist might actually care about you.

You gave him a small smile, watching him begin to pack up his tattoo items and place them back into his closet. You followed Miguel’s words, cautiously rising up and off of the chair. You winced softly, your left cheek a little sore.

You walked over to the body mirror in Miguel’s tattoo room, turning around to admire the fresh inking on your rear through its sterile bandage.

It was beautiful…

Just like you thought.

The black rose was wonderfully sketched and etched onto your rear end. Its petals, pistils, and leaves, were all defined perfectly and coated the entirety of your left cheek.

You couldn’t stop looking at it, finding something else about it that you loved.

Large hands settled on your waist, snapping your attention from your tattooed bottom to up at the hot male through the mirror. He smirked, meeting your gaze through the glass. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?” He asked, caressing your sides as you smiled, nodding.

“You did really well, Miguel.” You complimented, both of your eyes, taking in the intricate linings of the rose on your rear. “I’m happy you like it.” He said, cupping your chin in his fingers to turn you to look up at him.

“But make sure you properly treat it every day. I’ll send you a list of aftercare instructions.” He said, his amber eyes taking in your face whilst he spoke. You bit your lip, nodding. “I will.” You replied. He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once more.

“Good, now kiss me.” He said in his cold tone, but his amber eyes held a look of fondness in them. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to press your lips against his.

You moaned softly upon the impact, his metal lip rings, smooth and cold, only making the kiss even hotter. You passionately kissed his lips, savoring the feeling of his lip rings and the taste of his plush lips against your own.

When the two of you pulled away, breathing heavily from the heated exchange, he smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “I hate to tell you this, but I have a client in the next 10 minutes.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll see you next time, Muñeca, for your check-up.” He smirked, handing you a business card with his contacts and the address of the Bloody Inks on it.

You smiled, taking the card from him, your hands touching during the small interaction that sent a spark straight through your being.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Miguel felt it too…

There was an unmistakable pull that was drawing you towards him. You didn’t want to leave him, despite only meeting him that day.

The desire to snuggle up in his muscular arms, to feel his touch on you once more was overwhelming, but he was right.

It was time for you to depart…

So after carefully getting dressed back into your panties and black shorts, you pressed one final kiss upon the sexy tattooist’s pierced lips. The kiss oddly felt unending, but not long enough when you finally pulled away from each other, leaving you, even more, hungrier for him than before.

You exited out of his room, walking through the tattoo space of the shared artists of Gwen and Hobie who thanked you for coming, to then leave the tattoo parlor altogether.

You walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a completely different person. You twirled the business card that Miguel gave you in between your fingers. A feeling of bursting adoration for the beautiful inking that adorned your left cheek, knowing it was created by the sexy tattooist.

To you, the stunning piece of art wasn’t just a tattoo.

No…

It was the marking of a memory of a day when a serious, cold, sexy, and dedicated artist came into your life, revealing a different side of yourself- a daring, more confident side that would forever be engraved in your mind.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel excited to see the sexy tattooist again, anxious for all the fun you and Miguel would get up to on your next visit to the Bloody Inks…

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'The Black Rose.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog!! Love you guys!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #the blue panther #miguel ohara #miguel #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o hara #atsv miguel #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #miguel x you #miguel x reader smut

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hd-junglebook · 6 months

Text

On Thin Ice

Word Count - 3657

I love this man, thank you and goodnight. For anyone reading this post please refer to the new And cute Jack Hughes masterlist i made for new post and series

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Two weeks had gone by in a flash, The warm late morning sun filtering through the trees cast a dappled glow across her face, prompting y/n to squint slightly behind her oversized sunglasses. She hitched her leather tote bag higher up on her shoulder as she approached her favorite shop.

Pushing open the cafe's door with her free hand, y/n was enveloped by the rich aroma of cinnamon and vanilla accompanied by the soft murmurs of conversation. She made her way to the counter, offering the barista a friendly smile.

The barista behind the counter caught her eye and waved. "The usual brown sugar latte?" she called out over the hushed murmurs of conversation. Y/n nodded yes with a small smile.

“Morning Claire,” she greeted. Y/n approached the counter slowly, absentmindedly tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear as she waited.

With her order carefully cradled in both hands, she surveyed the mismatched sofas and overstuffed armchairs before choosing an aged floral-print loveseat in the back corner.

She reached into her tote bag and retrieved a well-loved paperback, its pages dog-eared from countless readings. Cradling the book in one hand and her latte in the other.

The bell tinkled merrily above the door, announcing the arrival of another customer, as a gust of cool breeze swept through the café, ruffling the pages of Y/n's book. With a distracted frown, she reached out to secure her novel, her fingers brushing against the smooth paper before the wind relinquished its grip.

Y/n glanced up just in time to catch sight of a figure weaving through the bustling café, murmuring apologies with each step. “Excuse me, sorry,” he whispered. She arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as she observed the man make his way toward the counter, effortlessly navigating the sea of tables and chairs.

His tousled, light brown curls were unmistakable, bringing a small laugh to Y/n's lips as she recalled their last encounter – a near-toppling of the counter in a clumsy mishap at the bar just two weeks prior.

She watched with mild amusement as he flashed a charming smile at Claire, the barista, and engaged her in conversation. The universe certainly had a knack for weaving unexpected connections, Y/n mused, her gaze lingering on the familiar face amidst the bustling crowd.

A few moments later, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the café, drawing Y/n's attention back to the present. "Mind if I sit?" the voice asked, its tone casual yet inviting.

Y/n blinked, momentarily taken aback before managing a nervous smile. "Yeah, um, that's fine," she replied, her heart fluttering with a mix of surprise and anticipation.

With a soft thud, she settled back against the plush cushions of the couch, her latte forgotten on the table as she made room for her unexpected companion.

Luke settled into the seat next to Y/n with a grin, his gaze warm and his demeanor relaxed. "Thanks for letting me crash your cozy corner," he said, flashing her a charming smile.

Y/n couldn't help but return the grin, feeling a wave of amusement wash over her. "Well, I figured if you managed to survive the near-disaster at the bar, you can handle a coffee shop," she teased, her tone laced with humor.

Luke chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah, that’s where I remember you from. I still have nightmares about that," he joked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sorry again. I've never been known for my gracefulness off the ice."

Y/n waved off his apology with a laugh. "No harm done. It was pretty entertaining, actually.”

He glanced around the café, taking in the cozy atmosphere before turning his attention back to her. "So, mind if I ask what you're reading?"

Y/n shrugged, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Just some book trying to teach me how to adult properly. Not sure it's working though."

And so the conversation continued, effortlessly weaving between jokes and shared laughter, as Y/n and Luke exchanged numbers. Weeks passed after that day in the coffee shop, Y/n was around more than Jack would like to admit.

Every day Luke would come back to their shared apartment with something new to tell or another story about with his new friends. Being rejected wasn’t something he dealt with often, but it never ended with the girl he liked befriending his little brother.

…

Inside the cozy lakehouse retreat, Y/N was going stir crazy, tapping her foot incessantly as she tried and failed to focus on her book. "Luuuuuke," she whined loudly. "I'm dying here! Let's go swimming before I shrivel up like a raisin."

Luke glanced up from his phone, rolling his eyes at his melodramatic friend. "Chill out, you drama queen. It's just a little heat wave."

"A little?!" Y/N squawked indignantly. "I'm sweating like a hostage negotiator at this point. We need to get in that glorious lake ASAP!"

Chuckling at her over-the-top antics, Luke set his phone aside. "Alright, alright. But you're not dragging me in until I ask if anyone else wants to witness your awkward pool dancing."

"Ugh, you're the worst!" Y/N stuck her tongue out, already stripping off her shirt to reveal her bathing suit underneath. Before Luke could protest, she grabbed his arm and started tugging him toward the backdoor. "No time for your lame humor, let's go!"

Luke stumbled after her, laughing at her total lack of chill. As they burst outside into the sunlight, Y/N let out a whoop of pure joy, pulling Luke into an excited jumping hug before taking off at a sprint toward the lake's edge.

Y/N pushed open the door, and the fresh piney scent and glittering lake hit her like a revitalizing splash of water. "Last one in is a rotten egg!" she hollered, already stripping off her leggings, revealing the light blue bathing suit underneath with reckless abandon.

Luke watched in amusement as shirts and pants went flying, soaking in her infectious enthusiasm. "Geez, calm down there, Strippy. Leave a little something to the imagination." Y/n paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of the sun on her skin and the cool breeze ruffling her hair.

"Oh hush, you prude." Y/N stuck her tongue out, she struck a silly pose, jutting out her belly. "Nice beach bod, am I right?"

Luke snorted. "The beachest and the bodest."

Wiggling her eyebrows, Y/N took off at a sprint towards the dock. She flung herself off the edge, tucking her knees to her chest as she sliced through the cool water.

Luke was right behind, his form more of an ungraceful belly flop. He surfaced sputtering water. "Ugh, why did I let you talk me into-" A wave of lake water cut him off as Y/N splashed him gleefully.

"ha, you should see your face!" She kicked away, laughing at his drenched scowl. "Race you to the buoy and back? Loser gets their swimsuit filleted with a fishing knife!" Shaking the water from his eyes, Luke grinned. "You're on, weirdo. Prepare to be pantsless!"

The two friends took off, alternating between furious strokes and splashing cada other relentlessly. Their laughter echoed across the serene lake. "I think I changed my mind, Lukey. It's really cold," she admitted with a laugh.

"It's fine, I'll keep you warm," he reassured her with a chuckle, the warmth of his smile dispelling any lingering doubts as he joined her in the water, swimming up next to her but keeping a playful distance.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him, a playful scowl on her lips. "No, go away, you're evil. You're gonna mess up my hair," she protested, swatting at him with feigned indignation.

They both laughed, the sound echoing across the water as he deftly dodged her playful swats. "Awww, is someone's hair gonna get messy?" he teased, winking mischievously before splashing her again, sending a cascade of droplets flying through the air.

Y/n let out a squeal of protest, her laughter mingling with the sound of splashing water as she retaliated, sending a playful splash of her own in Luke's direction.

The air was filled with the sound of their laughter and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore as they engaged in their impromptu water battle.

With a mischievous grin, she reached out and playfully mushed his face away, sending him sputtering and spluttering as he struggled to regain his composure. She dove gracefully into the water before he could retaliate, the surface swallowing her up in its depths.

Y/N broke through the surface, spluttering slightly after her unexpected underwater encounter. "Jack! Jeez, you nearly gave me a heart attack." She pushed her damp hair back from her face watching his lips quirking into an amused grin at her startled expression.

Jack was rooted at the end of the dock, arms crossed tightly over his bare chest as he watched her tread water. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as Luke paddled up beside Y/N. "What're you doing cannonballing around with Sideburns McGee over here?" Jack's tone was light, but Y/N could detect an undercurrent of something else.

Y/N blinked up at Jack in surprise, taken aback by the sudden intensity behind his words. She exchanged a puzzled glance with Luke, who seemed obliviously unconcerned as he floated beside her.

"Uh, swimming?" she answered slowly. "You know, that thing people do in lakes during the summer?" she replied with a casual shrug, though she could practically feel the jealousy rolling off Jack in waves.

Jack's jaw ticked, but he forced a tight smile. "Right, right. My bad. I just thought maybe you two were..." He trailed off, gaze flickering between them meaningfully.

"Were what?" Luke piped up, scratching his damp curls. "Racing? Cause Y/N's totally cheating with those froggy kicks."

