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fridgemissionmaster · 5 days ago

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Can’t Sleep, Love: You can’t sleep and bug your demon about it (bros)

It was too hot. Well, your body was, the world beyond your bed freezing. Your mind could not stop racing, paranoia screaming at you to turn on the lights, look around the corner, to not keep your back to the door. Stress squeezed your lungs, breath shuttering.

It was the middle of the night, and you could not sleep. Even if you tried something deep in your belly knew it’d be restless, nothing but nightmares.

Was this any better though, being stuck in your head, waiting through every agonizing second, eyes flickering to the clock just waiting for morning to come.

Stomach churned, acid threatening to crawl up your throat, that disgusting aftertaste clinging to the back of your tongue, the stress of… everything, making you sick.

You just… could not stand to stay in bed anymore. What then though? Doom scroll knowing you’d only get a headache and placing the final nail in the coffin of you getting ANY rest at all?

Warnings: Lucifer: alcoholism, Leviathan: references to lesson 16, Satan: allusions to death/murder, Beelzebub: references to lesson 16

Lucifer

Surely the workaholic was still awake, signing papers meant for the prince, responsibilities not his own being shoved his way.

Your heart raced, was it the wide awake-exhaustion or the paranoia pricking at the back of your mind, you couldn’t discern.

Foot falls quickly and quietly padded across those wooden floors.

You weren’t sure why Lucifer’s office was hidden away, everybody knew where it was, it practically being treated as another common room like your bedroom or kitchen, yet there was still something… enchanting about having to tug on the out of place book to make the bookshelf jolt, before sliding to the side, just enough for the entrance way to be revealed as well as that staircase beyond it.

You froze for a moment on the top of those steps, those piercing eyes already on you. You expected to find them possibly leering from the desk, but no.

An arm lazily draped over the backrest of the couch, head smooshed and resting against the shoulder he peered over to you, face completely flushed, just about as red as his eyes or his nail polish.

A piano and violin duet drifted through the air.

He just stared for a while before a dopy smile slowly drew on his lips.

The sleeves of his button-up were rolled up, gloves discarded on the table beside bottles, several knocked over empty of their contents.

You knew the man had some alcoholic tendencies but…

You hoped it wasn’t as bad as it had appeared in the moment and that he was just very stressed from whatever nonsense Diavolo discarded for Lucifer to clean up this time.

He made no move but those eyes following after you as you crept down those steps. Once you couldn’t be followed any more, he turned around, grabbing one of those bottles, almost knocking another one over in the process before filling that empty champagne flute.

Cheerily he held it to you, the glass slightly tiled, off kilter in hand, that blue liquid almost spilling out. Quickly you took it, fearing Lucifer would lose his grip.

Those fingers twitched as they brushed against your’s, a soft sigh escaping him as he reached out, a hand on your own feeling that warmth. Delight played across his face as he squeezed your hand. A little giggle came spilling out, lightly jostling himself much more than a giggle should.

His breath reeked of this pungent fruitiness, practically burning as it hit your skin.

You let yourself be pulled in by that weak tug, the pair of you swaying across the room, the situation feeling almost dream-like.

He looked to you smiling ever so bright, so unguarded. Even as he tripped back, not crashing with you there to pull him up, his head thrown back in uproarious, almost hysterical, unnerving laughter. It was a new angle to see how sharp his chin was from the underside, his neck surprisingly thick and sturdy, shoulders broad, hair pulled back obscuring none of his face.

He did not refuse as you pulled him close to sway, his face flopping into the crook of your shoulder, a light pitiful laughter still escaping him, almost like crying.

Somehow you managed to drag him along, the man stumbling and humming all the way, the pair of you still in a dance. You regretted going up the stairs, Lucifer almost falling back, making you swear you got a heart attack from the incident.

Finally you managed to get back to his room. It was easy enough to get him to take those last few steps to bed.

You felt the bed bounce under you, Lucifer’s grip on your shoulder tight as he did as told. Even laying down he still swayed a little, incoherent mumbles melding into soft hums.

He felt so pliant under your touch yet you didn’t have the heart to pull away, not with THE avatar of pride nuzzling into your neck, holding you meekly like he didn’t have the strength to but wanted to keep you close. You couldn’t pull any quilts or sheets over yourselves but you did manage a throw blanket.

He melted and crooned as your fingers carefully brushed through his hair, brushing it out of his face. You shushed him sweetly as he tried to speak, you both needed rest.

WARMTH!

He awoke with a start, almost obliterating the intruder beside him before he saw, it was you.

You were beside him on the bed.

Sleeping soundly.

With a groan Lucifer clutched his head, it pounding and throbbing, that awful pain pulsing through it.

You

That wasn’t a dream, dancing together, not this time. But it was always a dream, having that quiet moment in the late night hours. It HAD to have been! Otherwise!

Desperately he tried piecing together those fragmented moments.

What the hell did he say to you in his drunken stupor!? Did he scream out his love for you? Did he say something unbecoming or beg you to stay with him or…

With a sigh he laid back down.

Just what were you doing up so late…

He didn’t like the dark spots under your eyes. Did he keep you up, had you only started getting sleep in the early morning hours to make sure he didn’t get up and do something stupid?

Holding you close he decided it was best to simply wait and rest after placing you back in your own bed. He could inquire about the night once he sobered up and you hopefully forgetting the incident, thinking it simply a delirious dream.

Mammon

He always broke into your room, why couldn’t you do the same to him. It was only fair.

Dashing down those empty halls, tripping over the stairs, you practically sprinting to his room.

It was always surprising how bright the man’s room was at night, soft glows from game systems, lights in display cases, and most notably of all the ones in the headboard of his bed, keeping the area around it gently illuminated more than the rest of the room.

It was easy for one’s eyes to adjust to this unlike the harsh florescents of Levi’s fishtank.

With a flop you fell on the bed, it shifting more than you expected, but you had awoken your first man, him practically leaping out of the thing with a loud, cutoff yelp.

Damn, and you wanted to poke his sleeping face, it’d of been funny.

Buggy eyes stared at you, your hand clamped over his mouth, a finger over your own, after all if the eldest caught you two surely he’d lecture you both the whole day through, for breaking bed time curfew, DESPITE YOU BEING GROWN DAMN ADULTS!

He glared, the look having no bite before it quickly melted away as it always did.

WHAT TH-

A hand clamped over your mouth before that squawk could escape you, Mammon trying to keep in his cackling, shoulders trembling, a bright smirk on his face, dewy sleepy tears in the corner of his eyes.

He LICKED you hand! THE CHEEK OF THAT MAN!

And you were too slow, seeing the glint in your eye and pulling back, leaving you to look the fool with your tongue sticking out.

Damn it, that smile and laugh too infectious, you couldn’t help joining in as much as you wished to stop yourself and feign indignation at his antics. Then again, you did kinda start this from his point of view, didn’t you…

You fell over, face landing on his pillow. Your demon looked to you, confused. He studied you, Mammon always did, why would anyone not want a closer look at the most precious treasure?

…

He laid down next to you.

Mammon always had that rugged charm, even with hair tussled and drool dried to the corner of his mouth he looked handsome. It was hard to read his expression in that moment, but there was definitely something. Calm… serious perhaps? Well dragons always took guarding their hoard seriously.

And he got up and left?

You sat up, watching as he went up those steps, pausing for a moment tilting his head to the top before continuing.

Well… what else was there to do but follow?

A door to his Demonio open for you, him already behind the driver’s seat, an arm hanging across your seat. But wasn’t this car THAT one? Literally the first thing he ever bought after…

Normally, being in such an expensive and sentimental piece one would be nervous to touch the thing fearing hurting it, and it’s owner’s feelings, however… just like ALWAYS, Mammon made you feel comfortable, relaxed.

He quirked a brow as you just stood there before smirking and coaxing you in.

That sort of… confidence, or whatever one wanted to call it, that sort of soft cockiness. That was one trait one could never deny the man had, even under all that impulsive recklessness that got him dismissed, that stride, that swagger of a man with the whole world in his pocket. A jewel to be held only in a velvet case. Strong, and soft.

Those eyes slightly droopy from sleep and unguarded.

Truly a beautiful contradiction of a person at first glance.

Smile sharp, a fang on full display, giddiness beginning to overtake him. He gripped the wheel tight, the pair of you were going to have to peel out of there fast once the garage door opened, the thing a bit too loud, especially in the middle of the night.

Engine roared the moment his foot slammed on the pedal, tires screeching for but a moment sharply turning!

Colorful lights raced by, the car slowly slowing down after that sudden burst. You were at one of the high paths, the heart of the city seemingly far down below, the castle now in the distance the only thing near your level.

Neither of you reached for the radio, the purr of the engine enough.

Soon lights disappeared, fading into the distance, roads slightly bumpy, gently rocking the car, the occasional soft bump disturbing the consistent movement.

… Were the seats heated? Or had it just been that long since you had last been in a car at night, you didn’t remember it being this cozy though. You looked to Mammon as if that’d magically give you an answer. He still faced the rode, yet he was looking to you too from the corner of his eye.

Actually where were you going anyway?

It didn’t matter really, whatever plan Mammon had, you’d follow, just as he would for you, hell, you didn’t ask questions when following him to the car, so why would you now?

It was nice though…

The road ahead seemed endless.

Damn his neck hurt. As comfortable as his 666 Lexura was, it wasn’t meant to make for a good bed.

Maybe for a demon at least, you seemed just fine.

…

Good, the dark spots under your eyes faded some.

He leaned back, taking in that gorgeous moonrise. He was so tempted to startle ya, it was only fair after the scare you gave him, but… he couldn’t, you were finally asleep after looking so exhausted.

He’d just get his revenge later. For now, since the pair of you were out anyway, where should you go next? Maybe just keep driving, he’d run into something you’d like eventually.

Leviathan

At the very least, you knew with almost certainty that you weren’t the only one awake.

Up the stairs, around the corner that place was not far.

It was almost instinct to knock and recite those phrases when standing before that door, however on nights like these, you had to use a different key. Before even leaving your room you sent ‘.’ in the group chat, then when arriving at that door it was already open a crack.

You always had to cover your eyes when sneaking into the room, the screens and fishtank too bright and blinding, the space no different than it would be during the day.

Keys softly tap, tap, rapped away, the only sound other than the hum of the computer and tank.

You took a minuet to sit on the floor behind that thick bookshelf, it’s shadow blocking just enough so it all wasn’t as much of a strain on the eyes.

It these moments you really got to take in Levi’s room, usually whenever you were here you were dragged straight before some screen or there was an emergency, it was rarer to just… BE there.

Watch as the reflection of the water above shimmered and danced across the floor. It always felt so cold there, but it wasn’t bad like air conditioning blowing directly on you in a winter’s day. No, there was no movement constantly reminding out of it, the feeling hung still in the air tenderly enveloping you.

Occasionally a warped shadow would come by, it broken up into what seemed like many and you’d look up, being greeted by Henry happily swimming along.

Eventually, when you were no longer blinded you’d creep out of that space, taking a blanket out of the tub as you made your way to the beanbag chair in the corner.

His back was to you still, so your gaze drifted back up to those hypnotic waves.

Not long and you heard his voice say something, assumably to the mic on the headset.

In that cozy console corner Levi always had your game within arm’s reach. There was a time when you were here almost every night with the only other one still awake in that haunting house so it was convenient to not have to dig it out every time.

Even after it’s long since been the time of Belphie’s return, and sleep choked your lunges, mind terrified to rest, something screaming this would be the last, there was always a place for you here, every night, no matter what.

A calm farming game…

What were you doing last? It had been so long you had forgotten.

Levi’s character kept waving to you, and you waved back. After taking a few steps away he waved again. Might as well follow.

Through the tunnel, onto the boat, it then dawned on you. You and Levi just unlocked a new farm land.

And so you followed him around, gathering materials and cleaning up the land while he ran around finding whatever was near by.

…

He played thousands of times before you were even born, and yet he always seemed so excited, running around your character and taking you someplace like the waterfall that had that rarer ore or to show you one could recharge more stamina when there were capybaras in the hot springs.

It was a long time after you started to play this together and a long time ago when Leviathan once admitted to you this was one of the first games that really made him happy, no matter how rough the day, it was this one that made things easier, that was why when you came to him that very first time, he brought out this one. You just didn’t want to be alone and would have been content with just sitting beside him… he couldn’t stand it.

All the files were filled and he ended up deleting them all, telling you they were all completed and he’d be needing more room to play again anyway some time soon.

Even this time there was only one file, all the others still empty.

The game wasn’t tedious, but there were repetitive tasks like watering the crops until you implemented sprinklers or petting the animals while gathering their products. The daily pattern was calming, engaging enough to keep your mind away from your thoughts but easy enough you could just… do them not over think about it.

Levi would collect you by the time you were done, give you a meal to recharge your stamina before taking you on an adventure, sometimes a side quest for one of the town’s folk, sometimes going to the woods to befriend a new monster to add to your ranch, sometimes to actually continue the main story of the game for once, sometimes you arrived at a festival or friendship event.

Honestly such a peaceful life, it was no wonder this was once of Levi’s favorites.

It always caught you by surprise when Levi save at the end of the day before quitting, not continuing to another day. Gently he pulled you up before filling his tub with blankets and pillows before leading you inside, and…

…

It was always easy to tell when you were falling asleep, and he didn’t want a repeat of that first night together when he kept you up the whole night and Lucifer ended up getting mad at you for napping in class.

He never went back to gaming too quick, paranoid you’d stumble into a nightmare soon after closing your eyes. He’d simply watch you for a little bit.

Truly a filthy, disgusting person, wasn’t he. To like knowing you’d go to him out of all his brothers, even if it was only for the convenience that he was already awake. Didn’t even have the confidence to tell you he couldn’t play that game without you, with you in his life, he didn’t need the escape, that you brought him more joy in the time spent together than all the happiness accumulated in his endless life.

Pathetic.

The least he could do was keep watching over you, play on one of his portable systems as to not be a TOTAL creep, keep his headphones off and volume low to hear you, glance over to check just in case.

Satan

There was just a chance, maybe Satan had gotten so absorbed in a book he hadn’t realized the time and was still awake too. But did you really wanna risk death by angry demon or collapsing mountain of books?

…

Yeah, you did, better than this torture at least.

Scampering down the halls, holding your breath you tried remembering that light spell, you certainly were not going to attempt going in there blind, you weren’t that eager for eternal rest.

You just hoped no books blocked the door as you tried getting in, you couldn’t stand being stuck in that echoing, creaking hall for long.

Perhaps you used a bit too much force for those imaginary books, the door easily slamming open, before immediately shutting due to the pile behind it collapsing.

…

So it was now an excellent time to run for your life!

Hell, even get caught on your own foot and crash down the stairs, certainly much faster than running down them, right!?

Fumbling in you practically threw your door shut.

Wait…

HE PROBABLY HEARD THAT!

Damn it, and you couldn’t even remember if there was a light in his room or not, did you just wake him!?

HOLD ON maybe, maybe he’d just assume it was a cat??????

OF COURSE HE WOULDN’T WHO WERE YOU KIDDING, YOURSELF!?!?!! AS IF!

Look, he liked you, you’re special and get privileges, maybe he wouldn’t be too mad… Even so you weren’t sure you could look him in the eye. Hi Satan I couldn’t sleep so I thought to wake you up about it. That was just rude and annoying, wasn’t it.

You proceeded to scream into your pillow from the anguish of it all.

Why couldn’t you just sleep like a normal per-

creek

…

RUNRUNRUNRURNRUNRUNRUNRURNRUNRUNRUNRUNRNRUNRUNRUNRRN

Items knocked to the floor, window thrust open with such force for a moment you wondered if it cracked before throwing yourself out hearing the door crash open.

Okay, OKAY woods! Woods are good! Hell, Satan literally got lost in em and thought the pair of you would never make it back in them! PERFECT!

Breath caught in your throat, heart pounding, vision blurred you kept running, even as your bare feet hurt, howls and scratches rang out, branches snapping you kept running.

You j-

Air was knocked out of your lungs as you were tackled hard in the back, yet never did you meet the ground.

And you… fell back? Your view was filled with leaves and branches, the occasional light of a star peaking through as the wind swayed that dark green curtain back and forth.

You didn’t dare move, strong arms trapped you, squeezing you, but not too tightly. Hot breath crawled across your neck in puffs. You could feel a pulse beat against your back.

And there you stayed for a long time, you thought at least, it certainly felt like it.

Slowly you were sat up.

There you were, in Satan’s lap. His eyes, they seemed feral, pupils sharp and thin that dark reflection somehow wider and brighter, his gaze boring through you.

And they closed before nestling his forehead against your’s. His jacket was draped over your shoulders. Despite his slim figure he seemed to lift you up with ease, carrying you along.

Funny how this time it was like he knew the woods like the back of his hand already getting the pair of you out. Admittedly the House of Lamentation was a little off in the distance but still. Of course after that incident he’d memorize the place like the back of his hand.

… Wait, then shouldn’t he have caught you sooner!? How did you get so far!? He seemed to know what you were thinking, his little proud smile shifting to something charmingly smug, simply holding you closer somehow.

It was going to be a lengthy walk back. You were tempted to tell Satan you could walk on your own and he didn’t have to carry you, but something in you knew better.

Under his breath he muttered a spell, any nicks and scratches on your feet and ankles going numb. You almost missed it, his voice so quiet amongst the sound of insects chirping and humming around.

And warm… he felt so warm against the cold.

With you he looked up to those shimmering stars above.

Huh…

He could wake up like this every day.

You and he in one another’s arms, warm and cozy in the quiet.

Idly he smoothed a hand up and down your back watching your peacefully sleeping form.

It was cute how when he tried placing you in bed you still held on to his neck, who was he to refuse your wishes.

He had plenty of time to ponder why you decided to start that little game of cat and mouse last night, but he had to admit after the initial worry that something was wrong and he saw you simply couldn’t sleep and wanted to play a game, he couldn’t help but hug you tighter, a twinge of excitement sparking in his chest!

You could be so cute, did you know that?

But now what? He knew for certain he wouldn’t be wanting to let you go any time soon. Maybe, you were trying to ask for attention in a round about manner, it’d only be fitting to ask you out and get away for the day.

For now, maybe he’d try getting more sleep, a moment like this with you was rarer what with his brothers always around so he should take advantage of this opportunity to simply be with you.

Asmodeus

No, you couldn’t. Asmo was very particular of his routines, including his beauty sleep, you couldn’t interrupt that.

…

Then again, how was he always able to fall asleep like clockwork? Maybe it’d be alright to just wake him up for a moment, ask, then let him go back to sleep. It’d be like nothing happened!

Quickly you tiptoed across the house, making sure not to make a sound as you passed the other’s rooms.

It was easy enough to slip in, no curses to keep others from getting in to pull pranks, steal things or some such.

The only light there was came from moonbeams through the window casting the place in a soft, pale, ethereal glow. Honestly whith how particular the man could be about his athletics he probably arrange for his room to look as such at night purposefully. That and all the flowers around and for a moment your mind genuinely wondered if you had accidentally stumbled into a fairy’s garden for a moment.

… You couldn’t help that twinge of annoyance that even when dead asleep the man was gorgeous. When he was trying he was beautiful but even when he’s NOT trying he still is! Or did he manage to make sure he always slept in the most perfect way to be oh so alluring to any possible passersby…

Who were you kidding, he probably did, if you didn’t know Lucifer you’d think Asmo to be the world class workaholic in the family.

His perfection had always been eerie to an extent, maybe it was something like ‘too good to be true’ that there had to be a catch to all this, you felt getting too close would spell your doom, that this moment was simply a trap. Yet still you dared to sit on the edge of the bed and… just took it in for a moment. The peacefulness.

And you poked his cheek. Very soft. Very squish and plush. 10/10 would poke again, and so you did a few more times, just to temp fate and prove to yourself that your anxiety was panicking over nothing.

It was funny seeing him unconsciously and languidly bat at whatever kept poking him. He was a surprisingly deep sleeper, you just needed to pause for a minuet before he seemed to be knocked out again for you to keep up your timid, ticklish assault.

You froze when those eyes cracked open.

He seemed confused blinking once, twice slowly. Then a pout formed on those lips. Your face cradled in the palms of his hands, thumbs pressing over the area under your eyes.

Did you have dark spots? Could he see them even in the dark? The moon’s borrowed light was at your back casting you in shadow so surely he couldn’t have noticed such a minor difference so easily, right?

With a little high pitch groan and stretch he sat up, an airy sigh escaped him, the one that always did when he had to state the obvious.