Y/N snorted, sticking her tongue out at the oblivious Luke before turning back to Jack. She couldn't resist a teasing smile, sensing an opportunity to ruffle his feathers.

"Aw, is wittle Jacky feeling left out?" She batted her lashes exaggeratedly. "Don't worry, I'll save you a spot right between me and Lukey to make it a real party."

Jack's nostrils flared at her mocking tone. "Real cute, Y/N," he bit out, fists clenching at his sides. He opened his mouth, surely to unleash another scathing retort, but then seemed to think better of it. With a frustrated huff, he spun on his heel and stormed away from the dock.

Y/N rolled her eyes at his petty tone. Luke watched him go with a confused furrow in his brow before turning back to Y/N with a low whistle. "Someone's got their boardshorts in a twist today. What was that all about?"

…

It was later in the night after y/n and Luke had separated, her figure was drenched in rain and the heels she had worn to the dinner were long discarded a few blocks ago now found their place back on her feet as she trudged forward.

Her ex's cruel actions lingered in her mind, fueling her steps as she navigated the winding streets, rain pelting down upon her with unrelenting force. With every drop that soaked through her clothes, she pushed forward, her resolve unyielding despite the storm raging both within and without.

Finally reaching the entrance of the apartment building, Y/N pushed through the heavy doors. The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each floor passing by in a blur as she ascended to Luke and Jack's floor. The doors slid open, Y/N stepped out into the familiar hallway, her footsteps echoing against the tiled floor.

Y/N hesitantly rapped her knuckles against the door. Doubts clouded her mind as she double-checked the house number, hoping she had found the right place amidst her emotional haze. After a few moments, she heard shuffling from inside, followed by the metallic creak of the door opening.

Jack's tired face emerged from the crack in the door, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in Y/N's disheveled appearance.

Meeting his gaze, Y/N felt a wave of emotions threatening to spill over. Tears welled in her eyes, betraying the turmoil within her. Jack's expression shifted from confusion to concern, mirroring her own tumultuous state.

Y/N stood before Jack, her hair damp from the rain, streaks of mascara running down her cheeks, and her eyes red from crying.

"Um, uh," Jack stammered, struggling to find his words in the face of Y/N's unexpected appearance. His voice wavered as he attempted to articulate his thoughts. "W-why are you... Are you okay?"

He opened the door wider, silently inviting Y/N into the warmth of the house. He stepped aside, allowing her to pass, his eyes following her every move with worry.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before stepping over the threshold, her eyes adjusting to the soft light within, her steps light against the wooden floorboards as she kicked off her heels. "Where's Luke?" she asked, a sniffle punctuating her words.

She glanced around, taking in the familiar surroundings with a mix of longing and uncertainty, her gaze finally settling on Jack.

Jack's gaze softened as he watched her, a pang of empathy tugging at his heartstrings. This was not the confident, vibrant Y/N he was accustomed to seeing.

"He's not here right now, but I can call him if—" Jack's words faltered as he took a hesitant step closer to Y/N, his gaze locking with hers.

"Can I ask you a question?" he inquired, his voice soft. “What happened?”

As Jack spoke, his eyes scanned Y/N's face, noticing the subtle details that spoke volumes about her ordeal. A red mark on her cheek, the telltale sign of a recent impact, caught his attention. His gaze flickered to her puffy eyes, evidence of the tears she had shed.

"I... I just... I thought we were just gonna talk things out," Y/N began, her voice trembling with emotion as she recounted the events.

Jack listened intently, his concern growing with each word she spoke. Taking a step closer, he instinctively searched for any other visible signs of harm that wasn’t visible to him yet.

"And when I told him I didn't wanna be with him, he attacked me," Y/N continued, her voice faltering.

Jack fell silent for a moment. "A-attacked you? He hurt you??" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, disbelief etched across his features. He took another step closer to Y/N, his hands reaching out to gently rest on her arms. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Did he hit you?"

His fists tightened involuntarily, as he fought to keep his emotions in check. Y/N gingerly peeled off the jacket she was wearing, revealing her bruised arms to Jack.

He studied the bruises, the urge to confront her ex simmered beneath the surface, but he knew that giving in to his anger wouldn't help Y/N in this moment.

“He did this to you…”

He backed away, pulling the jacket tighter around herself, he felt a pang of regret at the distance between them. “Jack please I just want to forgot about it. I didn’t mean to involve you in this.”

"Okay, let's get you cleaned up first," Jack suggested gently, his voice tender with concern as he took Y/N's hand and led her to the bathroom. Closing the door behind them, he made sure it was securely locked.

With utmost care, Jack guided Y/N through the process of washing up, his touch gentle and soothing as he helped her cleanse away the remnants of her ordeal.

“Thank you, Jack,” y/n whisper, voice barely audible over the running water. She watches him carefully squeeze out water from the washcloth. He comes closer to dab the cloth against her lips, then moves onto the leftover makeup.

With each stroke of the washcloth, he took a moment to appreciate the delicate curve of her lips, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

As he finished cleaning off her lips, Jack let the washcloth fall into the sink with a soft sigh. Meeting Y/N's gaze, he searched for any hint of what she needed next. "What should I do now?" she asked softly.

He hums in thought, wanting to give her a hug but the only thing that’s stopping him is the awkward tension between the two of them. He opens his mouth to speak, not quite sure on how to answer the question, but she beats him to it. “Can we just watch a movie?”

A buzz emanated from the countertop where Y/N's phone lay face down, a flicker of unease crossed her features. Before she could reach for it, Jack was already there, deftly flipping the phone around and declining the call with a swift movement.

“Your ex?”

Y/N nodded silently at Jack's question, confirming his suspicion. With a heavy sigh, Jack glanced down at the declined call notification, a pang of frustration coursing through him. Jack pocketed Y/N's phone, a silent vow to shield her from any more unwanted contact.

"I'll find something for you to wear." Turning away briefly, Jack rummaged through a nearby closet, searching for suitable attire.

After a moment, he returned with a soft sweater and a pair of comfortable sweatpants, offering them to Y/N with a reassuring smile. "Here, these should be more comfortable," he said, his tone gentle yet comforting.

As Y/N accepted the clothes, Jack couldn't help but notice the frown that tugged at her lips. With a gentle touch, he reached out to smooth down the wrinkled and wet fabric of her dress. She can smell the faint scent of Jacks cologne as it mixed with the scent of the laundry detergent.

Her confident movements drew Jack's gaze, his eyes tracing the graceful arc of her movements as she pulled her hair back into a bun and began to peel down the straps of her dress. For a moment, he stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat at the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

They locked eyes and y/n laughed lightly, her cheeks flushing with a rosy hue, Jack couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through him.

Chuckling softly in response, Jack's own cheeks tinted with a hint of color as he met Y/N's gaze trying really hard to not look down. “Woah- uh” he remarked playfully, his voice warm with affection.

The fabric pooled around her, the sleeves hanging past her hands, and she couldn't help but chuckle nervously at her own appearance. Jack forced a smile, his attempt to lighten the mood evident in the twinkle of his eyes. "Looks comfy!" he remarked with a chuckle.

With a grateful nod, she stepped further into the warmth of the apartment, the familiar scent of home enveloping her like a comforting embrace. her eyes were drawn to the soft glow of candles scattered around the space, the flickering flames danced in the dim light.

Jack closed the door behind him, his gaze lingering on Y/N as he noticed the subtle shift in her demeanor. With a gentle smile, Jack settled onto the couch, patting the seat beside him in invitation. "Come, sit," he urged softly.

couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through him as he watched Y/N get comfortable on the couch, wrapped snugly in the blanket he had provided. Her small form seemed to melt into the fabric, a picture of coziness amidst the expanse of the living room.

he turned on the TV show he had overheard Y/N mention liking, he couldn't resist stealing a glance at her. The small smile on her face tugged at his heartstrings, filling him with a sense of contentment that he hadn't felt in a while.

Y/N felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, she couldn't resist the urge to turn her head and meet Jack's gaze.

Caught in the act, Jack quickly averted his gaze from Y/N's direction, his heart racing slightly at the realization that she had noticed him staring. He forced a nonchalant expression onto his face and directed his attention towards the TV, pretending to be engrossed in the show playing on the screen.

A rush of embarrassment washed over him as he mentally scolded himself for his momentary lapse in composure. He should have known better than to let his gaze linger on Y/N for too long, especially given the circumstances.

Y/N watched with a mixture of amusement and exasperation as Jack forcibly averted his gaze, letting out an overly dramatic yawn in a sad attempt to play it cool. He sank back into the couch cushions, eyes determinedly fixed on the TV even as she caught the faint blush tingeing his cheeks.

Just then, the apartment door flew open with a bang as Luke came barreling in, nearly tripping over the shoe rack in his typical whirlwind entrance. "What'd I miss?" he boomed, obliviously taking in the awkward tension.

Jack visibly startled at his brother's abrupt arrival, cursing under his breath. Y/N had to stifle a giggle at the palpable mortification radiating off him now.

Poor guy just couldn't catch a break. "Nothing much, Wreck-It Ralph," she quipped, smirking at Luke. "Jack was just giving me a very passionate rendition of a yawn. Riveting stuff."

Jack shot her a murderous look, but she just winked back teasingly. There was something undeniably entertaining about getting under his skin like this.

Flopping onto the couch between them, Luke furrowed his brow in confusion. "Ooookay then. You two are being weirder than usual." His eyes bounced between their strained expressions before realization seemed to dawn. "Oh man, please don't tell me you two are screwing.”

As Jack grumbled inarticulately under his breath, Y/N flashed Luke an innocent look. "Me? Never." Her gaze slid sideways to meet Jack's stormy blue eyes, holding the contact for a heated moment before he huffed and looked pointedly away again. Y/N bit her lip to smother her laugh.

Oh yes, this was very fun indeed.

199 notes · View notes

rrrrinmaru · 7 months

Text

bury me (raf x mc, nsfw)

wc: 3949 rating: E warning: pussy eating, strip tease

Up until the moment you’re sat in the entertainment room that’s apparently been renovated on emergency notice, you don’t quite believe the situation you’ve found yourself in.

It started as an off-handed comment you didn’t think much of. Frankly, you didn’t think anything of it—the two of you were watching a movie (ok, Magic Mike, it was Magic Mike) and you mentioned, casual as ever, that you’ve always wanted to see a lap dance up close.

Rafayel went still. But Rafayel goes still at the strangest things—he once froze up at the sight of you petting a cat on the sidewalk and fell to the ground right next to the fire hydrant, in broad view of everyone walking down that very pavement—so again, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he wanted to see a lap dance up close as well. Maybe, irrationally, he got a little jealous at the thought of you thinking of watching other men grind against flushed women, eyes bright as they watch the sheen of sweat on thick muscles centimetres away from their face.

You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect—

“You spent how much on the lights?” You ask, bewildered. “You got these custom made?”

“I wasn’t about to install cheap LED lights in my house,” Rafayel replies, fiddling with something in the corner. “The cost doesn’t matter. The real expensive baby was the audio system, but I already owned that before I got the bright idea to remodel this place.”

“You spent money to turn a room in your house into a strip club?” You say, voice slightly hysterical on the last two words. You almost don’t want to know the answer to your next question, but things have already progressed far enough. There’s no coming back from this. “Where’s the stripping pole?”

Rafayel shrugs. He’s wearing this thin, sheer fabric; so pale it’s almost transparent. It clings to the width of his shoulders, dipping down between the slope of his shoulder blades and the top tapers off at his waist. When he turns around, you can’t help but stare at the (quite frankly) whorish cut at the front.