Of course he’d notice, he could never overlook a single thing about you even if he wanted too.

Before you could speak and ask your question you were gently shushed, Asmo weakly tugging on your shoulders. Not sure what else to do you followed that force laying down on the bed, silk sheets and fluffy quilt draped over you.

Leaving a peck on your forehead and he was gone.

It was not long and he was back by your side, tugging on your arm. The moment you got up a fluffy robe matching the one he wore was wrapped around you.

Of course it fit you perfectly.

He hung off your arm, leading you along out the house.

You often forgot there was a whole garden here, it was rarer for you to ever come by it, when chores were doled out Beelzebub almost always volunteered to look after it so it was not like you ever got a chance to work on it, and you certainly never had the free time what with angels, demons, monsters, reapers, ghosts and all manner of other beings fighting for your attention for you to take time to properly explore the place.

Rose archways, wall shrubbery, patches of various flowers you didn't know the name of, even a little pond water reeds grew out of. Simple compared to the sprawling maze like gardens of the royal palace that you had grown accustomed too but it seemed lovely all the same, you really needed to make time to properly explore it at some point.

It was nice though, to think there were still things for you to learn of this place and the brothers.

The pair of you stood under one of those archways, Asmo inspecting those closed buds, eyes half closed, an arm still loosely wrapped around your own. After picking a few you were taken back to the house.

Placed back on the bed you waited for him as he disappeared into his bathroom.

A warm moist towel was draped over your neck, a light floral scent drifted from it, likely from those little dark petals.

You didn’t question it as Asmo sat behind you, his hands finding purchase under the towel and robe on your shoulders, his thumbs slowly rubbing circles into you. It felt nice…

When was the last time you just… did nothing like this.

Oh, and when did this cutie crawl into his bed?

It took a moment of admiring you to notice not you or him things like the towel almost falling off your shoulders and those petals…

Did you two do something last night? Surely he would remember, but he couldn’t…

Wait!

…

Nope, still nothing.

But he did recognize those petals and that scent Midnight Bloom Roses, his go to whenever he couldn’t sleep, the scent so relaxing, but what were they doing around you? You looked perfectly well rested and relaxed but were you already like that or was it the flowers?

Well, you seemed content so what did it matter, he’d let you sleep, in in the mean time he could prepare some things to pamper you! You’d surely have the best, most relaxing morning with him setting everything up for you! You deserve it~

Beelzebub

Well, you might as well as wait for him.

You laid in bed, a couple of the hanging lights above you lit, watching as shadows danced through that colored glass.

…

Or would he.

Sometimes he managed through the night. As much as you wanted to see him, you hoped you wouldn’t, it’d mean that maybe, just maybe, no nightmares came to torture him that night, that his stomach didn’t eat him alive, that… that he wasn’t hurt again.

Knock knock knock

It was very soft, so soft that even in deafening silence where one could hear only their breath and the house’s silent groans one could have missed it.

Slowly you got up and made your way for the door.

There your gentle giant stood, he too seemed conflicted about your opening the door, but since you were together, you might as well as make the most of it.

The wall shared by your room and the kitchen was surprisingly thin even after Beelzebub tore it down so you always heard him when he went on one of these midnight kitchen raids. It was actually rather comforting hearing him in those early months into the exchange program, knowing your friend was awake and nearby.

How many times had you done this you wondered.

Beelzebub raiding the fridge while you found something from the snack cupboard. Sitting on the counter, picking at some dried fruit while Beel devoured all that was placed on the table. Eventually on the floor in the corner huddled beside one another trying to not grab something else to fill the void. Quiet talks about everything and nothing that only existed in the moment never to be brought up again.

How many sleepless nights had you been there for one another?

He used to apologize thinking he was too loud and had awoken you which… yes he did sometimes, but he long since learned that wasn’t the only reason you’d be up.

How at times it was… easier to spend time with one another under the shadows of night, his face obscured, his shared eyes behind darkness, hidden away so you could be with only him, in the present.

Only one time did he try apologizing for his twin but you immediately cut him off. Beelzebub had no reason to feel guilty yet he still did all the same like he had hurt you.

This was a mutual need, this time together.

Even after so long and getting on better terms with his twin, it was just hard to sleep some nights, school overwhelming or chaos wrought the day prior still buzzing around in your head.

It wasn’t always like this, before the incident it was because you were unfamiliar with the Devildom, Beel actually ended up giving you a lot of advice in those late nights like how it was rude to look ghosts directly in the eye or if one ever got lost in the Devildom they needed carrot tops or wheat grass on them to find help.

Sometimes it was still like that. But there was something about the night that tended to make one’s mind wander to darker thoughts. And tonight seemed like it had been a rough one for your friend.

Warm milk and honey was simple enough to make, and it was harder to tell if any had gone missing unless the jug was finished. The man was practically perched on your shoulder once he saw you pouring some milk into that pan.

It was more a off hand comment, but he did tell you once the drink was special for him, after all it was the first thing you had ever made for him. You didn’t know he had awoken from a nightmare, that it felt even worse with his twin gone yet somehow you knew he was hurting and made some for the pair of you, you admitted you were hoping to sneak some without anyone noticing to help you sleep, it was hard to what with being in a new place.

Once the milk was heated and divided into mugs Beel set about washing the pan while you mixed in the honey, something he could do for you as thanks.

A deep hum rumbled in his chest taking that first sweet sip, watching as steam gently drifted up, wispy and shaking from the cold.

He wrapped an around you, pulling you close. He was practically a heater, no matter the weather, hot to the touch, in the human world his touch may have been unbearable in the summer or day time, but in the eternal chill night of the Devildom it was so comforting.

… Hesitantly you reached up a hand, wrapping your pinkie around his. With a gentle squeeze he finished his drink before quickly washing and putting away your mugs.

Some nights neither of you wanted to be alone, your silent signal to ask the other to stay a while longer.

If felt childish sometimes however you knew Beel wasn’t a judgmental person and you never judged him whenever he asked the same of you.

Once pinkies were linked he refused to let go, even after you got into bed.

By morning he’d be gone, it was for the best really, his brothers would throw a fit if they found out about these moments and would demand the same. But you couldn’t, this was something for just you and Beelzebub.

There were times where still you couldn’t sleep, but the time didn’t feel as long or the world so harsh. However it seemed like this time maybe you would.

In your bed with you, Beel could understand Belphie better. Body refusing to move, too comfy despite knowing better.

He always hesitated, staying a bit longer than he needed, worrying about making the wrong move and waking you up. And so he watched for any sign, a twitch, an unhappy face, for mumbles in your sleep. Only once he was sure you were resting well could he manage to get up.

He’d sneak away for his early morning stretch and run.

He couldn’t help smiling every time upon his return, breakfast ready and you looking fine and well, if a little sleepy at the table chatting with his brothers or eating something delicious looking.

He could never help reaching out, patting your head as he walked by to the kitchen or nudging your shoulder as he sat beside you. He was just too glad you seemed better and had to do something about it.

Belphegor

The Avatar of Sloth, literally who better to go to when one could not sleep.

It was nostalgic skittering up those hidden stairs, heart racing from the strange shadows that chased after you as you made your way.

The door was already partly open, and peeking in you spotted your prey.

Ironic how he was so desperate to escape and now he freely came back for sleep most of the time…

You noted to yourself to bring this up to Satan, very cat like behavior.

Despite the attic becoming a new lounge area for the brothers it was still about just as dusty as you found it the first time, the dust tickling and getting a few sneezes from you. At least the bed wasn’t with how often Belphegor came to it for rest… Although in the end he was usually covered in dust.

With an unceremonious flop you crashed onto the bed beside him. All you had to do was turn your head a little to see him from the corner of the eye.

Gently you rocked him, calling his name. For you at least he tended to get up more easily than he ever would for any brothers not named Beelzebub.

Now that you thought about it though… you don’t think you ever seen Beel wake Belphie. Maybe something to try some time just to see, if he gets up instantly the info would be good for future emergencies.

Running a hand through his hair got you nothing, poking his cheek got you nothing, shaking his shoulder got you nothing. Odd usually at this point he’s at least grumble something about letting him sleep in a little longer.

If it were anyone else you might have felt guilty for going to extreme measures but, this was Belphegor, he’d just fall asleep instantly again in a minuet and it’d be like nothing had ever happened.

You warned him that if didn’t get up you’d do whatever you had to get him up.

Still no response.

…

So, time to shove him off the bed!

He was surprisingly much heavier than you had expected. That meant you should not have been as surprised as you were at the volume of that thud, yet still it caught you of guard a little.

Leaning over the bed you asked Belphie to wake up once again only to be taken aback!

He was schmunzling! AND DOING A BAD JOB AT HIDING THAT SMI-

WAS HE AWAKE THIS WHOLE TIME!?

Finally that snickering burst out of him and he cracked an eye open to see your ridiculous expression. He playfully groaned about how mean you were, how could you do this to him, so cruel, and at such a late hour too.

It was only fair that he got revenge.

And that was how a pillow was chucked at you with so much force you too fell off the bed.

HOW WAS HE STRONG!?

Already he was curled up on the bed looking at you oh so innocently all the while smirking! What a puntable face, just BEGGING to be smacked, yet he dodged your attack!

Even as you leapt up, going in for a swing, he blocked it with a new pillow!

War broke out! Swings from all directions, blow after blow of fluffiness crashing into another, war cries dissolving into fits of giggles and laughter leaving one out of breath and vulnerable to attack! Truly one for the history books.

Unfortunately so caught up in this little game you fell for Belphegor’s trap, him tackling you knocking the air out of your lungs.

You laid there a moment trying to breath despite all that dust flying about.

Belphegor was surprisingly heavy as you had learned that night, plenty of time he had used your shoulder or lap as a pillow, but it was something else to have all of you be his pillow. Or perhaps mattress would be a more apt word.

Try as you might to push or toss him off the man would not budge. And just as you thought, he was already asleep.

So was this your life now, to be stuck here forever unless the ever napping demon awoke?

…

The demon snuggled into you, so warm and soft, mindlessly you brushed your fingers through his hair again, it wasn’t like there was much else you could do other than follow his lead and try closing your eyes.

What a racket.

He tried ignoring the yelling and crashing that came from down stairs. It’s your fault really, he used to be able to tune out their antics but ever since you arrived and stuck your nose in every one’s business and made the house actually peaceful, disruption from that was harder for his mind to unconsciously gloss over.

For once you were not being dragged around some place or another, his brothers needed to learn that you needed to rest too, aka take more naps with him.

Maybe this scare of you being missing would teach them something about appreciating you and giving you the time and space you need to recharge, hell, they all got you so wound up he had to exhaust you to finally force your body to let you sleep.

And guess what, if you wanted rest, the only demons you could be with without you being dragged into some other world ending crisis was him and Beel, just a coincidence really.

So he let himself drift back off with you. You better remember this favor though, it’s not everyday he sees fit to put effort in for just anyone you know.

227 notes · View notes

macfrog · 2 years ago

Text

you shook me all night long sex on fire chapter one

requested by @whore-4-pedro (hope u enjoy lovely)

lived all my succession fantasies out writing this one icl. enjoy 🖤 check out my masterlist for more joel fun ‼️

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: as joel miller's assistant, you're expected to meet all his needs. some are a little more personal than others

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) creepy dude at the beginning, lotta teasing and touching, mentions of female masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), alcohol and drug use, cursing, low-key inappropriate work relationship (if bad then why sexy?)

word count: 7.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more. You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin. “I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?” “Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

It’s Friday night.

You only got home from work an hour and a half ago. Tired, hungry, sore eyes from staring at a screen all night, sore back from sitting hunched over all day. Dumped your bags at the door, ripped your clothes off by your bed, dove straight into the shower. You’d picked an outfit, curled your hair in record time, and even done your makeup before Deb called to say she was out front.

It was a ten-minute drive from your place to the hotel – it’s only a couple blocks from work. The cab driver made light conversation, talked about his daughter and her new puppy, and you both nodded and uhuhed in all the breaks in his sentences. Deb made some comment about it being easier if you’d just stayed at the office until the party, and you’d hummed in agreement, looking out the window at the regal hotel.

Truth be told, you’d rather be doing anything other than attending a work function. You’ve had a long week. A lot of meetings, paperwork, emails to be answered, and most of all, running around after your boss. It’s not all fun and games being Joel Miller’s assistant, regardless of the pay, or the view from your desk over to his.

Your head’s elsewhere when you waltz through the revolving door, heels clicking along the marble floor. The elevator – gold, by the way – slides open and you both step inside, hitting the highest button before you’re swept up twenty floors to the penthouse.

“Did you send those documents over to us yet?” Deb asks.

“Nope,” you reply, slipping out when the elevator dings. “Had to sit in on a meeting with Joel and take the fucking minutes, spent all night writing them up.”

“He won’t be pissed at you?”

“If he hadn’t insisted I was in there with him, you’d have your reports, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs, agreeing.

“Anyway,” you continue, “I can take angry Joel. He doesn’t scare me.”

Deb chuckles as you shoulder the doors to the penthouse open.

It’s a moody dull, lit only by the lights lining the bar and small lamps decorating mahogany tables, sat next to deep green velvet couches. There are clusters of people everywhere you look; stood near shelves filled with leather-bound books, examining the view from the floor to ceiling windows, sprawled out over luxurious chairs with champagne flutes in their hands. There’s a tree in the middle of the room, branches decorated in blinking string lights reaching to a glass dome in the ceiling.

It's, like, sickeningly pretentious. You know it. Hell, you all know it. Still, in your little black dress, you strut over and take a champagne of your own, sipping on the fizzing drink with one elbow resting on the wooden bar.

“There’s my girl,” his voice coos over your shoulder. “Been watchin’ for you all night, took your time.”

You lean back, bored expression on your face.

Joel’s broad chest pulls on the white shirt he’s wearing, same one you just saw him in little over three hours ago, only without a tie; the top couple of buttons are undone to reveal his chest hair peeking through. You try not to let your eyes linger on him too long.

“You look fuckin’ ecstatic to be here.”

He leans against the bar next to you, arms crossed. When you don’t reply, he nudges you. Your champagne jolts in its glass.

“I always look like this. I’m always ecstatic to be everywhere.”

He smiles. “Why aren’t you mingling?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“’s a work event. That’s the whole point.”

“Then why are you over here talkin’ to me?”

His eyes flash across your lips, and you swear they drop for a nanosecond to your chest.

“Come on,” he says, taking your wrist in his huge hand, “some people you oughta meet.”

Joel ignores your sigh and leads you over onto a plush rug, sidling between knees to sit you down on the soft couch between himself and some bald dude in a jet blue suit, whose shirt is also undone, though much further than Joel’s. He has a chest like a hairless cat.

Cue Ball snakes an arm over the back of the couch; his fingers dance across your back. You shimmy a little closer to Joel and he notices instantly, jaw turning slowly to glance over. When he sees your knees angled toward him, seeking protection, he leans back and wraps his left arm around your shoulders, his right coming down to cup your knee.

“This,” he shakes your leg, left arm pulling you tighter against him, “is my wonderful assistant. My right-hand lady. Couldn’t do anything without her, could I?”

“Could wipe your own ass, that’s about it,” you mumble into your glass, and a roar of laughter sounds from your audience.

Joel, still leaning back, pulls his arm from you but keeps his shoulder firmly behind yours, making sure whatever the creep on your left tries, he’ll feel first. Your elbow rests in the crook of his, and you keep it there, quietly enjoying the intimacy of his body caging yours.

His left hand is settled on your thigh. You realize it after a swig of champagne, and start counting in your head how many seconds his fingers stay gripped on your skin.

He talks with his hands – always has. Walks around his office, ranting and raving sometimes, arms swinging around in the air while you take notes, or file your nails, or just watch until he’s done. For the next half hour, though, he only talks with his right hand. Only sips his beer with his right hand. Only scratches his beard, or pulls his phone from his pocket, or reaches up and passes you a second drink, and then a third, with his right hand.

You stay rigid, legs unmoving, eyes barely leaving his knuckles, locked tight around your thigh. There’s heat from his touch siphoning from his palm down through your skin, rippling like waves all through your body and pooling somewhere south of your belly button. No matter how hard you try, you can’t shake it. Can’t stop thinking about it. You barely notice when Cue Ball’s hand ghosts across your back a second time.

But Joel notices, straight away. He flashes the guy a look, and you swear he’s baring his teeth. Eyes locked on the blue suit like it’s a target, never blinking. He doesn’t say anything when his prey excuses himself to the bathroom, and you don’t turn to watch him go, but you do notice three other sharp-suited pricks stand and wander off in that direction after him.

Probably not a coincidence.

Joel still has a hold on your leg. Your flute is empty, and you lean forward to place it on the wooden table at your knees, beginning to stand.

His grip loosens, but he looks up at you as you tower over him.

“Cocktail,” you tell him with a sweet smile, and he nods, letting you go.

You know he’s watching you as you slink away. Is it the alcohol in your system, or something darker, that makes you sway your hips a little more for his benefit?

Deb’s over at the bar with Martha, another of Joel’s assistants. She’s around his age, worked for him much longer than you have, but when he hired you, you took on most of the groundwork. Following Joel’s orders– sorry, requests, organizing meetings, filing paperwork for him. Martha sits at a desk outside Joel’s office, answers the phone and directs anyone who happens to wander up to the top floor of the building.

Did I say directs? I meant strikes coldblooded fear within them and sends them back running the way they came, with just one look and a nod in the opposite direction.

Unless they’re there for a meeting with Joel, that is. And if they are, that’s where you come in. Good morning, Mr. Salazar, Mr. Miller will be right with you. This way, he’s just finishing up a call.

Martha’s a tough nut. But she likes you enough, so she smiles warmly as you approach.

“I’m hearing all about your note-taking this afternoon,” she hums when you hop up onto a barstool, catching the bartender’s eye. He trots over.

You sigh to Martha, eyes wide. “I didn’t leave until, like, eight. What the fuck’s that about? Can I just get a cosmopolitan, please?” you ask, and the bartender nods. He looks about fifteen.

Martha shakes her head, laughing. “He did it to me when I was first startin’ out, too. Told him to stick his minutes where the sun don’t shine.”

“I’ve been here three years,” you mutter, and Deb snorts.

“You’d think Joel would’ve changed his ways in the, what, seven decades since you started, Martha?”

It earns her a slap across the shoulder. You stifle your laugh behind your glass, thanking the teenager who served you it with a nod.

“Twenty years next March, actually,” Martha says.

“That so? D’you think he’ll get you anything for it?”

“If I’m lucky,” she sighs, eyes travelling up to the ceiling in thought, “a lunch break where he doesn’t bother me once.”

“Knowing Joel, that means a lunch break where he bothers you twice.”

You smile, glancing past the pretentious tree to where Joel is, and notice he’s already staring right back. A swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach, dancing over the heat his handprint left within you. They only grow more violent when he stands and walks over, broad shoulders swaying, eyes flitting up and down your body.

You lean back, sitting up straight, eyeing him right back as he joins the three of you.

“Speak of the devil,” Martha says, and Joel chuckles in response, but his eyes never leave you.

“We were just talkin’ about Martha’s twenty years,” says Deb, winking.

He finally turns to answer her. “Oh, yeah? When’s that, then, old-timer?”

“Dirtball!” Martha yells, and Joel smirks. It goes straight to your core.

“How many Manhattans tonight, then, Deb?”

Deb holds her glass up. “I am on my second, and I will not be exceeding three. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”

“Aw,” Joel complains, tutting, “I liked hammered Deb.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have to deal with hungover Deb,” you mutter, and she shoots you a look.

Joel smiles at you, takes a step closer as Deb and Martha begin comparing past hangovers. He leans forward, waves the fifteen-year-old down, and asks for a beer. As he leans back, you notice the weight of his wrist on your right hip. Nicely done.

“You know there are four guys in the bathroom doing coke?”

“I hope to God that’s all they’re doin’. I don’t need another orgyhappenin’ at one of these things.”

You giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. He looks pleased with himself, and you instantly regret it. You try to play it off by lifting your glass back to your lips.

Joel’s studying you, though, mapping every inch of your face. Watching your mouth as it curves around the shape of the glass, your tongue licking your lips after your sip. He tracks the glass as you set it back down on the bar, then his eyes trail along your arm to your dress, and your stomach leaps.

He looks so fucking good, it sends another wave of energy through your body. Dark hair lined with grey, beard much the same. Strong jaw, lips wetting with every sip of beer he takes, dark eyes flitting across yours, holding your stare long enough to melt you a little, and then dipping just before you can read the thoughts behind them.

His skin a little tanned, his neck thick with muscle. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, you’re so close. Close enough that you could lean up, part your lips and sink your teeth under his ear, suck a mark there, taste him on your tongue.

Your head cocks after a few minutes silence, just the two of you enjoying the fucking look of each other. You lean a little against his arm, steady around your back.

“I hate work parties,” you sigh.

Joel scoffs. “Free alcohol, nice penthouse. Cocaine, if you want it. What’s not to like?”

You narrow your eyes and he laughs for real.

“I hate ‘em, too, baby. Gotta keep up appearances, though, don’t we?”

Baby. This fucker.

“Do we?” you squeak, after a few seconds dazed.

He shrugs. “’s what I hear.”

He’s so close you can smell the beer on his tongue. It makes your heart quicken, your body hum with energy. That could just be the alcohol in your system, though, right?

Who are you kidding? It’s fucking Joel doing it to you.

You have no idea how long he was here before you arrived. He left the office around six, and you presumed he’d come straight here to check everything was in order before guests started arriving. How many beers has he had? Is he just drunk, feeling up on you with liquid courage?

You’re mulling over the thought when a pair of hands clamp down on Joel’s shoulders and his hold on your waist loosens. He mumbles an apology as he’s dragged away by a couple of loose-collared, baggy-suit drunks. You shake your head in response, trying to be cool – It’s all good, man. I’m good. I’m not totally fawning over you right now, no way.

Deb swings her barstool around when she notices you’re on your own, inviting you back into their conversation. Thirty seconds into talking about childhood pets, you’re wishing Joel was back around you, igniting your skin and peaking your adrenaline. Max the Pomeranian is a nice picture; Joel’s nicer.

Martha says something with a hand motion, and Deb nods, elbow knocking into yours.

“What?”

She nods toward the balcony. “We’re headin’ out for a smoke, you comin’?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll save your seats.”

They nod and wander off between a crowd, swallowed up by bodies in the direction of the open sliding doors, the blinking lights of the skyline ahead.

You’re twirling the base of your empty glass around on its napkin when you feel that same heat behind you again, and a hand rests on the small of your back.

“Coat,” Joel mutters, pulling his suit jacket on.

“Huh?”

“Get your coat. Everyone’s headin’ across the street.”

“Why is everyone heading across the street?”

He shrugs. “Afterparty, I guess.”

“It’s a work function. It’s like–” you check your phone, “–oh, fuck, it’s almost midnight.” You screw your face up, watching as the small crowd slowly melts away through the suite doors.

“I know. I throw a good party, right?”

“So good, people are leaving it.”

He tuts. “Coat. Now.”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“You told me the party was here. I didn’t think we’d be walking all over town.”

“’s not all over town, baby,” Joel murmurs with a sigh. “Here.”

He peels the jacket off his shoulders and you hold a hand out to stop him.

“Joel, it’s fine, it’s–”

“Quit moanin’,” he groans as he throws it over your shoulders. He scoops your hair and pulls it softly out from under the collar. “Alright? C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you past some stragglers down the hall toward the elevator, where a group are waiting for the doors to open.

“Tight squeeze, Miller,” some dude chuckles as you follow Joel in, his hand still gripping yours.

He turns, backing into the corner, pulling you with him until your back is flush against his chest.

His hands drop to your hips. You swallow back a scream.

One of the accountants is stood in front of your – Harriet? Helen? Something beginning with H – anyway, she keeps knocking back into you, pushed by the sway of the packed elevator. It means you knock a little into Joel, and feel his chin on the crown of your head.

You turn ever so slightly to mumble an apology to him, but when you feel his breath on the shell of your ear, your words die in your throat.

“Hazel?” – That’s her fucking name – Joel reaches around you to tap her shoulder, and her bobbed haircut swings when she turns. “Did you get those balance sheets yet?”

“Not yet, Joel,” she tells him, and your face prickles with heat.

“No? That’s weird.” Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. In a low whisper, only to you, he says, “Thought I asked to have ‘em sent over by this afternoon.”

You muster up the courage to reply with a deep breath. From the corner of your mouth, through gritted teeth, you tell him, “That was before you forced me to sit in on a buyers’ meeting.”

You feel his chest rumble between your shoulder blades as he laughs. The elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open; the crowd spills out.

You step forward, ahead of Joel, and make it maybe three steps before he’s back on you, an arm draped over your shoulders. You reach up and take his hand, leaning against his strong torso to let him guide you toward the exit.

No idea what makes you do it. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe not only on alcohol.

You’re the last of the pack, stumbling over air across the gleaming floor toward the revolving door, which Joel pushes open for you. The cool night breeze hits you as you slip out.

The crowd ahead are rushing across the street, yelling and whooping as they go. It’s juvenile, a little cringe. A bunch of rich corporates skipping across the street toward cheap alcohol and peanuts. You’d care more about the way it looks if you were sober.

Joel’s hand finds yours again and he’s leading you down the steps, cutting between parked cars toward the dive bar. You link your other arm around his elbow and he glances down, noting it. You wish the walk was longer.

A flickering fluorescent light drowns you both in a red glow, and Joel pushes the doors open. The place is flooded with half of your party, drowning booths, leaning against the bar, dancing in any open floorspace.

The floor is sticky, the bar dim. Joel takes you over to the same crowd he introduced you to earlier, and makes space for you to sit. You slide along the booth to the wall and he follows, squeezing up to you to let two more in after him.

“Beers?” a guy with a loose tie asks, to a chorus of yeses and a show of thumbs up. Mitch? Mark?

You tug Joel’s jacket from your shoulders – the movement nudges him and he turns to lift it from your back and tuck it behind you, brushing the hair off your shoulders. You smile in thanks, and his hand falls back onto your leg.

It takes you a few minutes to notice it this time. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around your thigh, the way it slowly bumps up each time he adjusts in his seat or shifts to allow space for someone else to join the booth.

His hand moves slowly, dangerously close to pulling your skirt up with it. Mitch or Mark returns with your beers and you take a massive swig, nerves and anticipation and fucking need for Joel to keep doing what he’s doing, taking over.

Under lights blurred by the alcohol in your system, the table buzzes with energy and chatter and laughter. There are posters and stickers all over the walls, graffiti of names and initials, numbers and dates scored into the walls. Joel traces them with his finger and you laugh at some of the messages.

“Lydia and Jack,” you mumble, “12-24-19. Wonder what happened then.”

“Bathroom sex,” Joel replies, eyes scanning the wall.

You scoff, beer to your lips. “On Christmas Eve?”

He nods, like it’s obvious. “Magical time ‘n all.”

You look past him with a smile to the opposite side of the bar where, through silhouetted bodies, you notice a jukebox.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your eyes widen, your mouth agape.

Joel follows your eyeline and then twists back around. “C’mon,” he says, taking your hand and motioning for the others to let you by. He drags you over to the machine, lighting your faces up in yellow light, and your drunk eyes scan the screen.

“Nope." You swipe Joel’s hand away right before he can pick some Pet Shop Boys song.

“Really?”

“Good, but not the vibe,” you tell him, and budge him out of the way with your hip. He sways off, laughing, and leans a palm against the jukebox, his chest on your back for the second time tonight. As your tired eyes scan the songs, Joel’s chin rests on your shoulder.

He’s judging every fucking song you linger on. “Queen? Little before your time.”

“Dick.”

“Fleetwood Mac. Definitely before your time.”

“The entire fucking jukebox is before my time, dude. Shut up. These are good songs.”

You settle on a track and turn to face him. He has you almost fucking pressed against the box.

“Change, please.”

“Oh, I’m payin’, am I?”

“Mhm. Your work party, your wallet.”

He sighs and pushes a fist into his pocket for coins, tossing a quarter into your outstretched palm. You turn back and select your song, put the money in, and the old machine barks out the intro.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. “AC/DC? That’s your thing?”

“It’s not yours?” You’re taking him by the hand between bodies, swaying as you go.

He’s laughing, following you until you’re in the middle of the cramped bar, chest to chest, moving together. His hands find your waist again and this time you don’t even flinch; your fingers trail up his shirt, across his chest, settle on his collar.

You fucking swear he’s leaning in, each beat of the song drawing his jaw closer to yours. If you weren’t in a room full of co-workers, you’d probably let him kiss you.

I mean, what you’re doing right now is hardly innocent anyway. His hands are splayed on your lower back, your hips flat against his, rubbing, dancing. Your head rolls back and your lips are under his chin, smiling up at him and singing along. Joel sings the words straight back, your breath meeting and mingling in the tiny gap between your lips.

As the song ends, it fades into another. And another, and another. It’s two in the morning before your group of partiers begin to call taxis. You stumble out of the sweaty bar with an arm linked through Deb’s, still singing along to Whitney as you catch your breath.

She staggers off to a quieter part of the street to call a cab, and you hang around under the red light waiting for her. Joel’s stood at the curb; the back door of his sleek black Rolls-Royce open.

“Where you goin’?” he asks.

“Deb’s callin’ a cab,” you reply, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

Joel shakes his head. “Get in.”

“It’s cool, I’m jumping in with those guys. Thanks, though–”

“Baby,” Joel holds a hand out, “get in.”

Your eyes trace from his palm all the way up his sleeve, to his tired, handsome face. You’re sobering up. He looks clearer. Maybe that’s just the streetlights.

“Get you home in five minutes. C’mon.”

You swivel around to look for Martha and Deb, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The cab will come, they’ll assume you’re staying a while, and get in. No big deal, right?

Well. Stepping into your boss’s car after a night of highly inappropriate touching is kind of a big fucking deal.

That’s why you do it. Waddle over to him, take his hand, let him guide you to the car. You swing a leg in and slip across the seats, admiring the ceiling dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, like you’re staring straight up at the night sky.

They blur through your drunken gaze, which doesn’t pull from them until you feel the weight of Joel on your right and hear the door slam shut.

“Mind puttin’ the partition up, Rand?” Joel’s voice says, though you mostly hear the vibrations through his chest, where your head is lying. His arm slips around your back, pulling you closer into him as the two of you are granted privacy by the quiet whir of the screen closing.

“Good night?” Joel asks, lips on your hair.

You nod. “You?”

“Mhm.”

His fingers are drawing shapes on your left hip. His right hand intertwines with yours. Your left hand starts to wander.

You liked his hand on you. Liked feeling his grip there. Wanted him to keep moving it up, wanted to see how far he’d take it. So, you put your own hand on the inside of his thigh, just like he did. Starting at the knee, and slowly sliding north. Joel’s breath tightens, his chest lifts, his jaw ticks.

The movement knocks you sober for a couple seconds. You realize what you’re doing. You draw your hand back.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

He unlinks your hands and places a steady palm over your withdrawn fist.

“’s okay, baby. You can do that if you want to.”

The drawl of his voice makes your eyes roll back, your heart leap. Your fucking legs clench.

You let him replace your hand where it was, and his legs widen a little. His crotch more available. You’re watching what you’re doing like you’re not even in your own body; watching it how Joel must be, thinking Higher, higher, keep going, keep doing that.

You lift your heavy head, resting it on his shoulder, and look up into his brown eyes. He’s framed by the starlit ceiling of the car. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, face lined with his expression.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Tired.”

Just then his hand takes yours again and shifts it softly, stopping what was probably about to happen but still holding onto you, still wanting your fingers locked in his. Not halting the train, just switching tracks.

It’s not a long journey, certainly not as long as you’d like, until you’re parked on your street. Rand lowers the partition to call back, and Joel thanks him.

“You okay gettin’ to your apartment?”

“Yup,” you groan, hoisting yourself out of the comfortable car.

“Sure? I can walk you up if you want.”

You bend down, one arm on the roof of the car. “I’m good, thanks. Thanks for the ride, Miller.”

“Be safe, baby.”

“You be safe, too. Bye.”

You throw the door closed and meander off up the steps toward your building. Joel’s car doesn’t roll off until your elevator arrives and you disappear inside.

You spend all weekend in bed, recovering not only from the party but from the week of work you’d endured. You keep yourself busy, though. There’s a Desperate Housewives marathon on TV. And when you’re not watching that, your hand is stuffed down your pants, Joel on your mind.

All. Fucking. Weekend.

In the shower, you’re picturing him on his knees in front of you, lapping you up. Hands gripping your thighs, draped over his shoulders. Your hand plants firmly against the wet tile when you cum, your orgasm threatening to collapse you in a heap.

In bed, you’re on top of him, knees either side of his waist, letting him buck his hips up until you’re screaming, covering him in your wet. Your vibrator battery dies by Saturday night.

Monday morning, you’re getting ready to leave for the office, and need to take ten minutes out to relieve the ache between your legs again. This time, he has you pressed against your bedroom wall, fucking you quick and messy, cumming deep inside you before he’ll let you head out.

It’s just a crush, right? It’s just because of how touchy you guys were on Friday. When you were drunk. And in a cramped, dark dive bar. Everybody gets crushes. And who wouldn’t, on a six-foot-whatever man with a jawline that could cut glass, hands that take a grip of you with minimal effort, a cock probably the size of…

No. Nope. That’s enough. Cut that the fuck out.

It’s just a crush. That’s what you keep telling yourself in the elevator, lights counting down the floors until you’re going to see Joel again. Is the sparkling feeling in your chest fear, anticipation, or excitement?

And is your cunt beginning to throb again?

You give a curt nod to Martha as you arrive, hauling your bag a little further up your shoulder and adjusting the folders in your arms on your hips.

“Where’d you go?” she asks, eyes still on the computer in front of her. Her chin propped on her elbow, face inches from the screen, reading something intently.

“Huh?”

“On Friday. We couldn’t find you when the cab arrived.”

“Oh, I, uh,” you clear your throat, “Joel gave me a ride. Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Generous of ‘im.”

“Yup.”

“He’s in the conference room waitin’ for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

You hover for a few seconds, then take your cue to leave. You hurry over to the conference room door, knocking twice before pushing it open.

Joel’s sat at the top of the table, leant back in his chair, feet up on the wood in front of him. You feel like you could collapse.

“Mornin’,” he says, over the dull droning from the phone. Your eyes flit down to it, a question, and he answers, “weekend update.”

“Anything good?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to hit the unmute button, affirm whatever the hell the other dude had been saying, say his goodbyes, and then hang up.

“Feelin’ fresh?” he asks when he’s sat back.

You take a deep breath and wobble your head as an answer, laying files and folders out on the table in preparation for the meeting Joel has this morning.

“That bad, huh?”

“I was fine by Saturday afternoon. How were you?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that drunk.”

Yeah. Sure, Joel. Your fingers took the brunt of the alcohol.

He stands up, wanders around the table to join you. Your fingers begin to tremble at the thought of him so close. Your thighs heat.

“This all of it?” he asks. He’s closer than you thought.

“Y-yep. Some copies there, too, if anyone needs a spare.”

His hand slips up between your shoulder blades, patting you gently at the base of your neck.

“Good job, baby.”

You almost fucking shudder. Your stomach jolts, your chest tightens. The ache between your legs pangs, reminding you it’s there, even though you can’t fucking do anything about it.

You spin around, settling back against the table, ankles crossed. Tense.

“How long do you reckon it’ll go on?”

“No idea. Why? Somewhere you gotta be?”

You shake your head. “Just organizing lunch ‘n stuff for you.”

“That can wait until after.”

“I’ll have it ready for you comin’ out. Be easier.”

He steps forward. Your heart stutters.

“You’ll be in here with me.”

You cock your head. “Again? What– Why?”

“I need you in here. To take–”

“–minutes? Yeah, figured as much. You gonna have me up here all night again writing ‘em up?”

He smirks, dimples in his cheeks. There are two options here: either smack him, or jump his bones – he deserves the first and you deserve the latter.

“I like having you in my meetings, darlin’,” he says, as the door handle turns, “stops me wanting to blow my brains out.”

Martha enters and Joel slots in alongside you on the table. She sets a tray with a coffee pot and packets of sugar and milk on the sideboard.

Your head is fucking dizzy. There’s a ringing in your ears. Energy sparkling in waves from the tops of your thighs all through you. Joel’s shoulder brushing against yours, his eyes boring into the side of your face.

You won’t look at him. Won’t take your eyes off of Martha, laying paper coffee cups out in rows, her back to you guys.

Joel lays a palm flat on your thigh, rounding the curve until his hand is firm between your legs, threatening to push your skirt up. You feel his breath hot on your neck, his voice like honey in your ear.

“Makes for a nice view, too.”

You whip around to glare at him. He leans back, chuckling to himself.

Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Joel shrugs, excuses you both to Martha, and then follows at your heels out of the conference room and over to his office door. You waltz in without permission, shoving the door open and waiting for him to close it behind himself.

Joel’s office is bright, clean. Giant windows lining three walls, huge desk with an even bigger bookcase behind. Two black leather couches opposite, facing one another with a glass coffee table between. Soft white rugs, obnoxiously huge lampshades, small fern plants dotted here and there. You found and booked the interior designer for him, and not a day’s gone by since that you don’t remind him of how nice a job you did.

Today, though, you break that streak. You round on him as soon as he closes the tall, wooden door behind him.

“Will you fucking quit it?”

“Fucking quit what, baby?” He’s almost laughing, strolling around his desk and settling into his leather chair, leaning back. Casual. Fucking – arrogant.

You stammer, holding up a shaky finger. “Okay, first of all – that. Don’t call me baby, that’s not appropriate. Second – the teasing?”

“I don’t get it, you liked me callin’ you baby on Friday night.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and give him a furious stare. He holds his hands up.

“My mistake.”

You stalk over to the windows separating Joel’s office from the reception area. Martha’s still in the conference room, the door ajar. You haul the shades shut to give yourselves some privacy.

“Stop – fucking with me. Stop it. We were drunk on Friday night. It wasn’t– Stop.”

“’m not fucking with you.” He leans his head to scratch his eyebrow. He repeats it when you turn away, hands flying up in the air. “I’m not.”

“Let’s just forget Friday happened, can we do that?”

Wandering around Joel’s office isn’t doing anything to relieve the weight between your legs. If anything, it’s making it worse. You make your way back to his desk and place your hands down on the wood, leaning over.

“Wh…what’s next on the agenda?” you ask, almost panting, your eyes closing.

You hear Joel’s chair rock when his weight leaves it. His footsteps pad across soft carpet, around the desk. Nearing you. They come to a halt and you feel the air stop short, right behind you.

For someone not trying to fuck with you, he’s doing an awfully good job at it.

You surrender, leaning back, your shoulders making contact with his chest. Then his hands find your hips, light, gentle. No pressure on them, not until your ass presses against his crotch and your head tilts, allowing Joel to hook his chin over your shoulder.

He’s hard, under his pants. Against you. You can feel it, still, steady. Rock solid beneath four layers of clothing.

His hands lift from your waist and glide up your shirt front, your stomach tensing when they brush over it. They come to rest over your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples through your shirt. And you fucking let him; lifting your right arm to hook around his jaw and pull him closer into your neck, where his lips leave soft, wet marks.

It feels like the first gasp of fresh, sea air after being underwater. The first gulp of chilled water after a hike. The first wave of aircon in the car. It’s relief. It’s desperate, borderline orgasmic relief.

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.

You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.

“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”

“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” you repeat, and he nods. You take a breath. “S-sounds good.”

Joel’s hands find the hem of your skirt and start to pull it up your legs, painfully slow, revealing more and more of your bare thighs as he goes. He’s rubbing them, massaging until your skirt sits on your hips, little black panties exposed. His hand comes down to cup you, fingers gently applying pressure to your clit through the lace.

You moan, finally being touched by him again, finally feeling his hands on you where you need it most. Already, he’s doing better, making you feel better than you could ever by yourself. Than you did, by yourself. Involuntarily, you breathe out, “Daddy…”

Joel’s fingers pick up the pace. He fucking loves it.

“That feel good, baby? Like it like that? Tell me how it feels.”

“So – fucking – good,” you whisper, legs parting more to grant him better access. He dips his hand lower, thumb staying planted on your lace-covered clit, fingers shifting the fabric under your entrance aside.

He toys with you first, middle finger swaying back and forth through your folds, collecting slick, spreading it around. Then, a second finger, pushing upward, dangerously close to entering you. You’re gasping, leaning into him, letting his strong form keep you upright.

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s whispering into your ear. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, just enjoy.”

And then he pushes up, two thick, curled fingers entering your cunt in one motion. He has you down to his knuckles, limp against his chest, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Your head rolls to the side to watch him as he feels you for the first time, and his expression mirrors yours.