The front of the shirt has this deep plunge all the way down to his abdomen. It’s practically two strips of fabric loosely folded over each other, and if he bends over, you get a full view of the hard planes of his chest and the curve of his tits.

He’s also wearing leather pants. Did you mention that? They look like they were painted on. The material stretches tight over his thighs, making him look even taller than he already does.

His feet are bare, toes curling into the rug covered floor. Rafayel stands there, weight shifted to one leg as he always does, and he practically preens under your undivided attention. Under your greedy, hungry gaze as you run your eyes up and down his body.

Behind him, the stereo system flares to life. This persistent, thumping drum beat slowly starts to build.

“Can’t we just—you know?” You say without thinking, leaning forward instinctively at the thought of getting your mouth on Rafayel. Has he even looked in a mirror before he decided on this particular set of clothes?

Rafayel smirks. Fuck, you swear you can see the literal imprint of his cock through his pants.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, voice honeyed as he takes his sweet time to walk over to you, that casual, loping stride that you can’t look away from. “Be patient.”

“This is the first time you’ve turned down my offer,” you say petulantly. “Please?”

“We haven’t even gotten to the good part,” Rafayel says, eyes glittering as he leans over. His hands land on the back of the curved sofa you’re seated on—they frame you like a solid wall of muscle, caging you in his embrace. His legs are on either side of your thighs, close enough that you swear you can feel the kiss of leather against your skin, the sheer heat radiating off his body.

The beat is loud, now. It’s loud enough that it sounds like you’re at a club; it sinks through your chest, filling your body up like a balloon as it seizes your senses. Your heart pulses in time with the heavy, throbbing bass—you stare up, eyes wide as all you hear is the sound of your heart and all you see is Rafayel’s eyes.

You could drown in that gaze. You know you could.

“No touching,” Rafayel breathes out. When he bends over, cheek barely milimetres away from your own, your breath hitches at the view down his shirt. “First rule of the club, Miss. No touching the performers.”

“Raf,” you whine, fingers curling desperately into fists by your side as you trace your eyes over the curve of his Adam’s Apple, the crook of his shallow collarbone, the slope of his tits and the fucking sight of his nipples, pebbling from the cold. You want to flick them. You want to put your hands on his abdomen and cup his tits and you want to mess him up.

“It’s better when you wait for it,” Rafayel murmurs. His breath is hot against the crook of your ear, and you can feel the break in his breathing when he laughs. “Do you like this?”

“Do something,” you whine, tilting your head back just to get a better look at the lithe line of Rafayel’s body hovering over yours. It’s driving you insane, having him this close but not touching—you’ve been conditioned to expect skin contact from Rafayel, his little absent-minded touches as he grazes his shoulder against yours, a hand curving around your waist to gently nudge you aside when he walks by, fingers wrapping around yours.

When he exhales, you swear you can see it. The shadow of smoke in the dim light, swooping down in the empty space between both of your lips. It’s maddening having him here, having this sliver of space between you two. You could reach up around his waist and drag him down; you could wrap one hand around the base of his neck and pull and he would go, sweetly, obediently, and he would make the most delicious sounds into your mouth.

You know this. You know it like you know the back of your hand, because he’s done it a million times before. You think you’ve never known anyone as well as you know Rafayel—like looking into a deep pool of still water and finding your reflection looking back.

Rafayel hums, the heat of his breath scattering over your collarbones as he rolls his hips. You swallow, mind spinning from the slightest scrape of tight leather against your thighs. He does it again, hips grinding in this slow, torturous move right above your core.

“Your muscles,” you say weakly, eyes riveted to the tension in his abdomen. His muscles are taut, pale skin clearly visible through the dip in his shirt. A bead of sweat drips down, tracing a path between his pectorals and down, down, down—

Your eyes follow it greedily, wishing you could chase after it with your tongue.

“You look delirious,” Rafayel whispers, his voice low and hoarse. There’s a husk to his words, and you can’t help the way you swallow, fingers tightening further into fists. You’re familiar with that voice. That’s how he sounds after he’s been worked up beyond belief, until all he can think of is laying you out and eating you clean.

This is clearly doing it for him too, just as much as it’s working on you. The lights flicker, bleeding from one color into the next. It’s crazy how Rafayel looks bewitching in every color; the neon red light looks like crimson splashed across his face, highlighting the cut of his cheekbone and the glint of his teeth when he smirks at you. The blue light casts his face into darkness, smoothing his features out and the shadow stretches over him, the color melting into his hair. He looks like a siren rising out of a water surface, eyes half-lidded and lips barely parted, fingers itching to steal your soul away.

You’re possessed by the sudden desire to dump a glass of water on him. This look would be greatly improved if he was drenched to the bone, you think dizzily, with crystal droplets hanging off his eyelashes, dipping in the crook of his lips, pooling in his clavicle. His shirt, translucent as it is, would turn completely transparent. It would cling to his skin even more than it already does.

“Please,” you beg, not even sure what you’re begging for. His hands on you. His mouth on you. His weight on you, pressing you down, holding you in place as he does whatever he wants to your body.

His smirk is so self-satisfied that you want to kiss it off his lips.

“Patience,” he murmurs. Rafayel braces his knees against the seat of the couch and leans back, wearing a brazen look as he looks at you. His smile spreads as he crooks his fingers at you—you bend forward, lips parting as if ready to use your tongue to trace the grooves on his abdomen.

Rafayel laughs. It’s a smug sound, but you can’t even fault him. He cuts a stunning figure like this, thighs spread and framed in shining leather, shirt so low and open that you don’t know where to look; the light drips over his skin like someone poured liquid gold all over him, drenching him in a moving pattern of red and blue lights.

He holds a hand out. “Your hand,” he says, and you quickly put your palm in his like you’re no better than a dog.

“Thank you, baby,” Rafayel teases, flipping your hand over to press a kiss to your fingertips before he pulls it to his jaw. You flex your fingers, trying to swallow past the sudden thudding of your heart as he presses your hand to the slant of his jaw, down to the line of his neck.

You’re not given any time to linger on the heat radiating off his body. He pulls your hand further down, your fingers grasping uselessly at the meat of his chest, trembling as your palm flattens against his skin.

And then, as if he’s been doing this all his life, Rafayel arches his back. His muscles roll in this slow, sinuous movement as he drags your hand down his abdomen.

You can feel it in aching clarity. The expanding of his rib cage as he breathes, the tension in his muscles as he clenches his abdomen to even out the grind of his hips. The heat, that absurd, blistering heat that you’re certain will melt your fingerprints clean off your fingers.

He does it again. Leans forward, eyes glittering in the flickering lights as he arches his back, letting you feel the way his muscles move under his skin as he rolls his hips.

Without thinking, you reach forward with your other hand. You’re not even sure where you’re aiming at—you just want to get your hand on him. The details can be handled later.

But Rafayel catches your wrist before your fingers even scrape past the loose material of his shirt. “No touching the merchandise,” he chides, holding you in place.

Your fingernails scratch pointedly at his abdomen. It makes him huff out a laugh—a surprised, breathy sound that for some reason gives you the urge to get your mouth on him now.

“I’m already touching you,” you breathe out, eyes glazing over when Rafayel clenches his abs just to watch the way you lose focus.

“I let you touch me,” Rafayel shoots back, smug as ever. “You don’t get to touch me without permission.”

“Raf—”

“Just enjoy it, Miss,” he murmurs, nudging one knee in between yours to slide your thighs apart. “I’m putting on a show. Don’t you like it?”

You like it a bit too much. All of a sudden, you realise why people like to keep pretty things in cages. Rafayel would look entrancing like that, you think, eyes wandering over his body. Lounging in a long column of water with transparent walls, like a fish tank in an aquarium large enough to store a whole pod of dolphins. Stuck with no where to go.

But your breath catches in your throat before you can reply with something intelligent. Rafayel presses his lips to the underside of your neck, at the spot where your jaw meets your throat—featherlight, so quickly that you almost miss it.

While you’re frozen, breath trapped under your tongue, he hums and traces a faint path down your body. His lips on your neck, your collarbones, the dip between your tits—he leans down, switching to your bare arm when the fabric of your slip dress gets in the way.

Surely he can feel it. The pulse of your heartbeat under your skin, a mile a minute, fluttering at the sight of his half-crescent lips trailing against the sensitive underside of your forearm.

And then he gets on his knees. He’s right there, eyes bright and glittering like jewels under the dancing lights as he leans forward to press the side of his cheek against your thigh.

You can feel the way his breath heats up against your knee. It feels like he’s burning a mark into you, etching the shape of his lips into your skin. You won’t ever be able to remove it. It’ll be branded into your inner thigh, the crimson half-moon stains that mark you as his.

“Spread your legs for me,” Rafayel whispers, lips curving into a smile. “Open up, baby.”

The flush in your cheeks feels absurd. You must look drunk, inebriated after one too many shots as your thighs spread instinctively to frame Rafayel in between them. He reaches up, each hand wrapping around the outside of your knees, fingers dipping into the crook at the back.

His grip is light, barely any pressure on your legs, but you feel like his hands may as well be two shackles against your knees, holding you in place.

“Wider,” he says, eyes brilliant in the flickering lights. You could drown in that gaze, if the heat in your core didn’t kill you first. “Come on, gorgeous.”

“Raf,” you groan, thighs spreading even further. It makes you slip from your position on the sofa, inching further down just to make space for your legs to open wider.

The fabric of your dress rucks up around your hips. It folds messily, and Rafayel holds your gaze in this heartstopping, torturous moment as his fingers creep up and under your dress.

There’s something about it. Something you can’t explain, not even with an entire dictionary at your disposal. There is something about the way you can’t see his fingers, his palms as he slides them further up your thighs, below the crease of silk. The way the back of his hands and his wrists slowly, gradually disappear under your dress. While he keeps his gaze on you, eyes burning with such intent and desire it makes you breathless.

His fingers bump up against your underwear, the way the fabric digs into your thighs. The shock of it all makes you yelp a little, hands flying forward to feel blindly for Rafayel’s hands under your dress.

You’re not sure what purpose you want to achieve. You’re just—it’s just—it’s just a lot, okay, and the way he looks at you is so—

Rafayel doesn’t do anything. His fingers go still, frozen under your grip, but you can feel the bracing heat of them through the thin fabric of your underwear. Your damp underwear. If his fingers were to slip, you know he would be able to press his thumb against the wet spot right at your slit, or slide higher to press at your throbbing clit.

You make this low, reedy noise, and let go of his hands. You shift even lower on the sofa, back curved as you lean your head back against the headrest. Your thighs spread just a little bit wider.

“Thank you, baby,” Rafayel murmurs, eyes finally lowering as he lifts the skirt of your dress. “Look at how pretty you are.”

“Get on with it,” you bite out, voice shaky from arousal. The music is getting to you—the deep, pulsing bass throbs at your temples, holding your heart in a vice grip. The singer is crooning something; his deep, low voice rumbling on and on about sex and you’re too out of it to properly register the lyrics.

Rafayel pays you no mind. He takes his own sweet time to push your dress further up your hips, exposing the line of your thighs and your underwear to his hungry gaze.

And then, right under your eyes, he leans in and presses a kiss to your stiff clit.

“Raf!” You try to shut your thighs on instinct, hips jerking at the sudden pressure against your clit, but Rafayel’s hands are firm against the inside of your thighs and he holds you open. He forces your legs wider, and he looks up at you as he fits his mouth to the middle of your panties, tongue flat against where your core burns the hottest.