“So fuckin’ wet, babygirl,” he whispers, lips on your forehead.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimper as his fingers press hard inside your soft pussy, starting to pump gently before picking up the pace and fucking you good.

The office is silent, save for your gasps and moans, and the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers in your cunt. He hums into your neck, thumb pressing hard against your clit, drawing tiny circles over the swollen bud.

It doesn’t take fucking long before you’re collapsing, walls clenching, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. It’s all that’s been on your mind for almost three days, all you’ve imagined, dreamt about, thought of.

Joel feels you, knows you’re close.

“Wanna cum all over daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you bite back a yelp, “so – close.”

“Know you are, baby. It’s okay, you can cum. Let me feel you.”

That coil, slowly winding since approximately nine-thirty on Friday night, not relieved by your hands, your toys, or your fucking pillows, snaps in one second. The tension breaks across your stomach. Your legs give; Joel’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you upright.

You throw your head back against his shoulder again, jaw slack with a moan you know you can’t give voice to. Joel fucks you all the way through it, fingers coated in your cum only to dive straight back in, wetter and slicker than before.

There are stars in your vision. You can’t feel between your legs. The office is slowly blinking back into view, but Joel gives you no time to recover.

He pushes you face down onto his desk roughly, hastily, like someone’s about to wander through his door any second. One ear pressed to the cold wood, you hear his belt clink, feel the teeth of his zipper graze your thighs. Hear his deep breaths as he drags his pants and boxershorts down to free his cock.

You’ve never seen him, obviously. You’ve pictured it, dreamt up what it would look like with your fingers deep inside yourself. And from this angle you still don’t see it, but when the weight of it springs against your ass, when Joel lines himself up and his tip dips between your cum-covered folds, you fucking feel it.

His thick head pushing slightly into your entrance, coating him in your slick. He’s big. You moan at the time he’s taking to just shove into you; it’s probably seconds, but it feels like fucking hours.

“I hear ya, I know,” he’s saying, but your hearing’s starting to fade. Blood pumping through your head, white noise rattling against your eardrums.

He pushes in, length separating your clenched walls, entering your wet, warm cunt with a deep growl from Joel’s lips and a gasp from yours. You open up around him, swelling as he pushes deeper and deeper.

“So – fuckin’ – tight for me, baby,” he groans, hands on your hips pulling you back onto his length. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are?”

“Mhm,” you reply, the stretch of his thick cock burning and igniting you in flame. Your eyes screw shut as he keeps pushing, further than you ever thought anyone could, until his tip kisses your cervix and you whine.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, pausing and placing a steady hand on the small of your back. “We don’t need anyone out there knowin’ what we’re doin’.”

“So good, daddy,” you whimper quietly, and he knows. He fucking knows.

He begins to draw back, hips leaving your ass, cock pulling out of your pussy. Your eyes roll closed, missing him the more he withdraws. Before he’s fully gone, he snaps back inside, entering you harder, faster, deeper.

You gasp, knuckles whitening with the grip of your balled fists. You bend one arm, biting into your sleeve to stop your whimpers from slipping under the door.

A couple more thrusts and Joel’s fucking you. Hard. He’s fucking huge, so huge it blurs the edges of your vision every time his cock hits against your cervix. He’s almost fucking whimpering behind you, growling your name with every stroke, groaning each time he bottoms out inside you and your tight hole wraps around his length.

You can feel the edge of the table bruising your pelvis, and it feels so fucking good. Everything about this feels good. Joel’s cock stretching you out, his hands gripping you roughly, your own hands outstretched to hold onto the desk for some sort of stability.

The only thought going through your head, only words your lips can part to utter: daddy daddy daddy.

“Good girl,” Joel hums, your moans like music to his ears. “Good fuckin’ girl. Know how naughty you are for me?”

You smile. “Yeah, daddy.”

This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever fucking done. Sure, you love sex, especially when it’s rough. But nothing you’ve ever done with anyone else, nothing you’ve ever had done to you by anyone else, compares to being bent over your boss’s desk and fucked dumb by him.

Calling him daddy, corporate managers slowly filing into a conference room just outside. Only an unlocked door separating them from you, writhing and throbbing under Joel’s cock, his rough hands on your hips, your name passing his lips in breathy moans.

Is it wrong? Yes. Do you care? Fuck no.

You know he’s close; his thrusts become sloppy, hips start hammering against you.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” he grunts, skin slapping.

You’re on the pill, and if you answered honestly, you’d tell him to finish inside you. But you know that if he wanted to do that, he’d just fucking do it. Wouldn’t ask. And you’re not prepared to waste time arguing.

“My m-mouth.”

“C’mere.” Joel slips out of you with no effort, you’re so fucking soaked for him, and spins you around. A gentle hand on your shoulder, he pushes you onto your knees, free hand jacking his cock over you.

It’s the first time you see him, fist tugging up and down a thick, veiny shaft; swollen, reddened tip spilling precum which his thumb collects and drags down his length, gleaming with your wet.

On instinct, you push forward, one hand coming to rest on his thigh, the other taking over from his on his dick. You pump him a few times, and then open your mouth wide enough to take him all the way until he’s brushing the back of your throat.

With a choke, you begin bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollow, breathing deep through your nose. Joel moans, head rolling back, hand coming to hold your hair in a fist. He drags you back and forth a few times before he begins to shudder and you draw back, holding him steady on your swollen bottom lip.

He looks down at you and your eyes lock as he cums all over your tongue. You moan as your mouth fills with his warm, salty load. When his cock stills and he stops spilling all over you, you lean back and close your mouth, licking your lips and swallowing him.

“Aw, babygirl,” he coos, stroking your hair. “Good job. Such a good girl for me.”

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Joel’s hands hook under your arms and he pulls you back up, letting you lean against his desk.

Still in a daze, you feel him tug your skirt back down, fix your shirt. Tuck your hair behind your ears, wipe either saliva or cum from your lips.

“Good?” he asks, and you lace your fingers in his.

Your breath is still shaky, but through a sigh, you say, “Good.”

He nods. “Can hear Ken out front, must all be arrivin’.” He pulls you over to the door.

His fingers wrap around the handle, free hand coming up to cup your cheek. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You open your mouth and let his tongue past, moaning into the wet, messy kiss.

Something in you almost wants to laugh, thinking about the fact you let him fuck you before you’d even kissed him.

When he pulls away, your hands take hold of his jaw, keeping him at your height.

“Have a good meeting,” you whisper, pecking him on the lips, “text me what you want for lunch.”

He growls, yanking the door open and passing by you, granting your wish to sit this one out. Something in you tells you not to wander far, though.

He’ll probably want to blow off some steam when he’s done.

----------

taglist: @earthtogrogu @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo

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zablife · 3 months ago

Text

Silver Fox

Tommy Shelby x female reader

A/N: Something I penned to rid myself of writer's block! A fun bit of smut inspired by Tommy's new look for the upcoming film. 🔞

The man across the room looked familiar, the proud posture and energetic gait the same as you remembered from years ago. However, the locks of silver hair that fell across his forehead were decidedly changed. The last time you saw Thomas Shelby, it was nothing more than salt and pepper. Had it really been such a long time? you wondered.

As you contemplated the years since you'd had him in your bed, he materialized before you with two glasses of champagne. "Care to have a drink with an old friend?" he asked with a smirk.

"Is that what we are?" you asked coyly, hand outstretched to receive the crystal flute he extended like a peace offering.

"I hope so," he winked, raising his glass toward you.

"To old friends, then," you agreed with a smile. It was all too easy to be swept along by his charm, especially as the fizzy bubbles on your tongue went to your head. Soon you found yourself nodding enthusiastically at his invitation to take the party somewhere more private.

As he placed a large hand to the small of your back, you fooled yourself into believing he was only after a bit of political advice. In his early days in Parliament, he often sought your council in addition to Ada's.

However, the moment the door to his hotel room closed, neither of you could pretend any longer. As he pressed you against the back of the door for a smoldering kiss, the spark reignited between you grew to a blazing inferno.

"I missed you, Tommy," you mumbled against his plush lips, hand sliding down the front of his neatly pressed trousers.

"I've missed you too, darling," he whispered, nimble fingers unbuttoning your blouse to reveal your heaving chest.

Your hands traveled up his neck and laced into the silky strands of hair you'd been admiring, a chuckle leaving your lips.

Raising his head from your bosom with an amused look and quirked brow, he asked, "Something funny?"

"Thomas Shelby is a mortal man after all," you exclaimed, fingers carding through his thick head of hair and holding the graying ends to the light. Something about him had always seemed infallible and eternal, but he was now wearing the proof of his age.

The man once known as the Devil of Small Heath chuckled in reply. "Just an ordinary man," he admitted with paradoxical smugness, teeth grazing over a pert nipple.

You gasped as he began to suck, fingers tightening in his hair to hold him in place. "Nothing about you has ever been ordinary," you mused, the ache between your thighs growing as you recalled his skill in the bedroom.

As though reading your mind, his long fingers ventured beneath your skirt to brush against your clothed core. Inhaling sharply at the wetness collecting on the front of your underwear, he lifted his head back to your full lips intent on hearing every sound when he pulled the delicate fabric aside to trace his fingertip around your clit.

You grazed the tip of your nose against his playfully as you wondered, "Think you've still got it?"

He nodded against your soft skin in reply, too consumed by you to speak.

"Then fuck me like you used to," you begged wantonly in his ear.

"Mmmm, you're as naughty as I remember," his deep voice rumbled against your chest in approval. Fingers plunging into your waiting heat, he smirked as your hands came unclasped and fell to his shoulders. As he stroked your g-spot, you grappled for purchase at the intense sensation. You'd never been able to stave off your first orgasm long this way. He knew from the numerous times he'd made you cum while his colleagues waited behind his office door.

Eyes drifting to the mirror in the corner, you watched his muscular arm tense beneath the white cotton shirt as he pleasured you. He might have been a bit older, but his body still looked like that of a younger man and you couldn't wait to tear the fabric from his body to see every chiseled line. With that thought, you rocked your hips into the palm of his hand, eager to release the coil pulling taught in your abdomen.

Sensing you were close from the way your cunt began to throb around his digits, Tommy dropped to his knees before you and slid a hand behind your ass. Pulling you closer to his eager mouth, he lapped at your little bud to keep you on edge.

This was also something you remember about him, the teasing which could go on for hours. There was no way you were lasting that long now. You swung a leg over his shoulder, hand flying to his head to silently urge him for more.

"Going to be greedy, are we?" he hummed, holding you away from him with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Please...need you, Tommy," you panted, so close to release you could feel your clit throbbing.

"Since you asked so nicely," he agreed, fingers scissoring inside you to produce a loud squelching that made you shiver from the obscene sound. His mouth soon joined, pillowy lips closing over your clit as he began to suck.

That was all it took to release a crashing wave of tingly warmth throughout your entire body. Head thrown back in ecstasy, you felt your body quake in little spasms as he continued to fuck you through it.

"That's it, good girl," he praised in a low voice dripping with need.

You looked down between your legs to find him placing a chaste kiss to your mound. Little glimmers of light winked back at you from his crown of silver hair, though you couldn't be sure if it was the delicious haze of pleasure still sparkling in your vision.

Sweeping the fringe from his face to watch him pepper your thighs and belly with kisses, you tried to calm your breathing for round two. "You haven't changed a bit," you huffed out with a laugh.

"I've only gotten better with age, love," he assured you with a cocky grin.

"Show me," you challenged, though you didn't doubt it at all.

#Tommy Shelby fanfiction #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #Cillian Murphy

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wildrangers · 5 months ago

Note

Matt Smith x Reader

Matt and Reader have been together for a long time and it's time for Matt to take the plunge and ask Reader to marry him

Thank you for the request, anon! I’m rolling this into my ongoing Smith family series of ask’s. This can be read alone or as a prequel to my pregnancy surprise and announcement stories. I also hope you don’t mind this will contain some serious smut.

Tropes & topics: SMUT (oral sex [f&m receiving], dirty talk, impact play, rough, protected sex), lots of fluff before it descends into porn lol, mentions of marriage obvi

Word Count: 3.1K

Matt’s heart feels like it’s going to burst from his chest if he doesn’t throw it up first. You’re seemingly oblivious, happily digging into your dessert, taking in the stunning seaside view.

Your fifth anniversary had been mid-June, but his shooting schedule kept the celebration limited to you visiting him abroad and sharing room service. He knew you hadn’t minded, you’d said countless times that you just were happy to be celebrating together, but he wanted to acknowledge this milestone the right way.

This trip was the best way to celebrate that while also finally pushing him to gather the courage to ask you to marry him. As you enjoyed this final meal of the trip, a ring box has been buried in his pocket and his nerves have frayed. It’s not that he’s worried you’ll say no, he knows what you two have is forever, but it’s still such a monumental moment and he doesn't want to bungle it.

“Honey, dolphins!” Your excited gasp pulls him from his thoughts and while he glances to see the pod swimming just offshore, his gaze quickly returns to your face. Golden hour is almost here and the slowly setting sun makes your skin glow and reflects the joy in your eyes.

“There you have it, your favorite animal bidding you farewell” he replies and you nod, frowning slightly at the end of your getaway rapidly approaching.

“I’ve really had the best time” you say, finally pulling your eyes from the water.

“Me too, darling” he assures you, squeezing your hand as your server cleared the table. Matt pays the tab before standing, pulling you into his side as you two make your way out of the restaurant.

“Can we lay on the beach for a bit when we’re back at the house?” you request and he smiles, envisioning the scene he already has set up for you there.

“Of course, what a brilliant idea.”

A comfortable silence settles as you both take in the beauty around you on the brief walk back to the small beach house you’d rented for the last week. He follows you through the house, pausing as you both remove your shoes at the backdoor.

“Matty!” you gasp as he slides the glass doors open. “It’s beautiful, when did you do this?”

He grins, pleased at your excitement. He places a hand on your back to guide you through the sand before helping you sit on the large blanket he’s laid out for you both that’s surrounded by petals from your favorite flower. “I snuck out while you were getting ready before dinner. Now, champagne?” he asks, lifting the chilled bottle from the ice bucket holding down a corner.

“Yes, please!” you reply eagerly, holding out a glass. He fills it and his own before holding his flute up for the toast he’s prepared.

“My love” he begins, surprised by the emotion clogging his throat. He takes a moment to collect himself and you squeeze his hand encouragingly. “First and foremost, I want to thank you for the last five years. They’ve been the most joyous, love-filled ones of my life. I can hardly believe it’s been half a decade yet at the same time, it’s difficult to remember life without you being by my side. You’re my rock, my biggest cheerleader, and most importantly, my best friend. You’re the love of my life, darling.”

He places his glass carefully in the sand before shifting onto one knee, his shaking hands removing the ring box from his pocket, opening it to reveal the ring he’d spent countless months searching for, “Would you do me the honor of sharing the rest of our lives together as husband and wife?”

“Yes, yes, of course! Oh my god” you burst out, holding out your hand for him to slide the ring on. He grins at the sight, dropping his lips to place a long kiss to the spot where the diamonds meet your soft skin. “Oh honey, it’s perfect, I love it. I love you so fucking much. That’s far less elegant than your speech but it’s true nonetheless. I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

“I had more time to prepare” he laughs and you roll your eyes before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling you flush to him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of your skin mixed with the salty sea breeze. You stay like that a moment before he pulls away to look into your eyes.

“My beautiful boy,” you whisper, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He leans down, connecting your lips just as the sun slides beneath the ocean. Your hands quickly tangle in his hair and he gently pushes you onto your back, settling on top of you. His hands find the hem of your dress, fingers lightly brushing where your skin meets the fabric.

He loses himself in the feel of your soft, pliant body beneath him as you greedily suck his tongue into your mouth. He feels himself beginning to harden as you moan, your hands shifting from his hair down to his backside, pulling his hips against yours. He gasps at the friction, desperate for more, pleased to feel you bucking beneath him already. “So impatient” he teases, placing kisses down your neck, leaving small bruises as he goes.

“You're one to talk” you reply, grinding your leg into his erection, drawing a groan from him. “As hot as this would be in theory, can we move this inside? I’d rather not be finding sand in different crevices for the next week.”

He laughs deeply, carefully standing before offering you his hand to draw you up, as well. You lose your footing in the sand and he quickly scoops you into his arms, carrying you bridal style up the beach. “I thought this would wait until the wedding night?” you tease and he nips playfully at your shoulder.

“I’ll put you down if you’d like” he retorts and you tighten your grip on his shoulders, shaking your head. He goes to place you on the bed but you insist on being set on your feet. “Lay down” you command and he tilts his head, curious as to what you have planned for him, but eagerly doing as directed.

Once he’s settled, leaning back on his elbows, you slowly reach around to unzip your dress. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“Billy brought me the ring box a month ago.”

“He didn’t” Matt replies, jaw dropping at the thought of your dog eagerly delivering this gift to you. “What a rascal, he ruined the surprise!”

“He did,” you agree, laughing. “But that let me plan a little surprise of my own.”

“Well go on then” he smirks, watching as your dress pools around your feet. “Good god, love” he bites out, eyes hungrily taking in the sight of you.

“Do you like it?” you ask cheekily, making your way tantalizingly slowly to him.

“I fucking love it” he breathes out. Your legs are covered in lacy black stockings attached to a garter secured above your sheer black panties. Your torso’s wrapped in a black leather corset and he’s struggling to keep his hands to himself as you crawl up the bed to him. “You remembered.”

“Your obsession with garters even though they’re an absolute pain in the ass to get on? Yes, I remembered” you joke and he chuckles at the mischief in your eyes.

“My sexy fiancée” he breathes out as you hover above him and grin at the compliment before slowly unbuttoning his shirt, kissing each inch of newly exposed skin. He watches impatiently as you slowly unbuckle his belt, tauntingly taking your time removing it from around his hips. “Be careful, I may have to use that if you tease me much longer.”

“If only I’d be so lucky” you reply, pointedly leaving it on the pillow beside his bed before making quick work of the rest of his clothes. “You’re so hard for me and I haven’t even done anything yet” you goad, wrapping your hand around his already throbbing cock, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure.

“Look at me, Matthew” you demand and his head whips back up at the command in your tone. “Much better” you praise, dipping your head down to lick a stripe from the base of his cock to his tip, eyes boring into his the entire time.

“Fuck” he breaths out, wrapping a fistful of your hair around his hand before resting it on the back of your head. “More, please.”

“Since you asked so politely” you agree, immediately taking all of him into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat as your lips wrap around the base of his dick.

“Holy shit, Y/N” he gasps, hips desperate to buck but not wanting to hurt you. You painstakingly pull back after a few minutes of working him with your mouth, pumping him with your hand as you smirk up at him.

“Do you want to fuck my face, Matty?” you offer and he feels his eyes widen.

“Are you sure…?”

Your only response is to move off the bed and drop to your knees, hands behind your back. He eagerly stands beside you, hands tangling in your hair as you wrap your mouth around him again. He slowly sinks into your mouth, making sure you’re ready before he begins thrusting deep into your throat. “Holy shit, love” he groans, throwing his head back briefly, before gazing down to meet your glossy eyes. Slight movement catches his eyes and he watches as your fingers dip into your underwear, fingers circling your clit in time with each of his thrusts.

Several moments later he feels you pull back slightly and he releases his grip, removing himself from your mouth so you can catch your breath. “Are you okay?” he asks and you nod eagerly, excess spit dripping down your chin. “Jesus Christ, get on the bed” he commands and you smirk, slowly rising to your feet.

“How do you want me, love?”

“On your back, so I can devour you” he replies and you quickly scramble onto the bed, sliding off your panties as you go. “That’s a good girl” he praises once you’re settled, thighs spread wide, pussy already glistening for him.

He places a sloppy kiss to your mouth as he removes your corset, leaving you entirely bare before him except for your garter belt which he has every intention of leaving on. “Beautiful” he breathes out, pulling a nipple into his mouth while he teases the other in his hand. He’s rewarded with your back arching up to meet him.

“Lower, please, Matt” you beg and he smirks, nibbling gently on your breast before settling between your thighs. He traces your hips with his fingers, placing brief kisses to your inner thighs, inching up closer to your core. You’d complain about his teasing but he wanted you desperate for him before he even really began. He shifted his hands to your thighs, tracing circles along them while kissing your hip bones, eyes rising to look up at you.

“Please” you gasp, hips bucking up, before he forcefully pins you back down to the bed.

“Do you want me to make you feel good, love?” he asks and you nod eagerly, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Then be patient.”