Fuck, you think, mouth open as you try to gasp for air. Rafayel is good at this—too good, you think, to the point where you flush when you catch yourself staring at his mouth for too long sometimes—and he breathes out on your cunt, relishing in the way your clit twitches in your panties.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Rafayel murmurs, pulling the fabric taut over your pussy so he can see your swollen clit straining through your panties. He gives it another kiss, and you arch your back at the electricity that lights your body up when he does that. Rafayel knows what you like, and he wields that knowledge like a weapon.

You gaze at him, eyes half-lidded as you try to reach for his hair. Rafayel ducks away from your searching fingers, giving you a smile when you scowl at him.

“No touching the merchandise,” he reminds you.

A disgruntled noise leaves your mouth. How are you supposed to hold him in place when he won’t let you touch him? “Take them off, Raf, please—”

It’s as if Rafayel was put on this Earth specifically to raise your blood pressure. Even when he has his mouth on your cunt, face between your legs, he’s still possessed by the overpowering urge to do something that goes against what you say.

“Not yet,” he says, nonplussed, and drags your underwear to the side to expose your dripping center. “Look at how wet you are.”

Rafayel’s voice is gravelly, hoarse as he stares at you. Your pussy clenches instinctively—his gaze feels heavy, like a physical weight bearing into you. You’d really like a physical weight bearing into you right now, actually, and you know exactly where you can find one.

He presses his tongue to your clit. Your hips spasm, eyes rolling into the back of your head when he closes his lips around your swollen bud and sucks. It feels like fire burning through your entire body, pleasure sparking in your veins when he laps at your clit. You could cum like this, his clever tongue working your clit over and over in the soft wetness of his mouth.

“So pretty,” Rafayel murmurs to himself, not even caring if you hear. He drags his tongue down, licking along the length of your cunt, spit mixing with the wetness dripping from your pussy. He rearranges his grip on your inner thigh—his palm frames the vee of your hips now, thumb pulling at the side of your cunt to open you up for his taking.

Rafayel eats you out like a man possessed. There’s this wild, desperate hunger in him, in the way he moves his mouth, the way he surfaces to gasp for air before going back to dip his tongue into your pussy and lick at your insides. He eats you out so greedily that you can truly believe he would be happy here, trapped between your legs and buried in your cunt for so long he goes breathless while you go cross-eyed with pleasure so overwhelming it makes you dizzy.

“Fuck,” Rafayel groans, panting against your cunt. His breath feels like he’s blowing hot smoke against your clit, making it twitch uncontrollably with every gust of air over it. You’re so worked up that just this is enough to make your hips jerk forward, chasing the ghost of his mouth to try to get it back on your cunt. “You taste so fucking good, Miss—”

“More,” you beg, straining against the sofa to try to get leverage, any kind of leverage to tilt your hips up. “Please, Raf, I’m close—fuck, I’m—”

This time, he doesn’t need to be told twice. He moves his head, tongue curling as he fucks it into your throbbing pussy. You’re so close, right on the precipice—it’s like your entire body is a livewire, hips jerking uncontrollably whenever his tongue hits that sweet spot and making your nerves light up with pleasure. It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open; you want to keep your eyes on Rafayel, to see the way his curls bounce as he mouths hungrily at your cunt. But the pleasure is so devastating, so mind-numbing that you can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut, your body unable to concentrate on more than one sensation at once.

Your clit is so stiff that it aches. And when Rafayel licks at it, flicking his tongue against your swollen clit and relishing in the desperate, needy sounds falling from your mouth—

It crescendos like a tsunami wave rising to its peak. Your body freezes, mouth falling open as you arch your back, pushing up, up, up against Rafayel’s tongue. It spreads through you like a wildfire, burning you up from the inside out. Your mind is blank, you can’t think, you can’t even make a sound.

You just gasp, silent as the orgasm crashes over you like the tide, taking you under and drowning you beneath the water. Rafayel keeps fucking going, sucking at your clit to keep you right on that knife’s edge, pleasure melting into overstimulation because he knows you like it when it aches. When it becomes a little biting, when it starts to hurt just a little.

He laps at your clit until you shiver, hands weakly pressing against his forehead. Rafayel gives your cunt one last lick, sucking at the lips of your pussy and licking his lips when he catches your gaze.

“All done?” He asks, reaching up to wipe the visible remnants of your orgasm from his jaw. “Another one?”

“I want to suck your cock,” you say, the breath still mostly fucked out of you. “Come—come here.”

“Nuh-uh,” Rafayel tells you, rising back to his feet. The music is still thumping through the walls, resounding in the room as you tilt your head back and stare up at him. “I’m not done. It isn’t a strip show until I’ve gotten naked.”

You blink at him. He still—

“Okay,” you say uselessly. You can see the thick outline of his cock through his pants, so visible that you’re almost certain the leather will burst. “Go on.”

He gives you this smug, confident smile, and you politely don’t mention how the bottom half of his mouth is still wet from your cum.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds rafayel #rafayel #恋与深空 #祁煜 #러브앤딥스페이스 #恋と深空 #rin writes l&ds

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joelsmochi · 9 months

Text

closer

rating: E 18+ pairing: tortured artist!Joel x black!girly!f!reader summary: Joel hits a creative block with a mural, leading him down a road of discovery and intimacy in ways he's never felt before. warnings: au/no outbreak, unspecified drug use + marijuana use, unprotected piv, sex while under the influence, consenting adults!!! age is not specified but we can assume joel is mid 40s, brief mentions of death + abusive relationships, ooc!Joel (he is not the same person he was 1/2 pill ago…), third person pov but most of it is from joel’s perspective, very fluffy sex they may have said i love you wc: 5.3k a/n: Happy New Year everybody! This was inspired by Closer by Goapele and Prisoner by The Weeknd & Lana Del Rey plus I was thinking too hard about the time I ate an edible that had too much THC for me to handle and I produced whatever this is. Hopefully tortured artist!Joel hasn’t happened yet because I felt creative with this one…

masterlist

ᝰ

The frayed paintbrush relentlessly slapped against the concrete wall, coating the discolored brick in thick layers of different browns, reds, and whites. Opaque smoke blurred his vision, yet he only let it inspire the strokes of his hand, creating a beautiful image that wasn’t clear to him yet.

Before he knew it, the sun had set; he sat on his hard leather sofa, massaging the twinge that had settled into his wrist while his face wore a disappointed scowl. He was displeased with his progress, the blob that was already half dry on the wall of his loft.

A rumble snuck into his stomach, forcing him to stand up and absentmindedly walk into the kitchen area. However, his disappointment grew when he opened the fridge to find nothing suitable for a proper meal. As he glared at the half-eaten yogurt and scarce 24-pack of beer, he decided to go and get Chinese food.

He lit up a cigarillo to accompany his walk around the block and across the street, tossing whatever was left into a sewer drain just in time for him to open the door to the restaurant.

“Miller,” a worker greeted with a smile, “your usual?”

Unknown to him, the smell of his cigar caught the attention of a waiting customer. She waited until he was done chatting with the employee to ask, “Cream?”

He did a double take, unsure if she was talking to him at first. She was tall, maybe five foot nine or five foot ten, with big hair and brown skin, and dressed in something far too lovely for her to be eating Chinese for dinner.

“I’m sorry?”

“You smell like cream-flavored cigars,” she said, sounding amused.

He felt unsure of how to respond, not wanting to seem rude, watching her diamond earrings gleam from the low yellow lighting. He paid for his food and answered. “Yeah, just had one.”

“Black and mild or swisher?”

“Blacks,” he answered, growing a little uneasy from the stranger questioning him despite the mundane topic.

“My favorite,” she boasted, earning another look from him after he put his change in the tip jar. “They’re much smoother.”

The man didn’t respond, only offering a tight smile in return. The pair stood a few feet apart silently, listening to people chattering and utensils clanking behind the counter as they waited.

She smelled like expensive brown sugar perfume and cocoa butter, a sickly sweet combination that tickled his sense of smell. Her scent was reminiscent of a freshly baked cookie a kid couldn’t wait to dive into. She was dressed in a lovely skirt and a prissy top paired with a mix of gold and silver rings and necklaces and bracelets — two colors he usually hated paired together, but somehow, she made it blend beautifully.

Her makeup was soft, or so it seemed. It wasn’t too heavy, but her eyebrows were bold, as was the line drawn around her vermilion border. He noticed she blinked slowly but held her eyes wide as if she anticipated something to happen.

The employee’s voice brought the two adults out of their daydreams.

“Beef and broccoli and chow mein?” They asked.

The artist waited kindly for the woman to grab her bagged styrofoam container before reaching for his own; he walked a few feet behind her, suddenly feeling bad for his cold demeanor earlier once they were outside.

“You want one?” He called after her before she got too far away; she turned around with a frown, confused at his offering.

He reached into his pocket and held up a couple of fresh cigars. She grinned, secretly desperate for a smoke. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she strutted back towards him. She strutted like a cat, one leg crossing the other.

She allowed the man with the messy hair the privilege of placing the stick between her plump lips, keeping her eyes on his as he watched where he was lighting.

She took a long drag, waiting for him to get his cigarette lit before asking, “What’s your name?”

His eyebrow cocked up, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was amused. But he answered anyway.

“Joel.” He sharply inhaled; she responded with her name and a smile, thick smoke spilling out from the spaces between her teeth as she gently exhaled. “You from around here?”

“No,” she said, “I like to travel. See new places. Find new things… Right now, I’m fixated on museums—art museums precisely.”

That piqued his interest. “Art? What kind of art d'you like?”

“Any art that speaks to me.”

Joel smirked at her answer as if it were funny. “Oh yeah? What speaks to you?”

Instead of her usual quick response, she pondered momentarily, trying to locate proper words to avoid rambling. “Suffering or excitement.”

He could only narrow his eyes at the vague response, but she spoke again before he could ask for an elaboration.

“You must like art,” she guessed correctly.

“I’m uh…” And there’s a long pause; the rhetorical shame of confessing what his job was had risen, but for what purpose? After a short internal debate, he finally admitted, “I’m an artist myself.”

Her eyes widened with excitement, which Joel found adorable. She asked him various questions: what kind of art he created, how long he’d been painting, his favorite creations…

He admired her interest in the subject and how she listened carefully and intently, clearly trying to understand as much as possible about him.

“How do you stay inspired all the time?”

Shit.

Joel’s mind ran blank for a few seconds, and he watched the woman’s face contort into confusion. She worried she’d brought up an unhealed wound and persisted that he didn’t need to answer.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Joel assured, “I’ve honestly been at a block lately…”

“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “Do you do anything to help get over that?”

He sucked on his teeth as he thought of an appropriate answer, yet nothing came to mind. He couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. “Just wait for it to pass.”

“…Could... Could I see your art?”

For the first time, she seemed to be shy. Her teeth grimaced, and eyebrows crooked out of fear of rejection, but Joel was sure he was far more nervous than she was.

"Uh, sure..." He said hesitantly. "What I have at home is nothing special, but-"

"I'm sure it's beautiful," she interrupted. "I'm free right now if that works."

ᝰ

This was unlike him: inviting a girl he'd just met into his home. She had something that enamored him. What was it, he wondered with each passing minute, was it her beauty or curiosity? Was it the way she smiled or how sweet her voice sounded? He couldn't ponder for much longer as she had already begun complimenting his home.

"A loft," she said while taking in the brick walls of his home that were littered with several paintings that all seemed to be works in progress. "It's cozy." Joel watched as her painted nails gently trailed over the armrest of his stiff couch just before she reached up to feel a painting of what seemed to be a little girl.

His staring made the woman laugh, and while he could admit he was being a bit precarious, he just wanted to ensure she wouldn't mishandle that particular piece. She didn't. She just reached to stroke the texture meant to resemble the girl's curly hair; she touched it for only a moment before pulling away and turning around.

After realizing the painting was sacred to him, she asked, "Is that someone you know?"

His shoulders and chest rose as he sucked in a melancholic breath, and she couldn't ignore the sadness that swarmed his eyes.

The woman was satisfied with no answer and moved on quickly. "May I eat with you?"

Joel gave her a stiff nod, his thoughts still filled with the traumatic memories of the girl in the photo.

They sat quietly and slowly ate their food, the lack of heat from their containers making the meal invaluable. The silence comforted him as it felt much different than the cold silence he was used to. No. Her silence was warm and comforting... Like a mother caring for a sick or sad or sleeping child. She didn't offer any awkward glances or stiff smiles. She didn't hide her joy or her optimism despite his distant demeanor.

Her eyes weren't as big as they were just an hour ago. Perhaps the food made her sleepy, he thought.

"Where ya from?" He figured he should at least be a good host.

"Rockport. It's a small town in Massachusetts. You?"

"Born and raised here," he answered.

"Really?" She squinted at him while poking at broccoli with a fork. "Never wanted to leave?"

Shrugging, he said, "Thought about leaving, never needed to."

"Is that painting supposed to be the same girl?"

She pointed to the spontaneous mural partly done on the big red wall opposite to them. He looked at it, forming different opinions and thoughts on his work.

"No. Not entirely sure what that one is yet," he grunted. "Needed to paint something, but I can't quite figure it out yet."

"You should do a self-portrait," she suggested with a wide grin. "I'd love to see how you see yourself."

"Nah, if I did that, it'd just be a college-ruled notebook with a bunch'a scribbles in it."

She chuckled at his pessimism, gaining a confused look from him. "So? Maybe someone would see something between the scribbles."

"I don't like painting myself," he said firmly.

She couldn't care less about his seriousness; she saw his need for perfection and keeping busy with work. Seeing the distress on the average person's face wasn't unfamiliar to her; all she wanted to do was take it away.

"Your art is lovely, Joel," she spoke truthfully, "For what it's worth, I think you'd paint yourself beautifully."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds, taking in her warm smile and gentle words.

"You're very kind," he admitted, "thank you."

The temptress walked and stood in front of the mural to admire the thick blobs of paint that were still tacky. She saw the vision but just as quickly saw the block.

"You seriously do nothing to help the creative blocks?"

With a slight frown, he shook his head to confirm. "Just try working on something else until I find my rhythm again."

"Why not? Why not music or movies or going outside for more than Chinese on a Thursday evening?"

Feeling a bit antagonized, Joel scowled at her. "I paint what's in my head, not around me."

"Maybe that's the problem." She sat close to him on the floor and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Maybe you've painted all you know, and you're stuck right now because there's nothing new inside that pretty little head a'yours."

"Flattery only gets you so far, sweetheart."

"It got me in your apartment, did it not?"

His scowl grew, and he felt no need to hide his annoyance from her.

"Just tryna help," she smirked.

"I don't need your help."

"Clearly not," she simpered; she pulled a bag of ground weed from her purse and held it up for him to see. "Maybe you need Mary's help."

"You're fucking joking."

"It helps me," she said softly. "When I don't smoke, I'm a very anxious and shy person."

Joel's eyes fell to her hands, which were beginning to work the weed into a paper very carefully, watching her roll it precisely. "Really?" He asked incredulously.

"Mock me all you want, Joel, but I must say that even a couple of hits can make you feel ten times better."

"Not interested," he quipped.

"Well... If weed isn't your speed, then maybe..." She licked the paper shut and placed it on the table, then reached in her purse again for a bag containing different colored pills. "...ecstasy would be more fitting."

"You expect me to take drugs from a stranger?" He asked.

She leaned her chin on his shoulder and whispered, "I'm no stranger, Joel. I'm your inspiration."

He found himself laughing at her choice of words, not paying her any mind as she climbed into his lap. She placed a pill between the rows of her teeth and bit down to break it in half, offering him whichever half was smaller.

"You don't have to if you really don't want to... But it will help."

Her voice was so enticing that Joel was sure he was already high from the affection she persisted in giving him.

"Help me paint?" He asked, still not entirely convinced.

"Help you create."

Joel thought about it: he had nothing left in his life to live for other than his talent for painting, and he even felt that it was being wasted on unproductive days and constant disappointments.

For months, all he wanted was to create one last masterpiece and to feel proud of it. If all it took was to give in to some strange form of peer pressure, then that's just what needed to be done.

Almost an hour later, however, his worries about art were set aside.

With his head lying in the pretty woman's lap, he tried remembering why he had been so angry before. He let her stroke the curly hairs on his head and trace his lips over and over again.

"You're doing good," she cooed gently.

"You're very, um," he swallowed between his heavy breaths, "nurturing."

He noticed the woman's eyebrow shift upwards, and an amused hum left her mouth. "Hm. No one's ever said that before."

"Really?" Joel began to realize how dry his throat became. "Well, it's a compliment."

"Thank you," she giggled. "Thirsty?"

"Mmhm," he moaned.

Reaching over to grab the water bottle on the floor, she took a long sip as she felt parched before holding his head up to help him drink some. He felt her sticky lip gloss around the rim and found himself latching even harder onto the plastic container.

She let him drink as much as he needed before closing the bottle and helping him stand up, urging him to paint something.

He felt a wave of heat envelope his body, the hairs along his arms and neck dancing along his skin. He wanted to laugh, but nothing was funny, so he tried to hold it in. He followed her around the room and watched the ends of her hair bend and curl around her arms. She opened a few paint bottles, squeezing some onto his stained palette and holding the brush out for him. She couldn't help but laugh at the elation in his wide eyes; he was definitely in a much better mood than before.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, not bothering with the meaningless utterance of words and just giving into his need to kiss her. She wasn't surprised by the gesture, inviting his tongue into her mouth for more. She tasted the cigar on his breath and lips, ignoring how bitter it seemed.

The paintbrush smeared itself against Joel's elbow, causing him to jolt back in shock, only to laugh when he realized the purple-coated paintbrush was bending on its own. He took it from her hand and approached the wall, immediately getting to work.

While he worked and ranted about how the piece was "basically painting itself," she undressed slowly while prancing around the room and humming to some tune that found its way into her head. Joel saw the colors blend and separate, waiting for the wall to respond with where his next brush stroke should be.

The woman found herself looking at that painting of the little girl again. She was unable to quiet her curiosity.

"Is she your daughter?"

Her voice broke the string tying him to his work, and he stumbled around a bit before turning around and facing her with an asking face. He let his tools go and followed the sound of the siren, looking deeply into her wide eyes.

"She was my daughter," he admitted freely, something he refused to do as often as possible.

"Where is she?"

He noted how concerned she seemed and took it as an invitation to confide in her.

“She uh… She died ‘bout ten years ago.”

Joel felt her fuzzy arms weave around him, encompassing him with a sense of comfort. It was the first time he could talk about the tragedy without bursting into tears. Her lips pressed warm kisses into his forehead and temples as she attempted to bathe him in consolation.

He removed his head from the crook of her neck to look at her face. Her eyes, although appearing a bit lopsided, were still wide and curious, like she was still waiting for something. He tried to focus on just her, but all he wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to pai-

A shriek broke him out of his trance: the woman seemed surprised about the splatter of paint that got on her bare chest and arms. Joel blinked rapidly and tried to decipher what had happened between talking about his daughter and... Now.

Had time managed to escape him? Was he too out of it to realize that? And who put on the jazz music?

The brown liquid dripped down her body and hid her nipples; he found the motion fascinating. How happy she seemed to be coated in the cold dispense helped him feel more at ease and join in laughing with her. Her hair, frizzier than before, somehow gave the illusion that she was underwater. It just flowed so freely.

"You are a mermaid in the most beautiful depths of the sea," Joel shouted dramatically.

"Wh-what?" She giggled before smearing a finger-lengths of paint onto his forehead.

His hand absentmindedly poked the paintbrush into her collarbone, tickling her in the process. "You are free... And kind... Did you turn the music on?"

And she's giggling again. God, he couldn't get enough of that sound. She was a siren, manipulating him with her songs of joy and laughter.

"You told me to," she answered; only Joel took a few minutes to process it. She covered her hand in yellow paint, cradled his cheek, and let the print of her hand stick to his face as if she were marking her territory. "I'm glad I met you tonight, Joel," she said quietly.

Instinctively, he beckoned for her to close the space between them. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

Her arms snaked around his neck as she looked at his aura and vented. "I was supposed to go on a date tonight with my ex-boyfriend. He wasn't the greatest guy. Abusive. Angry. But my parents love him, and they say he's changed, so... I wanted to try again."

Joel's drug-induced nosiness got the better of him. "Why didn't you?"

She sighed, a smirk daring to grow on her face. "I wanted to make him feel stupid."

He wrapped his arms around her waist at her wise words, holding her close as if she would blow away had he exhaled too hard.

"M'glad I met you too," he admitted. "Did I spill paint on you?"

"Just a bit, but it was my fault. You were in a daze," she admitted bashfully.

The pair took a few minutes to look at each other, feel their spirits, and soak up the serenity between the small gap in their lips.

"Do you wanna fuck?"

Those words would have left Joel speechless in any other scenario at any other time on any other day. But he was high out of his fucking mind, and once his brain had fully processed her question, he answered with a short and sweet "Yes."

He waited patiently as the vixen undressed him, and she took her precious time; her knuckles grazing the wiry hair along his pelvis sent hot shivers across his abdomen before his jeans pooled around his ankles. Lifting his arms to aid in the removal of his shirt, he flinched and giggled childishly when she placed a kiss or two along his collarbone.

She gasped at the nails digging into her sides, his hands begging for more because his voice was too weak to. The desperation grew in his eyes, and he wanted to feel close to her. To feel all of her depths and shallows and curves and grooves. Her essence rendered him helpless. The smell of her perfume was even more sickly than he recalled, but all the much more sweet.

Their bodies danced onto the floor, bending and curling around each other like snakes.

"I was always afraid of this," he spoke as she worked her hand around him, not that he needed it. "Feeling close with someone. After my last... You know."

She smiled at his words, telling him with her eyes: I know.

"I was so scared to feel close to someone..." She admitted. "After him, I wanted to be left alone. Untouched."

"What changed that- oh, fuck," Joel moaned, feeling her wetness encapsulate him.

"Someone found me, ha-ah, hmm... And took care a'me, just like I'm doing for you."

Joel clawed at her back, reaching for her hair, but his arms were too heavy, with the quick rushes of euphoria soaring through his veins. Her moans and pretty little sounds coaxing him into blindness. He couldn't see her face, covered in the universe of her bangs littered with stars and planets, until she leveled her happy face with his. The shimmer in her glossy eyes let him know she enjoyed this just as much as him.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, ever s-seen," he moaned.

Finally able to lift his arms, he used them to hold her face gently. He admired her refreshing beauty. She moaned something about how sweet he was, though it went unregistered to him.

All he could feel was her thighs flexing against his hips every time she rode down, and he felt his cock brush that sensitive sponge deep inside of her. Her hands pressed painfully into his ribcage, but he didn't mind. He loved that she needed him so much that it hurt.

She laid her body down on his chest, bringing her lips to his chin; he whimpered at the softness of her lips, his warm breath hitting her nose and making her body shudder. His mouth parted to stick his tongue out for her to lick and suck, which she did graciously.