You nod again, dropping your head onto the pillow, seemingly trying to get your breathing under control. Just as he feels your body untense below him, he licks a teasing stripe up your center drawing a loud moan from your mouth. He places a hand flat against your belly ensuring you can’t squirm or buck beneath him as he begins working you with his tongue.

As desperately as he wants to be buried inside you, he can’t stop himself from devouring you until you’re panting above him, hands wrapped painfully tight in his hair. His mouth is suctioned around your clit when you breath out, “Matt, fuck, I’m going to cum” and he immediately plunges two fingers inside you, drawing a frantic gasp from your throat as your back arches off the bed. Two pumps later he feels your walls tighten around his fingers as you call out his name, wrapping your thighs around his head as pleasure wracks your body. He gently works you through your orgasm until your twitches settle down and your legs loosen from around his neck. He smirks up at you, licking his lips, and you bite your own at the sight.

“You look so sexy with my cum all over your mouth” you admit, drawing him up so you can taste yourself on his tongue. He opens the nightstand drawer to grab a condom, rolling it onto himself before pulling away from you.

“Get on your knees” he orders and you eagerly flip over, ass in the air. “What a good girl you are for me, so eager to please.”

“Always” you agree, spreading yourself open for him and he groans at the sight.

He lines himself up with your entrance, “Ready, love?” he asks and in response, you sink yourself back onto him. “Jesus” he grounds out, the sensation of being fully buried in you so quickly overwhelming him for a moment.

“Is it too much darling?” you ask, teasingly wiggling your hips back and forth. He shakes his head at you before reaching beside your head to grab his discarded belt.

“Is this what you want?” he asks and you lick your lips, nodding enthusiastically. He wraps the leather around his hand before bringing it down sharply on your ass, drawing a gasp from your mouth. “Is it too much darling?”

“No, more please” you beg and he obliges, bringing the belt down on your other cheek. “Yes, Matt, fuck me now.”

“Such a slut for me” he taunts, driving into you roughly.

“Yes, yes, I’m your little whore” you gasp out and he rewards you with another slap of the belt against your backside.

“Fuck” he mutters, overwhelmed at the sight of you bent before him, ass cheeks red, makeup smeared, mouth open wide in pleasure. “You look so sexy right now.”

You simply whine, driving your hips back, silently demanding more. He tosses the belt aside so he can focus, gripping your hips and pressing your back down more so he can fuck you deeper, setting a ruthless pace.

“Yes, yes just like that” you gasp, hands wrapped tightly around the sheets beneath you.

“Tell me what you want, love” he breathes out shakily. But all you can do is pant for air, your breathing mixed with moans and curses. He feels you tightening around him again and he wraps his hand around your hair, pulling you up so your back is flush to his chest. “Use your words, darling.”

“You’re fucking me so good Matt” you whine, your hand dipping between your thighs to rub your clit as you look back at him. “Please make me cum again” you whimper, the tempo of your fingers increasing as you squeeze around him even more intensely.

“Come on baby, let me have it. I can feel how close you are” he encourages and you whimper, your eyes turning glossy but never leaving his. Your lower lip quivers as your orgasm tears through you, your pussy clamping and twitching around his cock as you whine and moan beneath him. “There you go, I’ve got you, love” he assures, gently releasing you so you can rest your forehead against the pillow. He gently rocks into you until you stop pulsing around him, placing kisses to your shoulder blades.

“Let me flip over, I want to watch you cum for me” you request and he pulls out just long enough for you to resettle on your back before reconnecting your bodies. As his pace picks up again you pull him down to you, placing a deep kiss to his mouth as you wrap your legs around his back. His mind goes pleasantly blank as he loses himself in the pleasure your body gives him.

“Can you feel how soaked you made me?” you whisper and he groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulders and nodding, words beyond him now. “I want you to cum inside me, baby, please. I want to watch you come undone for me.”

“I’m so fucking close” he gets out and you tug at his hair lightly, making him gasp in pleasure.

“I know, baby, I know. My cunt’s squeezing you so tight, isn’t it? Show me how good I’m making you feel” you taunt, hands dropping down to squeeze his balls softly. His vision goes white as his orgasm shoots through him, frantically burying himself inside you as wave after wave of pleasure coarse through him. “There you go, I’ve got you, my love” you whisper, running your hands over his back as he catches his breath.

You two stay wrapped together for several moments longer, neither of you wanting to separate, both of you soaking in the afterglow. Eventually he lifts his head from your chest placing a gentle kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You hiss at the loss of him and he agrees softly, already missing the intimacy of your joined bodies. He rises to clean himself up before returning with a warm, damp cloth.

“Holy shit babe” he chuckles, gently wiping between your legs, shocked at how much of your pleasure is still leaking from you.

“I’m not exaggerating when I say that was the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had” you laugh, removing your makeup with the wipe he’d brought out for you so you didn’t have to get up.

“I can tell” he grins and you roll your eyes.

“No need to look so fucking smug, Matthew.”

“What?” he laughs, tossing the cloth in the tub before sliding the quilt down, tucking you underneath before settling behind you. “Can’t I be happy I made my fiancée feel incredible?”

“Sure, I bet that’s all it is. No ego swelling involved” you grumble and he pulls you flat against him. He opens his mouth to make a dirty joke but you cut him off with a quick, “Don’t you dare.”

He laughs again, joy filling his chest to the brim as he places a kiss to the back of your neck before settling onto his pillow.

“I love you so much, darling” he whispers a few moments later, your breathing already evening out as sleep approaches.

“And I love you” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I can’t wait to be your wife.” He feels a small smile pull on his lips at the thought before sleep drags him under.

taglist @littlehorrorlover @slayraxes-blogs @decaffeinatedparadisepost

#matt smith #matt smith imagine #matt smith x reader #matt smith smut #matt smith fanfiction #matt smith fic #asked and answered!

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failing-to-write-again · 7 months ago

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Shu Sakamaki - A moment alone

"So-" he began, placing his champagne flute on the balcony wall, "why are you so against the idea of actually being a princess."

You tense, sighing. This conversation was one you had been putting off for a long time, but now sitting out to watch the last stream of guests leaving, escape seemed impossible. Shu had been summoned to attend, and you had been invited only to ensure his presence. While you weren't going to complain about getting to have a guest house to yourself on the castle grounds, and getting to see your boyfriend in all his prince-ly regalia. You did have to give up a lot of the liberties you get in the human world while together. No PDA, less time fraternizing at events and, at this ball in particular, not even one dance. Shu had argued that all of this would not happen if you were an officially engaged couple, and being years into your relationship it wouldn't necessarily be strange to be engaged either. Yet you had turned down the idea when he had brought it up and hadn't spoken of it for close to 6 months now. That was of course until now, finally reunited on a balcony, hidden from the view of the guests as they made their exits and sitting at two separate tables as instructed by the chaperon assigned to you.

"It really isn't that easy to just become a princess"

"It is, you just have to marry me." At this point the stream of guests has mostly ceased. He gets up and moves to sit next to you, knowing full well you aren't going to move until the servant tells you. You tense waiting to be scolded or reminded that you aren't meant to be this close here.

"Tch... this is what irritates me. We're together and you can't act like it. If it's marriage you're worried about we can have a long engagement, or-"

"It's not the marrying you part that has me worried. Shu they hate me, anytime we have even one dance I'm scolded or glared at, and I don't think your dad is my best fan seeing as he had all these eve plans. Now you're acting like an heir again and Ayato and Yui don't want the crown. I've ruined it."

Shu scowls at that, pulling your chair by it's legs to face him. You can feel his colder hands through your clothes as he touches your knees. "I couldn't care less about what that guy thinks or what anyone else thinks. I want you by my side and if you being a princess is mandatory for that then I will make you one."

"I-" you begin your voice cracking, "I just don't want to make things bothersome for you." You can feel tears welling up in your eyes, a mixture of fear and sadness. You hear Shu sigh, then you're pulled into his lap, legs either side of him. The sound of the chaperon trying to speak is cut off as the glass double doors are slammed and locked in his face. Shu's powers having been rapidly developing the past three years you have been visiting the demon world.

"Such a silly woman, crying over untrue things." You feel his hand gently lift your chin to look him in the eyes. "You should know as well as I do that every attempt to call you a bother has been a lie. Everyone else is a pain but you, and the fact you try to deny me the ability to have you with me forever is cruel. Selfish woman playing with a man's heart."

You laugh at that, resting a hand on his wrist, fingers skirting the edge of his jacket sleeve. "I thought you didn't have one." Shu moved to sit up eyes half lidded as his face comes closer.

"That's because it's only for you," his hand moving to your neck, playing with the hair near the back of your neck. He leaned in until his nose touched yours, his eyes flicking between your own and your lips. "Now say you will."

"Will what?"

"Marry me." You feel a box press into your other hand, pulling away slightly you look down and see a ring plucked from your dreams. Shu gently took your left hand, sliding the ring into place, he lifted your hand to his lips kissing just below where the ring sat.

"I don't think I can say no." With that he closed what little space was left between you both to slot his lips against yours.

#diabolik lovers #shu sakamaki #diabolik lovers imagine #shu sakamaki x reader #diahell #diabolik boys

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oneforthemunny · 2 years ago

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everybody loves somebody |older!eddie| part 10

prompt: your first valentine's day with eddie.

age gap relationship. Eddie is 42 and reader is 26. everything is consensual.

contains: age gap, dilf!eddie, older!eddie, alcohol, language, p in v sex, oral male and fem receiving, really sweet and fluffy and smutty. minors dni 18+

The front office had delivered the roses to your door during your planning, smiling and giggling with holiday filled joy about how beautiful the roses were. And they were, but the card attached was even better.

'Bunny, Happy Valentine's Day to my best girl. You have my heart every second of every day. I can't wait to see you tonight. Love, Ed'

Your blush matched the roses, heart soaring and floating the rest of the day.

The other teachers had cooed, tight lipped smiles when you passed with the bouquet. You could feel their jealous gazes, eyes cutting and lips pursed.

The kids had asked a million questions, bombarding with you about who your boyyyyfriend was, followed by a stream of giggles and cackles. The candy from the party didn't help their energy, bouncing at their desks, ripping open heart shaped suckers and candy hearts.

Eddie had shown up at your apartment at five o'clock on the dot. He'd had a midday shift today, taking the night off so he could spoil you. He cleaned up nice for you, he always did. Curls tamed and framing his face neatly, black button down and black slacks, leaving the top unbuttoned so you could see his inked skin. Sliding your jacket on, opening your doors, lips on your cheek, pressing kisses and words that made you giggle into your skin.

"Enzo's?" You asked, brows raised when the truck rolled into the parking lot. Cars filled the spots, but you knew on nights like tonight they only did reservations. A big Valentine's Day dinner that was near impossible to get into anyways.

Eddie grinned, hand on your thigh, rubbing small circles up your bare leg. "Told you I'd spoil you, bunny." He pressed his lips to yours, squeezing your thigh when he ran around to open your door.

You didn't miss the way the hostess raised her brow at the two of you, eyes flickering from you back to him, then at his tattoos. Your eyes narrowed at her, lifting a challenging brow to the snooty high schooler. Her lips pressed together, but she showed you to your seats, nose in the air.

You passed Steve and Nancy in the restaurant, the two having a child free Valentine's dinner to themselves. Eddie waved, the two sharing matching smirks before you were seated.

"You didn't have to do this for me, Ed." You smiled, looking at the candles that illuminated your table. Eddie reached over, pouring champagne into your flute. "I would've been happy with Benny's." You grinned.

Eddie laughed softly, lifting his own glass. His eyes sparkled when he looked at you. "Well, maybe next year." He said, tapping his glass with yours, enjoying the way you blushed, trying to hide behind the glass. "To our first Valentine's Day. One of many."

He ordered your food, you let him, content on letting him be in control tonight, letting him spoil you for the evening. You knew he loved to, smirking at you after he'd tell the waiter exactly what you wanted. Proud of himself for how he took care of you.

The champagne poured, Eddie ordered dessert, the two of you chatted in the dim light of Enzo's, the classical music playing softly in the background only aiding to the snooty vibe of the place.

"My first graders wanted to know who sent me the flowers today." You grinned. "Thank you, by the way, they were stunning. Beautiful."

Eddie smiled. "Of course." He nodded, reaching his hand out to grab yours across the table. "I got you somethin' else too." He moved into his jacket, pulling out a small, square shaped, black box.

You gasped when he opened it, teardrop pearl earrings with gold clasps lined with tiny diamonds. You saw them weeks ago, a little after Christmas when he was taking his watch to be fixed. You'd told him they were beautiful, so dainty and perfect. So, he went and got them for you.

"Eddie, you shouldn't-"

"Sure I should have." Eddie waved at you, grinning at the way you delicately reached out to hold the box. "They're gonna look beautiful on you, baby. Happy Valentine's Day."

You smiled, clasping them in your hands. You leaned across the table, not caring at the glances or side eyed stares you got to kiss him, fully and passionately. Your head swam from the champagne, and your heart was fluttering, you felt like it might fly right out of your throat.

Eddie chuckled through the kiss, hands holding your jaw, gently. By the time you were brought your dessert, you were ready to go. Eddie had it wrapped up to-go before the two of you left, giggly and blushing all the way to the car. He stopped before he opened your door, kissing you hard, pressing your back up against the cold metal of the truck.

The ride home was sweet. Stolen kisses, giggles, Eddie serenading you with love songs on the radio. Eddie's house was quiet when the two of you stumbled in, Brielle was at Gina's for the night.

Eddie's hands were all over you, roaming your black, silk dress, pawing desperately at the fabric. His lips on your neck, scruff of his beard rubbing against your sensitive skin. You knew you'd be chaffed raw by tomorrow, but you didn't care.

"Wait," you gasped, pushing Eddie's chest slightly when his lips sucked on your neck. Eddie looked at you with confusion, hands still tight on your hips.

"Wait, I-I have a present for you too." You said, blushing and nervous. You clutched your purse in your hands, white knuckled with the strap between your fingers.

Eddie cocked a brow, eyes falling down to your purse. "Bunny, c'mon, you didn't have to-"

"Yes, I-I," You laughed. "How about, you go in the bedroom, wait for me, and I'll be there in a minute? Ok?"

Eddie raised his brows, a dark look taking over his features. You grinned, legs clenching with excitement. "I'll just be a minute. I promise."

You slipped into the bathroom in the hall, back pressed against the door, lying your purse on the sink. You pulled out the red lingerie piece you'd been hiding. Lacy, one piece set- well, it was so revealing, it might as well been nothing at all. Crotchless so it exposed your center, lacy mesh material so sheer you could see right through the two small heart details that attempted to cover your nipples. It was high cut on the sides, plunging low on the front. Scandalous and delicate.

Eddie had lost his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, sleeves rolled up as he waited on the bed. You peeked around the corner, hidden by the door as you grinned. "You ready for your gift, Mr. Munson?" You asked.

Eddie smirked back, spreading his legs farther when he sat into the bed. "Can hardly stand it, bunny. Show me what you got me."

You took a breath, pushing the door open, revealing yourself, changed into the lacy red piece. Eddie's eyes bulged, roaming over your body as you walked closer to him.

"It was supposed to have little wings and an arrow, but," You shrugged, spinning around for him. "Whaddya think?"

Eddie swallowed, reaching out to you, eyes moving from your breasts to your exposed center, back up and down, all over. His hands pulled you closer, so you were standing between his legs. He spun you around slowly, fingers tracing over the thin cloth that barely covered any part of your ass.

"Holy shit." Eddie breathed, hands moving fro your waist back to your ass. "You bought this for me?"

You smiled, nodding excitedly. "Happy Valentine's Day, baby." You whispered, lips brushing over his. "Hope you like your gift."

And oh, did he.

Eddie had no problem showing you how much he liked his gift. He was buried between your legs not minutes later, your claves down his back, heels of your feet digging into his shoulders and moving around like his own pair of angel wings.

Eddie sucked on your clit, fingers pumping slow and lazy in you, curling so he jammed into your g-spot, leaving you crying out and gushing. Your hands wrapped in his curls, crying out when he'd bury his nose into you, inhaling your scent entirely while devouring you from the inside out.

He'd pulled down your straps, leaving the top part around your waist so he could toy with your nipples, grinning into you at the way your back arched when he rolled them between his fingers.

You were a puddle when he finished, barely holding yourself up when you climbed down the length of his body, trailing sloppy, wet kisses. "'M gonna thank you for dinner." You said, hazy and spacey. "Thank you for takin' care of me."

Eddie smirked, pushing your hair out of your face when you fumbled with his pants. You palmed him through his black briefs, kissing the outline of his cock so delicately he lurched towards you.

You kissed up the length of him, tongue trailing back down lightly. You knew by now how he liked it, slow and a little teasing at first. Your mouth sucking lightly on his sac until he was throwing his head back with a groan, leaking from his tip. His hands found your hair, fisting tightly and pulling at your scalp.

You took your time. You really wanted to show him how much you appreciated him, how much you loved him. He didn't thrust into your mouth, or fuck your mouth until you choked around him. He let you swallow him taking him slowly and sweetly. Kitten licks to his tip that led to you nuzzling the hair at his base, him stuffed down your throat.

That's how he fucked you that night, slow and meaningful. There was no rush, no thrill to fuck quickly and hard. His body was pressed to yours, your hands on his back, heels digging into the flesh of his ass. Eddie kissed down your neck, muttering sweet words and praises Ito your skin, sweaty bodies conjoined together as the bed squeaked with every slow rock of his hips against yours.

Your eyes rolled back, toes curling when he circled his thumb around your clit. "'S good for me, bunny. That's right. Let me make you feel good, sweet girl." Eddie rasped against your cheek, pressing soft kisses into your heat licked skin.

Your nails raked down his back with every orgasm he pulled out of you. You clamped around him again, tears leaking out of your eyes. You could tell by the way his grip tightened on your waist that he was close, but he didn't pick up his speed. He kept it consistent and rhythmic, the way you liked it. Your heart swelled that he knew that about you now.

Eddie groaned, muscles clenching when he released, warmth filling you from the inside out. His sticky bangs pressed against your forehead, his head falling against yours, lips brushing and noses touching. "I love you so much, baby, so much, fuck." Eddie muttered, chest rising and falling quickly against you.

His head dropped to your shoulder, breath steadying as you remained wrapped in each other, close together. Eddie looked up at you, you ran a hand through his sweaty curls.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby." Eddie whispered, lips pressing against your jaw, trailing all the way to your lips. "I'll spoil you every other day, too. I promise, bunny."

"Yeah?" You asked, giggly and dazed, coming down from your own high.

Eddie nodded, hands fisting the fabric that was tossed on the space next to you two, lacy red fabric that had been sweat soaked and was now wrinkled. "I promise." He said. The lines by his eyes crinkled when he smiled, moving the discarded lingerie closer to you two. "Especially if you wear this again, baby, fuck." You giggled, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer to you.

You stored the lingerie piece in the back of his underwear drawer, saving it for the next time you needed it. You went to work the next day, high neck sweater to cover the hicks on your collarbones and breasts, but ears shining and sparkling with your new dazzling earrings.

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hazbinshusk · 7 months ago

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7 for Husk please? ♥️

prompt #7: a romantic kiss. inspired by this post by the master of all things husk, @irkimatsu.

“Ohh, Husk…” you breathe as you take in the room around you. Plush carpet and a decadent bed that’s so large it borders on laughable. A fully stocked bar sits in the corner, a bottle of champagne waiting in an ice bucket alongside two sparkling trumpet flutes. A blush creeps up over your neck and into your cheeks at the display of sex toys and tools artfully arranged against one section of the far wall, and you drag your eyes away from them and towards the heart-shaped hot tub sunk into the floor opposite the fireplace. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know,” he says simply, his arms wrapping around your waist as soon as the door is closed behind the two of you. You feel his tail brush against your ankle, his cheek brushing against the side of your throat. He presses his lips there gently. “Wanted to.”

You turn your head to kiss his cheek, hands curling around his where they cling to your middle. “You’re pretty much the sweetest guy in Hell, y’know that?”

“A low bar,” he chuckles, releasing you only to take your hand and lead you further into the room. “But I’ll take it.”

“You know what I mean,” you say with a playful eyeroll.

“I do,” he dusts his lips over your brow. You feel his claws on your clothes, unfastening them slowly. “Now, doll. Pretty sure that hot tub’s got your name on it.”

Your soft smile widens, and you step back away from your partner, your hands taking the place of his on your clothes. Husk watches you with lidded eyes, golden irises, as transfixed by the way you reveal more and more of your body to him as he was the first time you’d slept together. His tail switches back and forth slowly, and a smile blooms over his features as you sin into the bubbling water with a moan.