He never knew his tongue could feel so ticklish or that having it licked would feel so damn good. It made his cock throb against her walls, forcing a moan out of the both of them. Her nails scratched his scalp tenderly, hips rocking back and forth, creating the perfect rhythm.

Her breasts dragged against the hairs on his chest, making some of the dried brown paint flake onto him; her nippled peaked, vulnerable from the friction.

Joel wrapped his forearms around the base of her spine and rolled over as carefully as his intoxicated body would allow. With hair splayed out, she looked so ethereal, like a walking painting herself.

Then, he noticed a bucket of paint sitting nearby and dipped two of his long fingers inside, dragging the white liquid down the valley of her breasts until he reached the peak of her belly. He noticed how her body reacted: all of the little shakes and shudders signs of appreciation made his heart swell.

His hand reached around her hip to grip her ass as he rested his body weight on her and enveloped her in more kisses. His hips rocked gently and slowly, careful not to hurt her. He wanted to feel her cum and hear her beg him to keep going.

To her, it felt like he pushed deeper with each thrust, begging her body to swallow him whole and allow him the grace of becoming one with her. Her eyes were so low, yet she was seeing more clearly than ever. Seeing his aura radiate off of his broad shoulders and tousled hair - it was a haze of blue and purple. But hers were shades of reds and oranges in his eyes, a fiery tyrant that bullied him with praise and adoration.

His nose tickled her chin while his lips made their way up to plant another kiss on her sweet, sweet mouth. The alcohol in her perfume singed the hairs along his face and nostrils, pilling the hairs on his arms.

"Harder, ngh- please," she murmured.

He saw her blown pupils roll gently beneath her eyelids as beads of sweat formed along her hairline. Her breathing was shallow and short. She was close.

Licking his reddened lips, he pushed her knees back until they were flush with her jawline and shifted his body weight from his knees to his toes, then changed the force of his hips without changing the rhythm.

She loved that he listened to her: harder did not mean faster, and he fucking perfected it. Almost like he knew just how hard to go.

Joel drove into her deep enough to make her cunt squelch and clench around his thick cock. He felt clumsy inside of her like he was tripping up over his own orgasm. He felt all of her ridges and curves, the smooth and the rough; everything intensified in a way that could only be described by the God he didn't believe in.

But she had him questioning that in the back of his mind. He would have believed that she was God herself if he wasn't aware of how high he was. She looked celestial, her mouth forming an 'o', and her hair sprawled around her shimmering face. Even with her mascara flaking and running slightly, she seemed so content, so pleased.

Joel's desperation to come inside of her was almost primal, instinctive... If her nails weren't digging so sharply into his forearms, he wasn't sure whether or not he would have been able to hold back.

He didn't ease up on her throughout her orgasm. Honestly, he didn't think too much about it. He never wanted right now to end. With a sense of ecstasy coursing through his veins, he managed to turn into something he tried so hard not to be. He craved her body, her kisses.

He pulled her into his lap before resting his cheek on her breast. He inhaled the musk of her sweat deeply, cherishing the divine woman she was. She felt as beautiful as she looked. She fucked just as sweet as she smelled.

His clammy hand ran over her flexed calve as she bounced on him. Her movements were sloppy from his tight grip, not that either of them cared. She was sure not to go too high or come down too hard, allowing her pussy to drip white remnants of her orgasm onto his balls. He licked and kissed and bit her tits as a submissive thank you.

She kissed the top of his hair, strumming her fingers along his scalp. "Joel," she moaned, "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," he grunted almost instantly.

Raising his head to look back at her blissed out face, he pulled her even closer. His chin dug into her clavicle, but his neediness only made her laugh softly.

Joel's face twitched as his body proposed its orgasm, his dick throbbed roughly against her sensitive walls. She gasped, taking it as a sign to fuck him faster despite the burning in her legs. He winced at her arms weighing heavier into his collarbones but just clawed at her ass to power through the pain.

She placed a hand over his heart and pushed gently, forcing him to feel the thumping against his chest. He felt so much of his anger and pain dissipate beneath her touch, instilling love and peace in place of it.

"You're so precious," he whispered. A lovely smile rose onto her face, one that drove him crazy. He looked at her with big puppy eyes that threatened to fill with tears. She licked along her teeth and bit her bottom lip. "I love y-you..." He knew he didn't mean it and that she didn't either, but he missed being able to say those words. "Tell m- oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Tell me you love me," he pleaded. "Tell me you love me 'til I cum, baby."

"I love you, Joel.”

His eyes screwed shut, face falling into the curve of her neck.

“I love you, baby. I want you to cum for me,” she moaned, breathless from exhaustion.

His nails dug deeper into her flesh, he was clinging onto his climax as much as possible, wanting to wait long enough for it to destroy him.

“Oh, Joel, fuck!” She yelped. “I love you, I love you!”

And he broke.

His nails scratched lines up her back whilst he screamed into her chest. Her pussy throbbed against his sensitive cock from the arrival of her second orgasm, heightening his sensitivity.

A few tears shed his eyes at the closeness; Joel felt like he was falling into the Earth. He was so dizzy and confused, cornered by the affection clouding his judgment.

“I love you,” she whispered into his scalp, placing one last kiss before climbing off of his lap.

He hissed at the last stroke of her cunt but helped her lay down, using his t-shirt to prop her head up.

“I love you,” he said before kissing her head.

“You should drink some water.”

As soon as she said that, he felt the itchiness in his dry throat. He grabbed water from the table a few feet away and chugged as much as his stomach could handle.

“Will you bring me the joint and a lighter?”

Joel fulfilled her request and sat the water next to her, immediately looking back at his work in progress while she got herself situated.

A few moments passed before she spoke again. “Are you coming down?”

Confused, he looked down at her but saw that the colors weren’t so loud anymore. “Think so…”

“Take a few hits. It’ll help.”

He hesitated but sat down and did as she told him.

“Thank you,” he said after briefly coughing and handing the joint back to her. “I think whatever that… Pill was actually helped.”

“If it wasn't the pill, it must’ve been the sex,” she teased, earning a laugh from him. She tapped his shoulder and pointed her head towards his mural.

ᝰ

A rough pounding woke Joel up from his slumber. He groaned, pressing the meat of his palm to his forehead and slowly sitting up before remembering the girl was still next to him.

He watched her sleep soundly, mouth slightly parted and a gentle snore creaking from her throat. The memories of last night flooded his mind, and while they were somewhat fuzzy, he remembered clear as day how it felt.

He felt most of his questions had been answered by something more complex than communication. It was frightening yet calming at the same time.

Her body stirring regained his focus, and he knew she must have been feeling the same tension headache as he was when she groaned before her eyes fluttered open. She squirmed from the cold air and looked up at the hungover man, smiling as she remembered the night before.

“Morning, Joel,” she said with a playful tilt.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. “Your head hurtin’?”

“Yep,” she grunted while sitting up. “Ever been to that café on thirty-fourth street?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll take you there for some coffee and breakfast. My treat,” she told him.

Her eyes landed on the big, dull wall that had been taunting Joel for weeks, only to find it was a brightened, complete piece of art.

She admired the woman's beauty and asked him without looking away, “S’that me?”

Joel smirked and reached for his boxers, standing to put them on.

“She’s beautiful, ain’t she?” Joel kissed her head and walked away, leaving the woman alone to admire his masterpiece…

Her.

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octuscle · 9 months

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I've always been a well put together scrawny guy. Never really got along with other guys who were more masculine. I'm eager to see what's on the other end of life. A bear, hairy, with a big belly and a deep belly button. Can fart among other men openly, freely, and, most of all, proudly. The kind of guy who can fix a car with one hand while the other hand is scratching my belly button or drifting the stench of my farts up to my nose. I want to be as filthy of a man as can be, and I want to be proud of it!

As they say in an old Hollywood movie, life is like a box of chocolates… Do you like chocolates? Here's a box.

The chocolates are made of very dark chocolate. They smell of wood, leather and tobacco. Masculine. The first one has rings as a symbol and melts in your mouth. It tastes of whiskey. Very tasty. As the saying goes. A moment on your lips, a lifetime on your hips. You can feel your belly growing a little. And the piercings in your nipples feel great.

You can't really tell what's on the next chocolate… An eggplant? Maybe. It tastes… Musky? Your boner is growing in your pants as your belly swells over the waistband. Your foreskin grows back. You run your hand down your pants. Yes, that's good. You smear the precum. With your other hand, you take another chocolate.

It's a bear or something… Also filled with alcohol. But something different, tastes like beer. You have to burp. Your shirt stretches across your stomach and chest. You're growing fur. Everywhere. That was really tasty, you need another one of those. Hehehe, the burp was even better. Phew, how it stinks. Male! You have to take your shirt off before you tear it to pieces. You pull your hand out of your pants, the waistband is getting too tight. You smell your hand. Sweat and musk, sticky from the precum. You rub it clean on your hairy chest and then unbutton your pants. Your cock pops out like a jack-in-the-box.

There's another animal head on the next praline. Could be a bull. Your belly doesn't just swell, it bloats…. Brffffffffft! Phew, you can still put up with your own farts. And here comes another one. You take a deep breath. Yes, that's what a really good fart must smell like. You rub the bulge in your leather pants… It feels great. And the leather can tame a bit of your farts if necessary. If you want…

You haven't tried any of those yet. They have a geometric pattern on them. Your pecs have become man boobs. Big, powerful but soft. And decorated with tattoos that look like you've had them for decades. You get another one with an eggplant on it. Your balls and cock swell up. Your cock is rock hard. Shit, you have to cum. Your cum flies all the way into your beard. A deep puddle forms in your belly button. You rub it all into your fur with your calloused hands.

You've never had one with a wheel like this before. It tastes of oil. Kind of disgusting. And somehow hot. You put your heavy motorcycle boots down on the coffee table and adjust your muir cap. Shit, chocolate pralines don't really fit in your motorcycle workshop. But they do taste good. You have to fart again. And burp immediately afterwards. You hope no customers come in now.

The appetite comes with eating. You take two with a bear on them at once. The leather sofa groans under your weight. The muir cap feels great on your bare skull. The remains of your tobacco still cling to your mighty beard. Yes, you actually feel more like a good portion of Copenhagen or a cigar than a chocolate. But there are only two left anyway. One with a ring on it and one with a bull.

Shit, you can feel a hurricane brewing in your guts. You rub your belly and your tits. Your huge piercings in your nipples and glans are impressive. The leather strap stretches across your upper arm. One of your boys comes into your office and wants to ask you about the Fatboy that's due to be finished this afternoon. This is the moment you've been waiting for. Brbrbrbrbrffffffft! Shit, a bison would be proud. You take a deep breath. Your coworker turns pale. "Get used to it, boy!" you growl.

To apologize, you have given your employee an extra-large box of chocolates. He is to share it with the other boys. His questions are all answered. Now you need a midday nap. Your boys know that. For the next half hour, all they'll hear is snoring and farting coming from your office.

Pic found @musclefetish77

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #inked man #leather tf #bear tf #age progression

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leisurelounges · 2 years

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Get Affordable Dining Tables Australia | Leisure Lounges

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denaliwrites · 10 months

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Keep You Like An Oath

Cale Erendreich x Fem!Reader

Summary: (18+) Cale doesn't like your gift -- in fact, he hates it in all the right ways.

Soundtrack: Uma Thurman by Fall Out Boy

Requests: Open!

Warnings: It's Cale Erendreich and it's smut. Degradation, CNC, Bondage (?), Fingerfucking, Choking, Squirting, Overstimulation.