The heat of it eases away aches you didn’t even know you had, and you lay back against the edge of the tub with a soft sigh, smiling lazily up at Husk. “You are so getting your brains fucked out for this.”

He laughs, voice all a rich honey that fills your chest with a warmth completely separate from the heat surrounding you. He pours the two of you champagne before joining you beside the tub, handing you the glass. “Just relax, baby.”

“No arguments here,” you hum contentedly, patting the edge of the tub. “Join me?”

You know he isn’t going to get anywhere near the water, but he does move to lay on his stomach beside the tub, his chin resting on his folded arms in front of him, his face only inches from yours. A soft purr rolls through him, soothing you further, and you let yourself sink into the total comfort of the sound and the feel of the water. The two of you stay there together like that until the ice has melted around the champagne bottle and your glasses are empty, content to just experience this kind of relaxation together, far from the hotel and Alastor and all the drama of the next extermination.

Husk strokes his claws gently through your hair, and you giggle quietly as he leans forward to nuzzle his cheek against yours. Your smile widens, and you turn your head towards him. Husk bumps his head against your chin for a moment before he pulls back slightly, cupping your cheek in his hand.

Husk kisses you softly, languidly. His lips are soft and yielding against yours, his soft fur and cold nose tickling against your face. He sighs into the embrace, purr still reverberating through him, his claws still sliding through your hair. There’s no push to deepen it, to turn the kiss into something more heated or suggestive… you’re both content to just enjoy the sweetness of the touch, the intimacy of the moment.

“You know,” Husk clears his throat, bumping his forehead against yours. “You know I love you, right, doll?”

You nod, letting your head fall back against the edge of the tub.

“Sure, I do.” you say simply, drying your finger on a nearby towel before reaching up to scratch your fingers against the base of his ear. He leans into it, his purring increasing in volume. He blinks slowly, his chin against his arms again. “I love you, too.”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

#husk #husk x reader #husk fic #my fic #husk hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #husk posting #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel x reader #husk fanfic #husk fanfiction #hazbin husk

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i-prefer-west-side · 3 months ago

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Post-6x23 AU

The guests are long gone, the tables and chairs and gazebo and elegant, yet tasteful, flower arch disassembled and taken back to the rental company. Well, not the flower arch, that's still in his backyard.

Their backyard.

He hears the patio door open, and he turns to find his wife - his wife - pad out, a glass of champagne in each hand.

"Hi," she greets him, holding out one of the flutes, her smile widening into that special one reserved only for him.

He takes the glass and sets it on the table, wraps his arm around her waist, and pulls her into him. "Hi," he rasps, lowering his head and brushing his mouth against hers.

He straightens up and gazes at her, the setting sun casting a soft glow over her, enhancing her already overwhelming beauty.

She takes his breath away.

He slides his free hand down her arm and tangles his fingers with hers. "Come on." Her brows furrow, and he steps towards the yard, gently tugs her hand, encouraging her to follow. "Walk with me."

They gravitate towards each other as they walk, and it isn't long before hands start to wander, before they turn and go back to the house in an unspoken agreement to get behind closed doors so they can properly celebrate.

#castle fanfic #fluffy friday #season 6 #6x23 au

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la-spooky · 5 months ago

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꧁ ༺ Beneath His Dark Waters ༻ ꧂

I am determined to prove that Rafayel is a more fucked up individual than Sylus. It's unnerving how well he hides it. A match made in hell.

༻ CH1: His Ocean, His Obsession ༻ Read the 18+ kinky smut chapters at my AO3 ༻ Fic Status: Ongoing ༻ Pairing: Sylus x Rafayel ༻Summary: "You know damn well you fucked me, Rafayel," Sylus growled, his voice low and dangerous. "We made a deal." Rafayel felt the room closing in around him as the words sank like lead into his chest. His mouth went dry, but he kept his gaze locked on Sylus, refusing to show the fear gnawing at him from within. For a brief moment, Rafayel saw something else in Sylus’s eyes, a flicker of something raw, almost pained, beneath the anger. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask of control. Sylus leaned forward, the broken glass cutting into his palm. He didn’t flinch. “It’s time to pay your debt.”

The following content is protected under copyright laws. Do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own.

Rafayel's nerves had been fraying for days. It started with small things. Feeling a prickling on the back of his neck as if someone was watching him, shadows that seemed to move just out of sight, and flashes of red that flickered in his peripheral vision. At first, he dismissed them as tricks of his mind or remnants of his time on the run. But as the days passed, the sense of being watched grew stronger, the flashes of red more frequent, and his sleep more restless.

He tried to ignore his paranoia by poring himself into his art. The studio, usually a place of calm and creation, now felt like a pressure cooker, the walls closing in on him. He was in the middle of a particularly aggressive stroke when his phone buzzed loudly on the table beside him. The sharp sound made him jump, his hand slipping and smearing the paint across the canvas. With a frustrated sigh, he wiped his hands on a rag and grabbed the phone, his heart still racing from the sudden noise.

The message was from an unknown number. His brow furrowed as he opened it, expecting some spam or wrong number. But as soon as the text opened, his phone screen flickered violently. The usual smooth interface became corrupted with glitching streaks of black and red. Before he could react, the first message appeared on the screen with a distorted nightmarish tone that made his skin crawl.

¿D̸͖͘ḭ̶̽d̶̼̽ ̶͍͝y̵̡̽o̵̟̕u̴̓ really think y̷̤̌o̵u woü̴ld get͈ aw̵̘̕ȃ̵̭y ̶͑with it?

Rafayel's heart pounded in his chest as he read the message. His mind raced, trying to figure out who could have sent it and what they were talking about. He tried to reply, but the phone screen glitched again before he could even type a response. What in the- a loud crash came from outside the studio. He froze for a moment, listening intently for any other sounds. Footsteps crunched on the gravel pathway, unnervingly deliberate and purposeful until they stopped just outside the glass sliding door.

Rafayel's nerves were shot at this point and he couldn't take it anymore. Fuck this. I’m outta here. He grabbed his keys and bolted out of the studio through his front door. As soon as he stepped outside though, everything went black.

Rafayel awoke handcuffed to an ornate dining chair. The room around him was draped in opulence, with rich red and black accents that seemed to seep into every corner. The dining table in front of him was laden with an extravagant feast. Glossy, decadent dishes that seemed almost too beautiful to touch, flanked by champagne flutes that caught the dim light and reflected it back with an eerie glimmer.

Dizziness gripped him, making everything appear fragmented. A groan escaped Rafayel's lips as he struggled to clear the haze from his vision. “Ah, you’re awake,” came a seductive, gravelly voice. “I was beginning to worry you’d miss the fun.”

Rafayel's eyes widened in shock as he recognized the voice. His blood ran cold as his vision gradually cleared. Across the table sat the suffocating presence of his past. A towering white haired man, alluring and intimidating in equal measure, watched him with piercing red eyes that cut through the haze with unnerving clarity. It was Sylus, his former captor and tormentor. Memories of his time with Sylus flooded back into Rafayel's mind, causing him to shudder involuntarily. He struggled against the restraints holding him down but they were too tight. He looked around frantically for a way out but there seemed to be none.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched Rafayel's panic. "You see," Sylus began, picking up a glass of whiskey and swirling it thoughtfully before taking a sip. "I have my ways of finding what is mine." His eyes gleamed dangerously at the last word. "And now that you're back where you belong," he continued softly, setting down the glass and steepling his fingers under his chin "we can finally catch up on old times."

"You can't keep me here," Rafayel spat at Sylus, trying to sound brave despite feeling terrified inside. "I'm not your pet anymore."

Sylus's lips twitched into a smirk at Rafayel's defiance. He found it amusing how the younger man tried to stand up to him, even when he was so clearly trapped. "Oh really?" he asked, leaning forward slightly. "And what makes you think that you are even worthy of being my pet? After all, I could have any Lemurian I please." His eyes raked over Rafayel hungrily before settling back on his face. There was something almost playful about Sylus now; a dangerous game where only one could win and lose simultaneously.

Rafayel gritted his teeth at the condescending tone in Sylus's voice. He refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had suffered during his captivity. "I don't know what you're talking about," Rafayel replied, trying to sound as confident as possible despite feeling like a trapped animal. "I've moved on from that part of my life."

Sylus chuckled softly at Rafayel's attempt to deny their past. He could see the fear in his eyes, even though he tried so hard to hide it. "Moved on?" he repeated incredulously, shaking his head slightly as if disappointed by such naivety. "You can run from me all you want but remember this; I always find what is mine." His gaze lingered on Rafayel for a moment before looking away dismissively.

Rafayel's stomach churned at the thought of being used by Sylus again. He had spent years trying to forget about their past together, but it seemed like he was doomed to relive it all over again. "I won't let you touch me," Rafayel said firmly, his voice shaking slightly with fear and anger. "I'd rather die than be your plaything again."

Sylus raised an eyebrow at Rafayel's defiance. He found it amusing how the younger man thought he could resist him. "Is that so?" he asked, with a smirk on his face. "And what makes you think that death is preferable to being mine?" His eyes gleamed dangerously as if daring Rafayel to try and escape once more. Rafayel knew damn well that death by his hands would be excruciatingly slow and sadistic.

Sylus leaned back in his chair and studied Rafayel with an unreadable expression, his piercing red eyes simmering beneath an icy veneer. The tension between them thickened, coiling in the air like a predator waiting to strike. "You know damn well you fucked me, Rafayel," Sylus growled, his voice low and dangerous. "We made a deal."

Rafayel felt the room closing in around him as the words sank like lead into his chest. His mouth went dry, but he kept his gaze locked on Sylus, refusing to show the fear gnawing at him from within.

Sylus's lips curled into a humorless smile as he continued. "You signed your rights away willingly, willingly," he repeated, as though tasting the bitterness of the betrayal on his tongue. “And still, you had the audacity to screw me over and everything we built together." The sound of glass cracking rang out as Sylus’s hand tightened around the delicate crystal in his grip. A hairline fracture splintered through the whiskey glass, but he paid it no mind, his focus solely on Rafayel.

For a brief moment, Rafayel saw something else in Sylus’s eyes, a flicker of something raw, almost pained, beneath the anger. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask of control. Sylus leaned forward, the broken glass cutting into his palm. He didn’t flinch. “It’s time to pay your debt.”

Rafayel's heart pounded in his chest. Debt. The word hung between them, charged with unspoken meaning. He knew exactly what Sylus meant, what he wanted. But Rafayel refused to bow to the weight of that word. Not again.

"You think this is about some deal we made?" Rafayel spat, the tremble in his voice betraying his rising fear. "You don't own me, Sylus. Whatever I signed, it was under duress. You manipulated me, cornered me until I had no choice!"

Sylus's expression darkened, his red eyes narrowing into slits. He stood slowly, the fractured glass slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. “I gave you everything, Rafayel. Freedom, power, a life beyond the chains of Lemuria, the civilization that you single-handedly destroyed. I shielded you from the guilt and sorrow of the mess you made. I saved you. And in return, you betrayed me.”

Rafayel felt a surge of anger flood his veins. “Betrayed you? You imprisoned me, Sylus. You never gave me freedom. You twisted it to your liking, made me believe I owed you my life. But I was never free, not for a second. I was just your exotic pet!”

A cold, sharp laugh escaped Sylus, his towering form looming over the table now. “Oh, Rafayel...You still don’t understand, do you?” His voice, rich with malice and something darker, sent a shiver crawling down Rafayel’s spine. Rafayel's breath quickened as Sylus drew closer, his steps echoing ominously through the grand room.

As the handsome predator approached, Rafayel’s senses were overwhelmed. Sylus’s presence was intoxicating, his cologne thick with the unmistakable scent of Lemurian aphrodisiacs. It hit Rafayel like a wave, dulling his resistance as an involuntary heat coursed through him. His lips parted, and to his horror, he realized he was already salivating. He clenched his jaw, forcing his body to fight the effect. “S-stop…get away from me,” Rafayel choked out, his voice trembling, but the defiance was still there, buried beneath the fear and the unnatural pull he felt toward Sylus. His words felt weak, powerless, swallowed by the overwhelming presence of the man closing in on him.

Sylus smiled deliberately as if savoring Rafayel’s struggle. He leaned in, his eyes glowing with that same predatory hunger as he reached out, his fingers brushing against Rafayel’s cheek. The touch was feather-light but burned with an intensity that made Rafayel flinch. The blood that had been oozing from Sylus’s palm moments ago seemed to vanish, the gash knitting together in front of Rafayel’s wide eyes as if his very flesh bent to Sylus’s will.

“There’s no escaping what’s real, Rafayel,” Sylus whispered, his voice softening into something almost tender, a cruel contrast to the situation. “Your debt...it was never just about the deal.” He paused, letting the words settle like a weight on Rafayel’s chest. “It’s about us.”

Rafayel’s heart hammered as Sylus’s hand slid from his cheek to his jaw, tilting his face upward so their eyes locked. The red in Sylus’s gaze gleamed with a dangerous mix of desire and dominance. “What we had, Rafayel...you felt it. You know it was real.”

Rafayel gritted his teeth, fighting the haze clouding his thoughts, his body betraying him under the effects of the Lemurian drugs and the unnerving pull of Sylus’s power. “You twisted everything...it was never real,” he hissed, though even as he said the words, there was a crack in his voice. It had been real and he couldn't even deny it to himself. But what Sylus wanted, what he took, couldn’t have been love.

Sylus’s lips quirked into a smirk, his thumb brushing along Rafayel’s lower lip with unsettling intimacy. “You keep telling yourself that, but deep down, you know. What we shared, it was more than just control. You gave yourself to me because you wanted to. And I...gave you everything.” The warmth in Sylus’s voice was laced with venom, a seductive, dangerous edge that made Rafayel’s skin crawl.

Reality was more terrifying than the delusion Rafayel had spun for so long. He could not accept that maybe, just maybe, there had been something mutual in the twisted relationship. Sylus hadn’t always manipulated him, hadn’t always warped his mind until nothing felt certain except the suffocating weight of his power. Rafayel had willingly swam into the angler fish’s trap again and again and again.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #rafayel #sylus #sylusxrafayel #rafayelxsylus #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lnds rafayel #lnds sylus #l&ds rafayel #l&ds sylus #abysswalker #abysswalker rafayel #god of the tides #sylus love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace

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thanotaphobia · 1 year ago

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diplomatic affairs

It's Missa's first time at a Federation-hosted Summit. His goals are pretty simple, all things considered: 1. Don't spill any state secrets. 2. Be of service to his kingdom. 3. Don't die.

And apparently, a secret fourth thing: Don't fall in love. It's not as simple as it looks.

introducing my first multichapter qsmp fic letsfuckinggooooo

crossposted to ao3

⋆

Despite all appearances, Missa doesn’t actually like crowds. He finds them hard to get by in, whirling languages and words spiraling around his head and not so much confusing him as they do overwhelm.

Add alcohol into the mix, and some people would consider him a downright introvert. He doesn’t drink often, but at a party like this, with people in shimmering dress and glittering jewels, he thinks that not having a champagne flute in your hand is something like social suicide. Across the room, Missa watches a woman in a soft, blue velvet gown effortlessly hand off an empty glass to a servant and take another off their tray, sliding herself back into conversation with a graceful smile and a tactful touch of her gloved hand to a chunky necklace weighing down her neck. He wishes he could be like that, like the men in uniform talking at the front of the room, the tittering groups of confident people around him.

But he’s not, so he sips the same glass of champagne he’s had for the past hour carefully and finds an open set of balcony doors. The golden light of the ballroom casts long strips of honey onto the stone floors and out across the railings, disappearing into the cool night air of the gardens below. Missa escapes into the space, where the noise is dampened some and the warm stuffy air is replaced by a cool breeze.

He leans against the rail, staring out. Above him, stars glitter. Below, the whisper of palace gardens and beyond that, the shimmering lights of a city spread out on the hillside. Another reason he feels so awkward: this is not his home. His home is a two week carriage ride away, and he feels the distance acutely.

In his grasp, his flute swirls left and then right, almost lazily. He watches the liquid inside it slosh around, and lets out a soft huff of air. It’s not even bubbly anymore– long gone flat. Missa lifts it to his lips.

“Excuse me,” someone says behind him. Missa jumps– the rim of his glass bumps against his teeth and he just barely manages to bite back a cry of pain. Instead, he just makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and raises one hand to cover his mouth. When he turns, a blond man is standing, haloed by golden light coming from the ballroom. He’s looking at Missa with two blue eyes, wide with alarm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” Missa says. He means it– the pain is already receding, and he tongues over his teeth to make sure he doesn’t taste blood. When he doesn’t, he lowers his hand from his mouth carefully. “Ah– it’s okay! I’m okay.”

“You sure, mate?” the man asks, stepping forward. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m fine,” Missa says, dipping his head quickly. “You just�� startled me.”

“Not the intention, I promise,” the man says, holding two hands up and laughing a little. “I was just going to ask if you wouldn’t mind some company.”

“No,” Missa says. He’s better at one on one interactions, but an itch of anxiety creeps up inside him anyway. “No, that’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Cool,” the man says. He steps up to the railing beside Missa, and he gets a closer look at the man’s face– slightly lined, blond hair tied back into a small ponytail at the base of his skull. He looks worn, but not defeated. A red flower is pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket. Missa glances down at his own, and the blue flower on his own. “So how have you been enjoying it?” the man asks abruptly, once again startling Missa out of his own mind.

“Enjoying…?” Missa trails off, a little confused.

The man looks over at him, raises a brow. “The talks?”

Right. Right. The whole reason Missa’s here. He wants to press his palm to his forehead and cool the rushing blood that comes to his face, but he tries to compose himself and succeeds by looking out over the city below them again.

“The talks,” he manages to squeak out. “They’ve been good, I think.”

“I saw you in a few of the sessions this morning,” the man says. Missa looks over at him, more serious now; he studies the man’s face again, and realizes quietly that he also has seen him around. “Missa, right?”

“Yeah,” Missa says. His name has no title– it was a clause of neutrality that all titles should be dropped when in the house of discussion. He searches his memory for the man’s name and struggles to put a name to him. “And you’re…”

“Phil,” he says, holding out one hand. “We haven’t formally met.”

Oh, now he knows this man.

Missa shakes the hand of the Angel of Death and is very, very brave about it. A decorated soldier, although the shiny buttons that would insinuate his status have been left at the door. He’s heard lots about this man, Philza Minecraft– Phil, apparently– and most of it has been incredibly bloody. But the man himself stands a slight inch shorter than Missa himself and while he holds himself with confidence and decorum, he… isn’t very scary. Might be the contrast of his red flower to his blue eyes, Missa thinks. The red doesn’t suit his face.

“It’s good to meet you,” he says.

“First time at a Summit?” Phil asks. Missa balks, but only for a moment.

“How’d you know?”

“You look nervous. Everyone looks nervous, their first time. It’s alright, it’s just the first introductions this morning, the opening gala now, and then everyone buckles down tomorrow afternoon for the real shit.”

“How many have you been to?”

“Oh, a few.” At that, Phil grins at him, half his face caught in the light. “So what do you think of it all so far?”

Missa mulls over the meetings he’s attended in his head. He glances back at the ballroom, eyes the waiters gliding around on silent feet with faces covered by white gauze, then says, “I think there are a lot of strong people on all sides.”

“Huh. I can see why you’re here.”

“It’s true,” Missa argues. “Each of us seem to have our problem starters and our problem solvers. I like to think we can come to a good conclusion, but at the same time, I don’t know.”

“Too early to tell?”

“I am hopeful for peace.”

“Same,” Phil says. “But like I said, I’ve been to a few of these and nothing’s happened yet in the past fifteen years, so.”

Missa has to concede his point. It might be his first time attending one of the Summits held by the Federation of Unity, but they’ve been happening for years now. And despite the constant talks of peace and love and no more war– it’s continued on anyway. By now, the Summits are basically just glorified parties for the elite, where they can shed their royal cloaks and crowns for a fortnight and pretend like they all like each other. Missa has heard some wild tales of what happens at these things, but so far it’s been pretty tame. He feels almost paranoid to step out of place, especially under the watchful, faceless gazes of the waiters.

“Don’t sound so excited,” Missa says dryly, despite it. Phil laughs, bending over slightly as he leans against the rail, and smiles out into the dark.

“It’s fine,” he says, dragging the word out. “We’ll have some fun, spread some rumors. Charlie Slimecicle and Mariana will fuck, probably.”

Missa chokes, nearly drops his glass. “What?”

Phil laughs again, turning around and squinting. Then, after a second, he raises one hand and gestures towards the ballroom. Missa turns around and looks where he’s pointing, rising up onto his tiptoes to see through the crowd.

“Charlie’s with me,” Phil says, and Missa spots Mariana after a second, then another man next to him with brown hair and glasses, a red flower on his jacket. “He and Mariana have consistently uhhh, well. They’ve been… together, yeah let’s go with that. They’ve been together for the last like three Summits and had screaming fights every time.”

This is news to Missa. “I know Mariana,” he says, watching enraptured as Slimecicle leans in and whispers in Mariana’s ear. “He never said–”

“Nobody really talks about it when we’re not here,” Phil says. “What happens at a Summit stays at a Summit.”

“Seems dumb,” Missa says, shaking his head. “Aren’t we supposed to– to cooperate?”

“One would think,” Phil says. He looks over at Missa, eyes flicking down. “Hey, are you going to finish that?”

Missa looks down at his half-empty, flat champagne. “Oh. No. Do you–”

“Sure.” Phil takes it from him and downs it with ease. Missa watches, the light striking against his Adam’s apple as it bobs, then Phil lowers the glass from his mouth and lets out a breath through his teeth. “Alright. Let’s get you another one.”

“I don’t drink,” Missa says quickly.

“It’s a party, mate,” Phil says, “Of course you drink,” and Missa doesn’t argue further as he’s herded inside like a cat. He thinks going against Phil wouldn’t be the smartest move– and he would be lying to himself if he wasn’t a little curious. Phil finds a Federation waiter and takes two glasses from them, handing one to Missa. He takes a little sip and the bubbles burst like candy on his tongue, the sharp tang of alcohol making the inside of his mouth and the back of his throat warm. Phil is watching him, and Missa watches him back in turn.

“So what’s your role?” Phil asks. Missa blinks.

What is his role? It’s not something he’s thought too much about, although perhaps he should’ve. His role is support, he thinks. A shoulder for his teammates to lean on, brought by direct order of the king. He’s pretty sure he was a last minute addition, the first new person– he has to stop, remind himself not to even think about his country’s name– the first new person the blues have brought in a few years. Of course he’d caught the attention of someone like Phil. Maybe that’s his role. A distraction.

“Diplomacy,” he says, but he’s pretty sure the long pause before his answer gave away the thought he put into it. Internally, he curses himself.

“Pretty sure we’re all here for that,” Phil points out, a brow raised.

“Exactly,” Missa says, hoping he comes across smoother than he feels. He’s not lying, at least. “So why do you… why do you look surprised?”

“I don’t,” Phil says, despite looking skeptical throughout this whole conversation. Missa’s about to open his mouth again and say something, probably something stupid, when something catches his attention. A blue flower pinned to a jacket, approaching at a quick pace, the face above the lapel a familiar one. Missa stands up a little straighter and Phil clearly notices, glancing over his shoulder as a short young man with two-toned brown and blonde hair.

“Hello, gentlemen,” he says, sidling up to their conversational space.

“Your–” Missa remembers a split second too late they’re on Federation territory, and quickly recovers with, “You’re here!”

“Sure am, bossman,” Tubbo says, looking at him with a quizzical expression. “We did arrive in the same carriage after all.” Phil coughs into his hand, covering a laugh, and Missa feels his cheeks go red. Thankfully, Tubbo turns his attention to Phil and Missa can relax somewhat. “Mister Za.”

“Tubbo,” Phil says genially, raising his glass at him. “Long time no see. How’s the weapon of mass destruction going?”

“Hey now,” Tubbo says, grinning and elbowing Phil in the side. “Hey now, Philza, I’m sure I didn’t hear you right, did I? Did I? Talking politics at the opening gala?”

“I would never,” Phil says, resting his hand lightly above his heart. Missa lifts his own glass to his mouth and swallows a large mouthful. For some reason, with Tubbo’s arrival, he feels like he might need it.

“I see you’ve kidnapped our newest attendee,” Tubbo says, and Missa sends him a mental message over their brainwaves and with the slightest widening of his eyes– help me. “Mind if I steal him back?”

“All yours,” Phil says, but Missa doesn’t miss the way the man looks a little disappointed.

“You can pick his brain for info at a later date,” Tubbo says, grabbing Missa’s arm. He’s shorter than Missa by a hot minute, and he almost has to bend down for it to actually make sense. “Until tomorrow, old man.”

“Bye, Tubbo,” Phil says. He smiles at Missa, the crow’s eyes crinkling at the edges of his temples. “Nice to meet you, Missa.”

Missa barely has time to squeak out, “You too,” before Tubbo is dragging him away. Once they’re out of sight, Tubbo heaves a giant sigh.

“Man, that guy is an asshole,” he says, and Missa splutters.

“He seemed nice.”

“He’s a manipulative prick. And a deadly one at that. I’m just glad you don’t know enough to accidentally spill any important beans. The beans must be contained, Missa. Keep it straight. Or, at least– keep it honest.” Tubbo gives his arm a little shake as Missa digests all that. He barely has a moment before there’s another weight on his other side, and he looks down to find Tina clutching his other arm.

“Missa!” she says cheerfully. Her cheeks are rosy and her hair is done up intricately on top of her head, crowned with a few flowers. Her dress, a brilliant gauzy pink, flows around her legs like water. “Who were you talking to! Tubbo, who was he talking to?”

“Philza,” Tubbo says before Missa can answer her. She gasps.

“The angel?” she asks. “No way! He’s so scary.”

“He wasn’t that bad,” Missa says quickly.

“That’s what he wants you to think,” Tubbo points out. “It’s all part of the game here. Make you think he’s not so scary, make you trust him–”

“And then he stabs you in the back!” Tina says a little too loudly. She even makes a stabbing motion to go with it, her wrist twisting out into the open air in front of them. Missa pats her arm. He has no idea what to think anymore– even if Tubbo and Tina are right, Phil had still been cordial, and isn’t the whole point of a Summit to come to agreement?

“Tubbo,” he says, turning slightly to look at the other. “Tubbo, are we even here to…”

“To…?”

“Work together?”

Tubbo’s eyes furrow and his brows draw tightly together. “Missa,” he says. “You know it’s… well, it’s complicated. But sure, we’re here to work together.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Missa asks, and Tubbo, who has pointedly not been looking at him for the past thirty seconds, pats his arm and breaks away.

“We can talk about it later, my guy. Now, everyone says the opening gala isn’t meant to be political, myself included, but let’s be real. Everyone’s digging for info. It’s my turn. You guys have fun, don’t get too wasted.”

“Okay, says you,” Tina says, rolling her eyes. Tubbo grins cheekily at her, turning away. Missa is left bereft, still bursting to the brim with questions but his mouth is sticky and tacky, not wanting to move. The cotton in his throat is hard to swallow past, so he just takes a long sip of the dry champagne. It does nothing to loosen his tongue, so he takes a bigger swig and is surprised to find the flute empty.

Tina’s been talking at him for the last thirty seconds, he realizes.

“–says that when last time he was the one to get so drunk he couldn’t come to the meeting the next morning. So they moved it this year, so all the discussion takes place in the afternoon tomorrow to give us time to recover! It’s Tubbo’s fault! It usually is– I think the Federation really doesn’t like him, but who am I to tell?” She giggles, hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell them I said that though. Or Tubbo. He’s a fan of the Feds, or at least, one Fed. If you know what I mean.”

Missa has a feeling he does not know what she means. The champagne flute has apparently magically left his hand. The world is dancing around him, ghostly lights flickering in front of his eyes. Tina seems to notice his distance and reaches up on her toes to pat his cheek– the force of it drags him back down to earth.

“Man, you good?” she asks. “Did that angel say something to you or what?”

“Phil?” Missa asks.

Tina raises a brow. “Is that his name? I thought he was a Minecraft.”

“You don’t know?”

“I dunno, I’ve never been brave enough to ask.”

“He approached me,” Missa says. “On a balcony.”

“He sniffs out his victims that way. Ooo, do you want to hear a rumor I heard about the reds? Something about toxic gas–”

“You know we aren’t supposed to gossip.” A new voice cuts through them, and Missa jumps about twelve feet into the air, yelping a little. Behind him, Bad laughs, coming around Missa’s right. “Oh, sorry Missa!”

"Oh, not this guy again," Tina complains, scoffing and rolling her eyes. “I can gossip all I want, mister party pooper.”

"Hey!" Bad frowns. "I thought you were better than that, Tina."

“Nope,” Tina says. Missa smiles at his two friends– people he knows are safe. They’re an island in a raging ocean of confusion right now, with languages and people surrounding him like hungry sharks. Missa is a fish out of water. But Tina and Bad bickering? That’s the most normal thing in the world.

“How are you, Missa?” Bad asks, looking at him. His hair has been pulled back into a slick ponytail, glasses perched delicately on his nose. As Missa watches, he pushes them up with one finger. “Anyone bothering you?”

“No,” Missa says, deciding not to tell Bad about Philza. He thinks that would be unwise. Tina also keeps her mouth shut, thankfully, and Missa’s heart swells with fondness. “Just enjoying the night.”

“It is beautiful out here,” Bad says, turning to look at the crowd of dancers. Then he glances around again, a frown sneaking onto his face. “I’m not the biggest fan of the Federation workers, though. I always forget how creepy they are.”

“You’re being mean, Bad,” Tina says. “They’re just workin’!”

“I don’t like not being able to see their faces,” Bad explains, and Missa can understand that. Occasionally he’ll catch a glimpse of a Federation waiter out of the corner of his eye, and something about the stark-white uniforms and fluttering gauzy mask makes his whole body startle.

“Just stay out of their way,” Bad says, patting Missa on the shoulder. “And you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not nervous,” Missa challenges, even though he’d expressed the exact opposite to Bad on the way here.

“I know a good way to calm down,” Tina says, smirking. She grabs Missa’s hand and jumps up and down a few times on the balls of her heels, face flushing red like roses. “Come dance with me! Come dance with me!”

“I can dance with you, Tina,” Bad says.

“Nope, no thanks,” Tina says. “I want to dance with Missa. Come on, come dance!”

“Oh, I don’t–”

“You can’t say no. I’m literally vetoing it,” Tina says firmly. “We can’t let those lessons Tubbo got you go to waste.”

“Fine,” Missa says, laughing a little as Tina laughs with glee. If it makes her happy, he doesn’t mind. Plus, the alcohol he’s consumed makes him a little looser, a little more eager to say yes. He’s in a foreign country with his friends and free reign to let loose for one night– no politics, no duties, no stress. Missa feels something lift from his shoulders, even as Tina’s hands settle into place and lead him out onto the dance floor.

“Have fun!” Bad calls out behind them. Tina sticks her tongue out where only Missa can see, and he laughs with her as they fall into step together, dancing like second nature.

“He’s so dumb,” Tina complains, and Missa lets her talk until she gets tired of talking. He likes Tina a lot– she’s comforting, and smart, and cool. She seems so confident all the time, and he knows from experience how sweet she can be. Eventually they’re both just dancing in silence except for the occasional humming from Tina, spinning in circles with a dozen other pairs.

“Tina,” Missa finally says, a question bubbling to the surface. “Earlier, Philza mentioned– Charlie and Mariana?”

“Oh yeah,” Tina says, blowing air into her cheeks. They puff up like a chipmunk, deflating as she lets out a stream of air. “Old news.”

“What about you?”

“What what about me?”

“Do you have anyone here?”

Tina goes quiet again. Missa almost thinks she’s crossed a line before she tugs him down a little. He puts his hands on her waist, lifts her a half-turn, her dress whirling like a cloud at sunset.

“Her name’s Bagi,” Tina says, right at the point where Missa is about to faint with anxiety.

“Oh,” he says, then sighs. Thank goodness. He glances around, once, twice. “Point her out?”

Tina purses her lips and he lifts her again, her hair dusting along his eyes this time. She giggles when he sets her down, and they dance another room length before she nods. “Over there,” she says, her eyes locked onto someone across the way. “She’s green.”

Missa looks, and finds a woman and a man in the direction Tina gestured; they’re talking– arguing, more like it, based on the way he’s gesturing and she’s standing there with a sour look. The matching streaks of white through their hair is interesting, as is the fact she’s green and he’s red.

“Her?” Missa asks.

Tina nods, a dreamy look in her eye. “She’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“The guy’s Cellbit. He’s a jerk. Don’t talk to him.”

“Are they–”

“Siblings. It’s a long story. Ask Bagi sometime. I’ll introduce you two.”

“Okay.” Missa smiles, and she smiles back. He’s starting to get tired of dancing, and Tina apparently is too, but the music switches from something upbeat to a slower song and it’s easier then.

During this is when Missa looks over, and finds Phil watching him. He’s standing beside two other men, one of which has a shock of white hair and a fluffy white cravat, the other bald and intense. They’re both wearing green flowers and talking amongst themselves, but in the moment he finds himself watching them, Phil is staring right at Missa through the crowds.

He catches his gaze and feels himself flush. His heart literally skips a beat, feeling as though someone’s reached their hand inside his ribcage and squeezed. His breath catches– he quickly looks away. Some people come between them and, when he glances over next, Phil isn’t looking anymore. He’s talking to the two green men, animated and smiling.

“You okay?” Tina asks. When he looks down at her (heart racing, pounding, cheeks burning) she’s smiling at him, kind and sweet and familiar. He takes a minute to calm his nerves and straighten his spine.

“Yeah,” he says. Tina laughs and spins him around, her gloved hands like ice on his shoulders.

The next time Missa looks over to where Phil had been standing, the man is gone.

#qsmp #q!missa #q!philza #team soulfire #pissa #phissa #qsmp purgatory #back to my fantasy worldbuilding roots #get ready for some sweet sweet angst #this is a pissa fic but im going to be introducing literally everyone i can soooooooooooooooooooooo #my writing

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jynzandtonic · 1 year ago

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Absolutely CANNOT get over the fact that he’s 40 now. I’m being so not normal about this. Anyway. Maybe some birthday smut with Charlie??

WHY IS IT THAT HIM BEING 40 IS SO FUCKING HOT? WHY IS THIS HITTING ME IN THE DEEPEST DARKEST PART OF MY SOUL? Like I just turned fuckin thirty there's not that much of an age gap yet still my lizard brain is like DADDY DADDY DADDY. Anyway, I'm not okay. I hope you're hanging in there lol. Please accept these thots:

(cw: oral sex)

Thumb resting on the side of the champagne cork, you smile when you hear his keys in the front door and his heavy footsteps in the hallway. He laughs deep and rich when he crosses the threshold and sees the silver balloons behind you in the living room, a big helium four and zero floating behind you amidst a mess of streamers you'd put up with Henry earlier in the day.

"Surprise!" you squeal, popping the bubbly and scampering over to kiss him on the cheek. The delicate glass clouds with condensation as you pour the ice cold liquid into the flute and pass it to him, but he's more interested in tasting the sweet swell of your lips.

"Where's the kid?" he smiles against your mouth, gently plucking the champagne from your hand.

"Sleepover with friends," you say, tucking a finger into his belt and tugging him closer to you. "Just you and me tonight. It's part of your present."

"My present?" His mouth tugs up at the corner.

"Your present," you repeat, pulling to release his belt buckle with a soft clink and sinking to your knees in front of him.

He groans softly as you work his slacks and briefs over his thighs, revealing his thick, flushed cock. You pump him softly as you wet your lips, blinking up at him sweetly. His eyes go black when your tongue slides up the underside of his shaft, hands tangling in your hair to hold you in place as you swirl around his swollen head.

"Oh, sweetheart." His voice is soft and strained but his gaze is ferocious, drinking in the sight of you as you start to bob on his length. You take him deep and he holds you there, sighing when you gag and splutter. "You have no idea how fucking pretty you are with your lips wrapped around my cock."

The way you hum in response vibrates all the way through him and suddenly your mouth just isn't enough—he needs to taste you, needs to feel your cunt squeeze around him.

"No no no," you complain as he pulls you off him, reluctantly rising to your feet as he pulls you up by the hair. "Tonight's about you, Charlie!"

He grins and pushes you back on the couch, hiking up your dress and pulling your undies around your ankles. You gasp as he trails kisses up your inner thigh, pausing just before your jelly-slick center.

"Don't I get to have my cake and eat it, too?"

#jyn z thots #jynzandtonic writes #charlie barber #charlie barber fanfiction #charlie barber fanfic #charlie barber smut #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #charlie barber/reader #charlie barber/you

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viperrot · 2 years ago

Text

⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 3

resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au

you and your brother spend time together at a local diner. of course, you see leon there—with a pretty girl no less!

pt. 1 pt.2 pt.4

content contains: mild angst, mild enemies to lovers, mean leon, cliches, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!

not proofread i am sleepy

2252 words

song rec: "little nocturne" by hiroshi takaki

The little bell above the shop's wooden, yellow door jingles as Damien and I enter, and the smell of carpet and fresh paper fills my senses. The music shop is painted in a warm light, the wooden walls lined with an assortment of instruments ranging from guitars, drums, and a few brass, although very few. There's a few pianos tucked into corners, and shelves of lesson books and other arrangements are shoved into them. I've been here many times before, and the shop owner often gives me discounts with how frequently I visit. There's no one behind the register, so I assume whoever's working today is in the back.

"Mrs. Conaway?" I call out, eyes darting around the shop. From behind a shelf, a little head peeps out, revealing a frail woman in her late fifties. Her glasses make her eyes bubble, and her salt-n-pepper hair is tied up in a chaotic mess atop her head.

"Ah, good morning, you two!" Mrs. Conaway smiles goofily, waddling out from behind the wooden shelf. "I assume you're here for your oboe?"

"That 'n some slide grease. I'm running a bit low," I chuckle dryly, walking with the elderly woman to the register. To the left of the register is a glass case showing off a variety of wind instruments. There's flutes, a few piccolos, a trumpet mouthpieces, a single trombone, and finally...

The F. Lorée classic oboe.

My dream instrument since beginning junior high. A professional level oboe going for over three-thousand dollars, the Lorée company has been making them for almost a century, known famously for their beautifully crafted instruments. I had been saving up for one post-high school since my freshman year.

"Y'think daddy's money can afford that?" Damien nudges me with a joking smile, referring to the extra cash I'll be getting from tutoring the girls. I roll my eyes.

"Maybe," I chuckle. Mrs. Conaway pulls out a beat-up looking case from behind the register as Damien and I banter, setting it on top of the instrument display case to show it to me.

"It's an intermediate brand. I hope it isn't too bad," she gives me a sheepish grin.

"Don't worry!" I mirror her smile, popping open the case to give the double reed instrument a look. It's a little dirty and the corks look drier than a desert, but it was nothing I couldn't fix. "It's perfect, Mrs. Conaway. Thank you so much," I nod at her, clicking the oboe case shut carefully. She clasps her hands together happily.

"I'm so glad to hear that! And remember, you don't have'ta pay me for it. It's the least I can do for my sweetest customer!" The elderly woman says giddily.

"Agh, even so... I really appreciate it, Mrs. Conaway. I'll return it as soon as I get a new one," I promise her. She pushes the case toward me, eager for me to get on with playing it and also for me to leave so she can keep working. Damien and I walk out of the shop, stepping out into the sun that shun down onto the busy town centre.

"So...?" Damien looks at me with a wicked smirk. "We got the car for the day... are ya thinkin' what I'm thinkin', thumper?" He swings his arm over my shoulders. I eye him with a quirked brow. As if reading each other's mind, we shout in unison,

"ICE CREAM 'N JOYRIDES!"

Our cheer echoes down the street, but we giggle as if there's nothing wrong in the world. We jog over to the Impala, hopping in quickly before driving off to the best restaurant in the world—Hattie's. A local favourite, and everyone here swears that it sells the best shakes you could possibly imagine. Mrs. Hattie L. Parker started the old shoppe when Everglade was first founded in 1957 at the age of 22, and it's been a staple ever since in this old town. I can't name a single person here that doesn't frequent the place.

We pull into an empty spot with "Come On Eileen" playing lowly from the radio. As soon as we park, we throw ourselves out of the car, racing each other to the door of the diner while giggling all the way. I decide to bring my hand-me-down oboe with me, wanting to get some repair as soon as possible.

"You're cheating!" Damien yelps when he sees me get to the glass door faster than him.

"Nuh uh?! It's not my fault I'm just a lil closer to the door compared to you!" I cackle, pushing the door open with my back as I hug my case to my chest. My older brother gives me a rough pat on the head, jostling my hair around with his palm. I grunt at the affection, trying to pull him off of me as we stumbled into the bustling diner. It's almost packed, most of the booths and counter seats taken up. As Damien and I look around for a seat, I lock eyes with him.