"What the fuck is this?" Cale asked, holding up a set of black lace lingerie in one hand. That alone would be nondescript, if he didn't also have, in his other hand, the custom collar you'd had made to your exact specifications as a special gift for his birthday.

It was a beautiful thing -- absolutely luxurious -- made with black lambskin leather, lined with the softest mink fur you'd ever felt, and studded with 24-karat gold. The ring, too, was made of gold, and proudly dangling from it was another custom piece -- a gold tag, shaped like a heart and inlaid with many glittering rubies. Emblazoned in red was the engraving "CE's Bitch."

You were rather proud of it, if you did say so yourself.

"How much did I spend on this?" he asked, tossing the collar in front of you. It landed right at your feet. "The rubies alone must've been worth a fortune."

You swallowed thickly and picked the piece up. You had the good sense to look afraid and ashamed, but internally you couldn't help but admire it.

"Fucking answer me, bitch!" Cale commanded, and your eyes shot up to meet his. He was glowering. In fact, he looked quite ready to kill you.

"T-ten thousand," you whimpered.

"Ten -- ten fucking thousand?"

You should've been running for your life, praying to any and every god you could think of he wouldn't catch you. You should've, at the very least, feared for your life. And maybe you did, a little bit. But mostly, you felt a tightening in your gut and a rush of slick coating your panties.

You could see it in Cale's eyes that he knew -- sometimes you could swear he smelled the arousal on you.

"Fucking hell," he growled, running his recently emptied hand through his hair. "For ten grand, the sex better be fucking incredible." You blinked up at him. "Well? Go put it on," he commanded, throwing the lingerie at you.

You caught it and hurried out of the room.

Cale wasn't known for his patience, so you changed as quickly as was physically possible, secured the collar, and padded out into the sitting room. He watched as you dutifully came to stand in front of him, eyes cast upwards to stare at him longingly.

"Good girl," he told you, and when your lips tilted up for a brief moment, his did the same. "Such an obedient little slut, aren't you?"

"Yes," you answered easily.

Cale lazily looped two fingers through the ring of your collar and waited for you to get complacent before he yanked you forward. You yelped as you were suddenly displaced, though you quickly felt his arms circle your shoulders. Around the same time, his lips crashed into yours.

You moaned into the kiss, all but melting at his touch. You knew he wouldn't stay this gentle, so you happily enjoyed these few tender moments while they lasted.

Which wasn't very long at all.

He pulled away and stoically pulled you by the collar over to the sofa. You knew, generally, what was about to happen, but not enough to prepare yourself to be thrown into the cushions.

You landed with a pitiful squeak, and then Cale was on you. He had one knee between your legs and one at your hip, while his arms further pinned you down. Escape wasn't impossible -- he made sure of that (though not exactly for your benefit) -- but it was unlikely.

"What should I do with you?" he asked himself as one of his hands began roaming across your body.

He teased you mercilessly, making sure to drag his thumb over your nipple, or to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, or to pinch your skin in any place he saw fit. Your body jerked into him each time, trying desperately to fool you, all the while heat pooled in your core and slick gathered in your cunt.

"What do you want?" he asked you only after he'd turned you into a mewling mess, desperate for his cock.

"P-please fuck me," you begged, clutching at him. "I need y-you inside me."

"Need what inside you? Be very specific for me, you fucking whore."

"Your cock -- please, I need your cock!"

For a moment, he looked disarmingly kind. He smiled so sweetly and placed a kiss to your forehead. You blinked up in confusion, just to see him shift back to cold and dangerous.

"No."

"C-Cale, please --"

You yelped at the sudden intrusion of his fingers into your cunt, reflexively grabbing his wrist to stabilize yourself.

"Calm the fuck down," he ordered, though for a second his gaze once again betrayed him -- filled, just for a moment, with genuine concern. When you released his wrist and settled back into the cushions, he continued as if nothing had happened.

"The next time," he started, punctuating his words with a hard thrust of his thumb to your clit, "you feel like spending ten thousand fucking dollars," and this time he withdrew his fingers just to slam them back home, "remember this moment."

You nodded distractedly, hips twitching in a desperate bid for his touch.

He acquiesced, thrusting again and again until he'd found a rhythm that had you moaning his name.

"You're such a goddamn slut. Look at you, you're a fucking mess, just from my fingers." He made sure to drive his point home by driving his fingers into your core. "You're so wet, and for what? Fingerfucking? God, you're such a pathetic little bitch."

You all but wailed as he rammed his fingers into your G-spot and clit simultaneously, cunt clenching for dear life as he brought you closer and closer to orgasm.

"Fuck, you're such a tight little whore. Maybe you do need my cock inside you."

You moaned in response.

He quieted then, focused on bringing you to orgasm. His fingers slammed home again, pressing against your G-spot and clit a few last times to push you over the edge.

You screamed as you unraveled, legs quaking against his from the strain of being held open as your hips jerked to chase that high. His fingers stayed inside you -- hell, continued fucking you -- until you stilled but for your panting breaths.

"Good girl," he murmured against your cheek when he leant down to plant a gentle kiss there. "You're so good for me."

You wordlessly wrapped your arms around his neck and drew him in for an embrace in response. You could feel his breath dance across your skin, could feel his lips press to your shoulder, could feel him nuzzle into your throat. Felt, more than heard, him whisper "I love you."

You froze, and he seemed to realize what he'd done as he froze too. Only for a moment, though -- the next, his hand was wrapped tightly around your throat and he was glaring down at you as if you'd gravely insulted him.

You realized, as you struggled for air, that he'd never taken his fingers out of your cunt. Your walls squeezed around them in anticipation, which only grew as you took in his wicked smirk.

"P-please," you gasped, eyes losing focus from the lack of oxygen. Neither hand let up. If anything, the one at your throat tightened in response, while the one half-buried in your cunt gave a sharp thrust that forced a breathless squeal from you.

"God, you sound like a fucking pig," he spat, twisting his fingers to hit your G-spot roughly. Your whole body twitched aggressively as a jolt of pleasure and pain shot through you. "How pathetic do you have to be to get off to this?"

You started off moaning in reply, but the sound quickly escalated to a shriek as his fingers took up an absolutely brutal pace fucking you.

It wasn't long before you were caught in a silent, air-deprived scream as he brought you to another orgasm, your pussy sorely constricting around his fingers.

And yet, even through and beyond your second orgasm, he didn't let up on fingerfucking you brainless -- though, blessedly, he did release his hold on your throat long enough for you to chase away that dark edge around your vision.

You whimpered as his hand slotted back into place around your bruising neck, whimpered as he brought you to yet another orgasm. There were tears in your eyes as more pain than pleasure built in your core.

"What's your record for consecutive orgasms?" he asked you, as if you had a single functioning brain cell left with which to answer. Luckily, he didn't need you to. "Four? We're just one off now... I think you're desperate enough for more. Think you can take six, you fucking whore? I bet you could take more, you're such a fucking slut."

You wanted to shake your head, considered maybe even asking him to stop -- but all thoughts were forcefully vacated from your mind as he made quick work of your ability to focus with just one dig of his fingers into your G-spot. Another followed, then another, until you were a squealing, shaking mess.

You wriggled in an attempt to escape the oncoming orgasm, but Cale's hand on your throat kept you pinned. Wailing, you came undone with full force, body quaking and fluid gushing from your cunt to coat his fingers and the sofa beneath you.

"Fuck," he grunted, "did you just squirt?" He asked as if you had any ability to answer. "You're cleaning that up."

That would have to be a problem for Later You. The problem for Now You was still ongoing, as Cale was clearly intent on a fifth orgasm despite how overstimulated you were, how bruised you were, how broken you were.

But you couldn't protest -- not because of any physical constraints. The moment you even so much as mouthed your safe word, he'd stop. But despite the pain and bruising and your body begging for relief, you simply didn't want to stop him.

So through tears and bruises he brought you to yet another orgasm that left you screaming.

After that, he withdrew from you, and you thought your ordeal was over. He pulled your limp body up by the ring on your collar and wrapped you in his arms, pressing his lips to your sweat-slicked temple. "One more," he said gently. "Just one more. I know you've got it in you."

Your head rolled as you attempted to nod.

"You're such a good girl, aren't you?"

You rolled your head again.

"You've been so good for me. I think you've more than earned my cock. Wouldn't you agree, my sweet little bunny?"

You felt a rush of arousal in your cunt and forced yourself to really nod.

You were sore -- so very, very sore. Bruised, even. You thought you might die if you came again. But you wanted his cock inside you.

No. You desperately needed it inside you.

He rearranged your bodies so that he was in the place you'd been occupying, with you on top straddling his lap. You were too limp to be much help, little more than a drooling mess on his shoulder, so he did all the work getting his cock out and lining it up with your pussy.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he ran a hand through your hair down to your neck, where he stopped to hold you close and steady. "Are you ready, bunny?" he asked softly. The gaze you lay on him was heavy and hazy, but it came with a nod. Another kiss was planted on your cheek, and then he thrust up.

You mewled as your cunt contracted weakly when it found itself suddenly filled. He gave you a moment to adjust, whispering sweet nothings until your body relaxed around him. Then, slowly, he pulled his hips back, just to thrust up again.

Carefully, after he'd found a slow and steady beat that wasn't too demanding of you, his hand trailed down to your clit and started looping it in lazy circles.

Despite the pain that made you want to sob, you moaned into his shoulder as the muscles in your core began coiling.

But Cale was nothing if not careful, and any time he felt you get too close, he paused his ministrations, letting you come down before starting up again.

It wasn't so much that he didn't want you to cum -- you knew, somewhere in the fog, that he wanted that more than anything. More than that, though, you suspected he probably wanted you to share your last orgasm with him.

You wanted that, too, despite what you had to go through to get there.

He was getting closer, now, though. His slow and steady thrusts were getting harder and more erratic. His fingers on your clit were growing clumsier. And he didn't bother stopping when he could tell you were getting close.

Another minute and he stilled, cock twitching inside you. A moment later and warmth flooded your cunt, pushing you over the edge into your sixth orgasm. You jerked weakly, hips twitching to escape his still circling fingers. They slowed but didn't stop until you'd come all the way down.

"That's it," he cooed into your ear, kissing a spot on your jaw just below it. "That's a good girl. God, you were so good tonight, bunny." Knowing it was over, you flushed at his praise, looking up at him with a hazy gaze and a fuckdumb smile. "Oh, look at you," he said, beaming as he took you in. "You're gorgeous. Perfect, even."

You made tired, indecipherable sounds as he placed a kiss onto your drool-slicked lips. "Let's get you to bed, now," he said softly, carefully moving to a stand and taking you with him. "I'm afraid you might drown or fall if we try to clean you up tonight."

You didn't protest as he carried you through the house, up the stairs, and into his room. Hell, you weren't even awake when he laid you gently on the bed and pulled the covers over you, nor when he slipped in beside you and pulled you flush against his chest.

And you certainly weren't awake when he whispered "I love you" into your ear.

#cale erendreich x reader #cale erendreich x you #bad samaritan fic #bad samaritan fanfiction #cale erendreich fic #cale erendreich fanfiction #david tennant #denali strikes again

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bluegalaxygirl · 11 months

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Am i Crazy? (Zosan X Reader) P6

Plot: Reader hasn't been sleeping or eating, they wont let anyone touch then and keeps having accidents. Everyone if worried or thinks they've gone crazy but the reality is so much worse.

Warning: Domestic abuse (Not by the hands of Zoro or Sanji), Bad language, violence, self harm, blood, mental damage and manipulation.