In a booth is Leon Scott Kennedy, sitting with three other people. Next to him is the famous Ada Wong, known across the school for being the one of best lacrosse players in the county, as well as my graduate year's class president. I can't see the other two he's sitting with from where I'm standing, but I'm assuming it's someone from her little posse that's been at her feet since freshman year.

I feel myself shrink as I make eye contact with him, unconsciously drifting to stand behind my brother. Leon's got the same glare I saw him give me before Damien and I left to get my new oboe, which was clutched tightly to my front. I notice he changed his clothes, sporting a deep blue sweater with a white collared shirt beneath it.

Damien notices how quiet I'm being and follows my gaze.

"You good, thump- Oh..." The boy sneers at the sight of the ace. He squeezes my shoulder softly. "Ignore 'em, sis. Let's sit over here," he grunts, spinning me toward an empty booth at the opposite end of the diner. We settle into the red, leather seats, immediately ordering a sodapop and a banana-split to share between us. I keep my head down, eyes trained on the oboe case on the table.

Carefully, I open it to reveal the old thing. Rummaging through the case, I pull out a tube of cork grease and get to work. I'm careful as I apply the lubricant onto the dry corks, trying not to put too much on to avoid them get soft and even more flakey. All the while, I can feel the stares on me.

I look up hesitantly, eyes immediately settling on Leon. His arm is wrapped around Ada Wong's shoulder, fingers playing with the threads of her black cardigan. My fingers tighten around the lower piece of my oboe, an odd feeling in my chest as I watch the blonde be so casual with someone I assume he's only known for a day. Suddenly, he looks up at me, seeming just as confused as I am. I quickly look back down at the parts in my case, praying he didn't catch me staring.

"Can't believe he's hangin' out with Wong and her best friend," Damien huffs, fiddling with the turkey feather for my oboe. I remember that he and Ada had a thing going on before the summer. He never told me what happened—all I knew is that one night, he came home crying, and he sobbed about how much he loved her. I never brought it up since then, but tt finally occurs to me that Leon was most likely on a double date of sorts, and the ache in my chest worsens. Ada isn't really seen with boys outside of school unless she had some romantic interest in them...

"Are you really surprised, though? I mean, they're both heartless assholes with no personality," I sigh, setting the lower piece back into the case. I snag the feather out of Damien's fingers, stuffing it into velvet-lined container before closing it.

"Heh, I guess you're right," he chuckles.

Our order finally arrives, and I set my oboe in the booth next to me, making sure it won't fall again. Immediately, Damien tears apart the sweet treat we got, and I fear he won't spare me a bite. I laugh softly at his messy eating, the neapolitan ice cream smearing across his lips as he chowed down.

From the corner of my eye, I see my tormentor staring at me from his seat, and he's got this look in his eyes I can't quite place. His plump lips are pursed a little, and there's a small crease between his brows. I can't tell if he's looking here to judge me or if he's trying to brew up new ways to harass me. My heart pounds and I can feel a thin layer of sweat form at the top of my neck as I stress.

"Do you want to leave, (Y/n)?" My brother asks, looking up from the bowl of ice cream. His voice is stern, and I can tell he isn't playing around.

"Uhm..." I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking of what to do. "I... I think I'll be okay," I swallow dryly, reaching out for the glass of sodapop to take a sip. Damien seems unconvinced with the way he's narrowing his eyes at me.

"M'kay..." he grunts, going back to eating the sundae. I take a few nibbles as well, trying my best to ignore the way Leon watched me from his seat across the room.

He's on a date with someone... Why is he so focused on me?

Thankfully, Damien finishes off the ice cream quickly. With the way he's so jittery, I can tell he wants to leave, too. We stack our plates close to the end of the table so it's easier to clean up before we head to the register, wanting to pay and leave as soon as possible. I carry my oboe case behind my back, swaying back and forth on my heels as my brother pays for our treat. When we turn around to leave, we're face to face with the people we wanted to avoid.

"Dami, it's good to see you again. Couldn't you bother to say hello?" The girl in red smiled up at my big brother. Finally, I have a good look of the group.

Ada's dressed in her classic colours, the scarlet sweater-dress tight against her bosom that's accentuated by the cross hanging by her neck. Her ebony cardigan is kept over her arm as she stands with her hip popped out a bit, making her hourglass figure apparent.

Leon's sweater-collared combo was paired with mocha coloured dress pants, the sleeves of his shirts rolled up to his elbows to show off his muscle.

The other couple accompanying them, I gave no attention to, instead tugging at Damien's shirt in attempt to ground him

"That's rich coming from someone who didn't have the balls to say goodbye to me," my brother says through gritted teeth, his eye twitching lightly as his knuckles turned white. Ada gave him a hearty laugh.

"Oh, Dami, that was so long ago. I'm surprised you even remembered with how drunk you were," she chuckles, wiping a tear from her eye. This comment concerned me. My brother was drinking...?

"Don't fuckin' call me that," he seethed. I clutch the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling on it lightly.

"Damien, let's just go," I plead, not wanting the situation to get worse.

"You got a new clarinet, huh?" Leon states, pointing at the case I held at my side. I look at him, terrified that he'll snatch it out of my hands and shatter it just like the last. I hide it behind my back cautiously.

"Y-yes..." I squint at the blonde man. "Now, if you'll just... excuse us," I coughed, dragging Damien by his shirt as I tugged him behind me, squeezing between Ada and Leon to get through.

My side bumps into Leon's, and something within me feels... uneasy. The contact was quick, but I felt like I was burning up when I felt the skin of his arm graze against my own. I mumble a quick "excuse me" as we pass the two brats, my oboe case clutched tightly in my hands. Damien and I walk out the door, and I try my best not to look back.

I can feel Leon's piercing stare on the back of my head, following me as if I was some sort of prey.

What does he want from me?

"Are you okay, Dami?" I worry, my hand rubbing his arm comfortingly the moment we're out of the diner. His eyes are clearly droopy, and I just know he wants to go home now when he flashes a tired smile.

"M'okay, sis... Just... Didn't think she'd talk to me, y'know?" He chortles humourlessly. I hum in understanding, helping him to the driver side of the Impala.

"Let's go home, Dami," I say, sad that our day of fun was so quickly soured.

There was one thing on my mind on the drive home. Thoughts of Leon's odd behaviour threw me into a dizzy. Why does he hate me so much that he's willing to glare at me across the room? Why does he even care?

High schoolers are so weird...

is he actually dating ada? hmm... guess we'll find out :p pt.4

#resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #fanfic #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil/biohazard #biohazard #angst #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x reader angst #high school au #>>high school sweethearts: lsk

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haddonfieldwhore · 2 years ago

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ripped lace, cut glass - vessel

vessel (sleep token) x reader

warnings: gender neutral terms but reader is described as wearing a lace top, borderline nsfw/implied smut, biting, choking, mentions of alcohol, 1 f bomb, inhuman?vessel

word count: 1k

the sound of the door creaking open drew your attention from your book, and you sat up from your lounging position on the quilted sofa in vessels living room. he was supposed to be back from the studio hours ago, and as much as you tried not to, you had begun to worry, especially as the night grew darker outside.

“vessel?” you called out, clutching your champagne glass tighter as you stood up, the sparkling liquid dancing around in the glass as you moved. the bubbly liquid had been intended for a celebration of your anniversary, but by the fourth hour that vessel was running behind, you decided to pop it open yourself.

no reply came to your call, and your heart rate increased; what if someone had broken in? you surely couldn’t defend yourself with a a crystal champagne flute. you looked around for anything nearby that would make for a better weapon, but before you could find anything a noise behind you made you jump, the glass slipping from your hand and shattering on the floor.

“vessel you scared the hell out of me! why didn’t you say it was you?” you poked his chest lightly, trying to catch your breath.

“i am sorry - do not step on the glass,” he extended a hand out to you, helping you step over the shards on the floor. “come here.” he pulled you almost effortlessly into his arms, lifting you up off the floor and carrying you over to the kitchen. “please forgive me for being late. i have no excuse other than the time got away from me.” he set you down on the counter top, standing between your legs with his hands on your waist.

“you’re here now,” you smiled, knowing that once vessel began working on music there was no stopping him once inspiration struck, almost as if something was possessing him. “i started drinking without you.” you pointed to the open champagne bottle at the other end of the counter, and vessel smiled.

“i would be disappointed if you had waited for me all this time. may i make it up to you?” vessel pleaded, his hands fiddling with the intricate lace pattern of your shirt.

“i would be disappointed if you didn’t,” you teased with a smile as you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. he kissed you back firmly, sliding you closer to the edge of the counter and allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. his hands trailed up your sides until the reached your jaw, cradling your face in his hands, leaving small black finger prints behind as the paint smudged off his fingertips. vessel pulled back, his eyes growing dark at the evidence of his touch on you already, his heart beating faster as he thought of all the other ways he could mark you. his head dipped down to the junction of your neck, leaving wet kisses on the skin of your throat and shoulders before you felt his teeth dig into your flesh.

“ah- vessel,” you winced at the feeling but couldn’t help but moan as he soothed the pain with more kisses, leaving rosy bruises in his wake before he frantically kissed your lips again. “fuck, your teeth are sharp. are you sure you’re not a vampire or something?” vessel couldn’t help but laugh at your words. or something he thought.

“why? do you wish to spend eternity with me?” he asked, resting his forehead on yours as you both breathed heavily.

“you know i do,” you mumbled, an ache in your heart as you knew the one thing you wanted more than anything you couldn’t have.

“hmmm.” he purred, kissing you again, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. “that is my greatest wish as well. for now we will have to start with tonight.”

you pulled him back to you by the front of his shirt, and it seemed to set something off in him, like a switch had been flipped. his hands gripped desperately at any part of you he could reach, settling on the back of your shirt where it fastened. his charcoal stained fingers tore the fabric with ease, and you began to scold him for ripping it before he captured your words with his mouth, his tongue dancing with yours. you knew he would buy you as many new shirts as you wanted if you only asked, so you let it go.

instead you allowed yourself to focus on how he embraced you, his arms enveloping you against his body. his hands caressed the expanse of your back so tenderly in contrast the the way his lips assaulted yours. he slid your arms out of the sleeves of the top and discarded the ripped lace on the floor, followed by his own coat, leaving himself in just an open shirt.

vessel lifted you in his arms once again, your legs tightly around his hips as he carried you towards his bedroom. placing you softly on the bed and crawling on top of you.

“the champagne will be getting warm out there,” you said playfully. i’m reality, you couldn’t care less about the champagne.

“i can still taste it on your lips, my dear.” he kissed your lips once more before trailing kisses down your bare chest, his hands on your ribcage holding you down on the soft sheets. his lips continued to travel lower, and his hand reached up to wrap around your throat, black handprints mixing with the now purple bruises and teeth marks he had left behind earlier. vessel loved leaving marks on you, even if they were just for him to see. “i love you.”

“i love you more,” you challenged, and he squeezed your throat tighter, almost as a playful warning.

“do not make me prove it, i fear you will not be able to handle it.” he released his grip on your neck, his hands beginning to undo the button of your pants. vessel knew he had to be careful not to do too much, to not hurt you. you, just a human, something so fragile, but in his eyes so perfect.

“sounds tempting,” you smiled, eyes gleaming with anticipation as he leaned over you to kiss your lips softly.

“you have asked for it now, my love.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

#sleep token #sleep token smut #sleep token imagine #vessel sleep token imagine #vessel sleep token #vessel sleep token smut #vessel imagine #vessel smut #vessel sleep token fic #vessel x reader #vessel #take me back to eden #sleep token x reader #sleep token fic

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h00nerz · 2 years ago

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spots on!

EIGHTEEN / strawberries and honey

prev | masterlist | next

warnings: none afaik ??

word count: 1.9k

CHOI YEONJUN HAS KNOWN YOU FOR YEARS. He’s known you since you were a sophomore in high school, when Beomgyu introduced the two of you to one another. He’s known you since you were just a shy, well-dressed flute player in the high school’s band who didn’t like him very much. He’s known you for a lot longer than he realized.

Back then, Yeonjun didn’t blame you for not liking him. After all, the only thing you really knew about him was that he was the son of the CEO of one of the biggest fashion companies, and he had become used to the assumptions that came with that. “Spoiled”, “pretentious”, “out of touch”, he’d heard it all before, and it was no surprise that you thought the same thing. On top of him not blaming you, he also didn’t care what you thought about him. You were just Beomgyu’s friend, someone he wasn’t going to be seeing a lot, so what did it matter?

But, he did start to see you a lot. Every time Beomgyu planned something, whether it be a birthday party, or a trip to the local fair, you would be there, and so would he. The more he found himself around you, the more and more Yeonjun started to enjoy being around you, and the more he wanted to make you realize he wasn’t some spoiled asshole like everyone thought he was. Then, eventually, he noticed you start to warm up to him, and hate him less and less.

But, then you started to pull away from him again. Your senior year, you and Beomgyu had one last band performance before you graduated and left the group behind forever. Naturally, Yeonjun, Soobin, Kai and Taehyun all decided to go and support Beomgyu, but also to support you as well. And, to show his full support, and secure you as a friend once and for all, Yeonjun bought you flowers.

Apparently, that had been a mistake. As the second he gifted you the bouquet, you locked up, and became just as shy as you were when the two of you first met. It was like years of progress had gone down the drain, and he was right back where he started. He couldn’t ever figure out what he had done to make you return to disliking him. Had the flowers been too extravagant, and came off as him flaunting his wealth? Had the gesture made you uncomfortable, and he miscalculated how close you two were? Whatever it was, a part of him wished he had never given you those flowers.

But why? Why was it so important to him that you liked him? Ever since he’d first told his friends he was determined to get you to like him—or Chat Noir—and they’d brought up the question, it had played through his head over and over again. And now, as he sits on the railing outside your apartment window, watching you pace around your living room, it’s especially troubling him.

You looked stressed out, just like Beomgyu had told him earlier. You were pacing back and forth, nibbling on one of the KitKats he had left for you, with a measuring tape hung around your neck. Suddenly he felt bad. He really hoped he wasn’t adding to your stress, and making things worse for you. He was at least glad to see that you were enjoying the KitKats, though, judging by the pile of wrappers next to your couch.

He leaned forward and tapped his knuckles against the glass, finally capturing your attention. You jumped at the noise, dropping the candy onto the floor, and he couldn’t help but giggle at the shocked expression on your face. The word cute crossed his mind.

“Hi, Y/N.” He greeted you once you’d opened your sliding door to let him in, a playful smile creeping onto his lips. “Enjoying the KitKats I see?” He hopped down and followed you into your little apartment. He found himself scanning the space, taking it all in, since he didn’t imagine he would be back here anytime soon.

“No, not really.” You replied, bending down to pick up the small pile of wrappers. He put his hands on his hips and watched as you carried the wrappers to the trash to toss them in. When he was around you as Yeonjun, you were never this nonchalant. If he’d been standing in your living room, he imagined you wouldn’t speak to him, probably go stand in a corner and avoid him the entire time. Maybe you didn’t dislike Chat Noir as much as he thought you did.

He cleared his throat. “So…”

“So…” You echoed, making your way back over to him. “We can just do some measurements now. And then, you can tell me your ideas, then you leave and I get to work.”

“Or, I can stay and we can talk about our places in the universe together.” He suggested, picking up an old candle that was sitting on your side table and giving it a whiff.

You rolled your eyes, and for a brief moment, he finds the action familiar. “As delightful as that sounds, I have stuff to do.” You gave him a tight lipped smile, then took the candle from his hands and set it down.

“That smells really good, what is that?” He asked you.

You lifted his arm, and slid the tape off your neck. “Champagne, or something, I’m not sure. My best friend gave it to me for my birthday.” You answered with a shrug.

He nodded, then continued to glance around your apartment while you started to measure him. Then, his eyes landed on a picture on top of your entertainment center. It was from the night of your band recital, a picture of you, Beomgyu, Heeseung, Sieun, Jeongin, Soobin and himself. You were standing in the middle, holding onto the bouquet for dear life. He couldn’t believe how young you looked, even though it was only a few years ago.

An idea popped into his head.

“Is that you and Choi Yeonjun?” He asked, and you froze.

“What?” You spoke slowly, then turned your head to follow his gaze over to the picture. “Oh. Yeah, it is.” He watched as your cheeks reddened, and you turned your focus back to your measurements.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other. He’s a good friend of mine.”

“He is?” You snapped your head up to look at him, furrowing your eyebrows together.

“Oh, yeah, for sure. He doesn’t talk about me?”

You glanced away again. “Oh, I wouldn’t know. We don’t talk very much…”

He frowned. It was true, the two of you didn’t talk very much, but it still hurt a bit to hear it. “Really? Why not? I know he can be a bit annoying, but—“

“He’s not annoying.” You quickly cut him off, and he raised his eyebrows at that. “It’s just… I don’t know. It’s complicated.” You mumbled, and he watched you curiously as you turned away to scribble some numbers down.

Complicated. What about him was so complicated for you?

“Let’s talk about something else, hm? Like… What are you thinking about for the new suit?” You queried, and he noticed the redness in your cheeks slowly fading. He wanted to know more, to press you further for your thoughts on him, but it was clear you didn’t want to discuss it, and making you uncomfortable was the last thing he wanted.

“You ever seen a fursuit?” He joked, and you slowly looked up to give him a deadpan look. “I’m kidding. Honestly, Y/N, I am giving you full creativity. I want you to do whatever you think will look best, I trust your decisions.” He told you with a smile.

You frowned. “Are you sure? There’s nothing in particular you want?”

“Well… My only request is that you make it super sexy.” He told you with a wink, and you once again rolled your eyes. “I’m kidding! …Kinda.”

“You are so annoying…” You muttered, returning to your notebook to write something down. “Okay, can you lift both your arms for me?”

He obeyed, and raised both of his arms so he was standing in a T-pose. You stretched out your measuring tape and leaned forward to wrap it around his back. As you did so, your face came dangerously close to his own, and for whatever reason, he felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat. His face began to warm as you took a step back, wrapping the measuring tape around his chest and gently brushing your fingers against his muscle. He was sure you could feel his heart slamming against his rib cage.

Had you always been this pretty up close? Had you always looked so cute when you were focused, with your eyes squinted, and your tongue poked against the side of your cheek? Had you always smelled this good, like fresh strawberries and honey?

Suddenly, Yeonjun was in full on panic mode. Was this why it was so important to him that you liked him? No, he was probably just upset after Ladybug had completely rejected him, and just mind was desperate to find somebody else to cling to. There was no way that he had unknowingly been harboring feelings for you all this time, right? You, Choi Beomgyu’s shy friend, who played the flute in high school band. It was impossible.

And yet, here he was, staring down at you with wide eyes, secretly hoping you would stay right there just a little bit longer. Here he was, eyes drifting down to your lips, and becoming well aware of the close proximity between you too. If he just bent down, just a little bit, if he just—

You must have been able to sense his sudden change in demeanor, as your eyes flickered up to meet his own. “Um, you okay?” You asked, blinking up at him.

No, absolutely not, he thought.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine.” He stuttered out, giving you a forced smile. You eyed him suspiciously, but didn’t say anything, instead returning your focus to your measurement. And then you released the tape, and took a step back, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Um, is that the last one you needed?”

“No, I need one more, why—?”

“I just remembered I have important Chat Noir duties to do! Ladybug actually asked me to do something, and I totally forgot about it! Stupid cat, right?” He laughed, stepping away from you and walking towards the window.

“Ladybug asked you?”

“Yes, Ladybug! She’s always asking me to do stuff! Honestly, a bit of a nag if you ask me. Haha.” He slid open your sliding door and poked his head out, relieved by the feeling of the cool air against his hot face. He couldn’t stay there any longer, not in your tiny little apartment where there was nowhere to run. The longer he was in proximity with you, the more insane he was going to go, he thought. There was no way he was going to stick around, and let the subconscious need for a rebound (that was surely the cause of his sudden attraction for you) be taken out on you.

“Wait, it’s seriously just one more, can’t you just let me do it?” He was too afraid to look back at you, but he could practically feel the confusion radiating off of you.

“Sorry, no time! We’ll do it later!” He told you, then leapt off of your balcony.

No, there was absolutely, positively, no way Choi Yeonjun had feelings for you.

authors note: yeonjun chat noir wants to kiss y/n but that doesn’t mean he likes her. this is sooo silly.

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