Zoro X Sanji X reader, Poly relationship, established relationship, Reader is GN.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7 - Part 8

Hoisting the duffle bag over your shoulder you look back up at the back of the sunny and to where Chopper was leaning over the railing. The doctor helped you get the stuff you needed and get off the ship without anyone knowing, you hate sneaking around but you know they wouldn't let you do what you need too. You reach your arms up and catch the doctor as he falls into your arms, you didn't want him to come, but he said the only way he would help you was if he came so you gave in. "Ready?" you whisper placing him on your shoulders "yep" he whispers back clinging onto you as you run off to the woods and down the cobble path. The pain killers and adrenaline made it easy for you to push yourself, you knew the area well and you knew the house like the back of your hand but you hoped he hadn't change it much, you doubt he did since he had it custom-made and wanted to make it perfect. Half way down the path you turned off into the woods, Chopper gripping tighter and keeping his head down as you ran down a thin dirt path "But the path" Chopper whispers into your shoulder as the sound of fighting and metal beating against metal got louder "That path leads to the front of the house, this one leads around the back where we won't be seen, i told them to take it but i guess they didn't" you sigh soon coming to a stop as you look out of the path's exit, the wall to the back of the house blocked your view from the fight taking place outside in the front but that was a good thing.

Walking up to the wall you chucked your bag over, it hurt your shoulder a bit but you pushed through it before lifting chopper up, so he can pull himself up to sit on the top. The holes in the wall were small but over the years of living in the house you knew a trick to climbing it, thats how you got out in the first place. Pulling pieces of wood out of your pocket you wedged it into the slits in the wall making sure they got stuck before climbing up, you struggled more than you thought you would since you had to put weight in your bruised ankle but chopper helped you up near the top and over the wall, dropping down the other side landing on your good leg you helped chopper down onto the grass and grabbed your bag heading to the back door. The sound of fighting was loud inside, things crashing and fire crackling along with men yelling, you managed to peek around the corner and see what was going on, Sanji and Zoro where fighting strange robots, some made out of sofas and others made out of tables, the walls were now spiked but you couldn't see your ex although Zoro was going after something you can't see trying to get past anything that got in his way.

You smile for a second, your heart-warming up at them fighting for you but you had to help. "What are they?" Chopper whispers as you both sneak away, heading around to a slope that leads into the basement "I don't know, iv never seen them before, i knew the house had cameras and alarms but nothing like that" you sigh putting on some black leather gloves and pulling out some wires form the duffle bag before pushing them into the electric lock, it fizzes for a moment before sparking and turning the lock off opening the door. "Ok.. Iv never been aloud in here but i'm sure we can figure something out" you smile down to Chopper as you open the metal door and turning the light on inside. Your ex's lab as big, white walls with blue lights, different robots in pods lining the wall along with large chalk boars with math and science equations on them. "Wow" Chopper smiles running in as you follow, the tables in the middle of the room have computers, photos and lots of metal around but something catches your attention, right in the back is a large line of shelves with jars. Your heart drops as you get closer realizes what's inside.

"Oh god" you turn away feeling sick as Chopper runs over to you watching you cover your mouth and lean on the table, he looks at you then to the shelves his eyes widening. "Im so sorry" you whisper into your hand "when he said biology robotics i thought he meant prosthetic or mini robots that can fix people not this" you turn to look at the jars, brains, eyes, lungs, hearts and more in brown liquid, it made you sick. "We have to help them" Chopper looks up at you then to the robots on the wall. "We will but first we'll give my ex a taste of his own medicine" you nod starting to look around the room for a control panel to the house, you soon found it hidden away behind a chalk board on the wall that Chopper helped you take off. You open the box to see a bunch of switches and button's, it looks complicated, Chopper tugs on your jacket and holds up a booklet with a smile "Chopper your amazing" you praise about to take the booklet off him when the sound of glass shatters "Sanji" you can tell its Zoro yelling and your heart drops. Pulling over a stool you pick Chopper up and place him on it "I'm going to help, i need you to deal with this" you tell him as he shakes his head "Listen i need to help them, your amazing Chopper, you can do this" you rub his furry face and it seems to make him calm down a bit and nods at you before turning to the panel and looking through the booklet. You grab some cans out of the duffle bag and attach them to your belt before grabbing a metal pole form one of the tables and walk out the way you came in.

The fight was getting more and more frustrating for Zoro, he couldn't get to the man no matter how many times he cut through the robots, they kept getting back up and putting themselves back together. Sanji managed to melt a few robots with his fire but more kept coming and any arms or legs they couldn't reattach would either grab onto him or launch themselves at him. His shoulder was already hurt from being pushes into a spike on the wall, luckily i was only a scratch. Sanji tried making his way over to Zoro to back him up, so they could end things until someone kicked him in the stomach and sent him into the wall, his arm getting impaled on a spike but before can scream out a robot grabs him pulling him off it and throwing him through the window, "Sanji" Zoro runs only to get knocked back by another robot. Sanji landed on the grass his back hitting the solid floor making the air leave his lungs, he pants trying to catch his breath and get up only for a shimmer to appear in front of him grabbing his neck and pinning him to the ground. Sanji kicks his legs as the man strangles him, but he can't seem to get a kick in. His hands grab onto the arm holding him by the neck trying to push him off. Your ex laughs as he turns his power off looking down at the cook before pulling out a knife raising it in the air "You were never good enough" your ex laughs.

Running up you swing the pipe as hard as you can hitting your ex in the side of the face knocking him off Sanji and rolling along the ground, the knife he's holding stabs into his arm as he yells out in pain. "Back the fuck off" you yell anger taking over your body, you can take being hit, yelled at and called names but you would never let him hurt the ones you love. "Love" Sanji coughs sitting up as you help him stand "What are you doing here?" he asks pushing you behind him as your ex gets up and looks over the knife in his arm. "I-I" you manage to get out before taking a breath to clam your nerves "I'm not going to let him win" you glare as your ex pulls the knife out and looks at you with anger before letting a smile show "You came back birdy" he sighs pleased with himself as he cracks his jaw and puts the knife back in his pocket and wraps some cloth around his wound "But it seems you've forgotten your place" he turns invisible making Sanji hold you close behind him "Trust me, I-" you whisper as his hand squeezes yours only to be interrupted . "Behind you" Zoro's voice yells out making you turn to look only to be kicked in the side, Sanji brings his leg down on where your ex might be managing to hit something only to be punched in the face.

As Sanji tried to fight your invisible ex Zoro breaks through the robots and jumps out of the window sliding next to you ready to fight any robots that come at him, but they don't leave the house they just stood there. "You know where he is right?" you ask gaining the swordsman's attention, You stand up and pull your jacket back to show him the cans on your belt "I have a plan, i just need you to distract him" you state as the swordsman nods looking back at Sanji. "You shouldn't be here, but we'll talk about this later" Zoro grumbles before running off to help Sanji slicing at where he senses you ex to be, Sanji doesn't really want to follow the swordsman's lead, but he knows it's the only way he can take this guy down. "Don't you ever touch them again" Sanji yells kicking his fiery leg and hitting the man sending his now shimmering form slamming into the wall. Taking the cans off your belt you head over to the sprinkler system, unscrewing the cap to the pipe you open the cans and poor the colored liquid into the pipe, it takes you a while to get the rest of the cans in before screwing the cap back on and turning the valve to make the sprinklers work. You know it will take a minute for it to push through the system but that just gives you time to get his attention.

Your ex pants managing to regain control of his devil fruit powers again and run off, Zoro looks around trying to sense him while back-to-back with Sanji "Where's Y/N?" Sanji asks not seeing you while also keeping an eye out for any grass movement "I don't know" Zoro grumbled only to see you run out form behind the house, he senses something run past him and runs after it Sanji quickly following as they yell out for you. But your ready, the sprinklers start working and spraying colored paint everywhere showing you exactly where your ex is and like you thought he's running right at you, pulling the pip back you take a step to the side and swing hitting him in the face. He's taken aback by you actions but doesn't have time to think as the pipe connects with his face, the impact causes him to slip on the wet colored floor and hit the ground hard next you. You sigh while stepping away, the sprinklers turning off probably due to being clogged by the paint but you didn't care as you ex laid on the floor, his nose broken and bleeding trying to catch his breath.

Sanji and Zoro skid to a stop next to you and look down at your ex pulling you behind them as you smile and laugh, a part of you didn't believe you just did this and yet there he was. "Fucking hell babe" Zoro places his foot on the mans chest pushing down hard to stop the guy form getting up, he was so proud of you but also couldn't believe the damage you did with a single swing, not only was his nose broken but so was his jaw and one of his eyes were closed shut. Sanji wraps his arms around you and laughs with you a little "You were amazing" the cook praises pulling away to cup your wet and paint covered face. The robots in the house start to make squeaking noises before shutting down along with all the lights in the house. You smile before looking at Zoro whose sword is now at your ex's neck, your smile drops and you place a hand on the swordsman's hand thats holding the weapon. "I thought you wanted him dead?" Zoro asks looking at you confused but you move his sword to your ex's forehead making the man looking up at you panting with eyes wide. "I do but i don't want him coming back" you stare down at your ex who tried to speak through a broken jaw only letting out gargles. "Those robots are people and you will not get a second chance at life" you grit your teeth, the fear you had now gone, he can't hurt you, your stronger than him, and he fears that about you.

Zoro takes your hand off his sword and lightly pulls your chin to look up at him, he gives you a nod as Sanji takes your other hand and pulls your head into his chest shielding you form the man and what Zoro is about to do, you decide not to fight it, maybe it is best that you don't see what happens so you bury your head in the cooks chest and wrap your arms around him. The sound of metal sinking into flesh hits your ears, there were no screams or cry's of pain just silence. You sigh in relief already feeling the weight off your shoulders, looking up at Sanji all you can see is worry mixed with love and it makes you smile leaning up and kissing his lips lightly, he kisses back and holds you a little tighter "Thank you... oh Sanji your arm" you say suddenly realising the blood coming form his arm "It's nothing" The cook leans down kissing your head as Zoro moves you two away form your ex's lifeless body, you take a quick glance back before returning to your two boys. "Are you hurt too?" you ask Zoro looking him over more closely only for him to laugh and run a hand through your hair "I'm fine but your in trouble.... you shouldn't have left the ship" He holds you close to him a little mad at you but still proud of you for taking on your ex. "You would be dead without me" you push away with a smug smile.

Little feet running through the paint covered grass gets the three of you to turn and see Chopper with a big smile on his face and dragging the duffle bag behind him "I did it" he yells letting go of the bag and jumping into your arms that you hold out for him, holding him tight you didn't stop to think about the paint on your cloths that are now covering the doctor "see i told you, your amazing chopper" you pull the reindeer away holding in a laugh at his cute face. "Is anyone hurt?" he asks after calming down and your immediately show him Sanji's arm, "lets get back to the ship and fix you up" Chopper yells worried about the wound but also the paint that may have gotten into it. You four make your way around to the front of the house, Zoro grabs the duffle bag and puts his arm around your waist while you hold Chopper in your arms. The Doctor was looking over Sanji's arm wrapping it in a temporary bandage to stop the bleeding "Hay guys" Luffy yells running over some robots but stops all of a sudden looking confused "Why are you all covered in paint?" he asks making you laugh along with Sanji as Zoro rolls his eyes "We'll tell you later" you smile starting to walk again heading back to the sunny.

#one piece #polly relationship #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #sanji x reader #sanji x zoro #zosan #zoro x sanji #zosan x reader #halloween #one piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #zoro roronoa #zoro x sanji x reader #zosan fanfic #one piece zosan

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