#fuck if that ain't their whole vibe
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I need someone to draw this with Tulip and Dendra, please and thank you.
#fuck if that ain't their whole vibe#Pokémon#pokémon scarlet and violet#Pokémon Scarlet#Pokémon Violet#paldea#tulip#Pokémon tulip#Dendra#Pokémon dendra#meme
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I know we all want an og monster hunting trio revival in s5 but consider the following instead:
It's giving The boys are back in town, the boys of summer, The boys are back. A little mansplain, manipulate, malewife. Very much introducing your new bestie to the one that got away and them hitting it off.
#this is a dream I've had since lunch and im not giving up now#i think this dynamic would be SO FUN#in the middle of the apocalypse#steve (judging) : so you spent the whole time in California High#Jonathan (pissed) : so you told my girlfriend you want her to have six kids#Argyle (vibing) : so you guys need to chill out#i know it won't happen but a girl can dream#Jonathan needs some yellow her with the team babe#stranger things#jonathan byers#steve harrington#Argyle#jargyle#stonathan#stargyle#the trio needs a nickname#we should work on that#tell your boyfriend if he says he got beef that I'm a vegetarian and i ain't fucking scared of him#meanwhile Nancy and Robin are like WTF is wrong with y'all
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The black matter stuff being called the shadow virus and q!BBH's skin being entirely pitch black...
And q!Forever and Walter Bob became infected with the black matter and started having black patches on their skin
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
#qsmp#q!bbh#q!badboyhalo#bbh#badboyhalo#omw to make everything about q!bbh again#ain't that crazy#idk man this shit is like so fucking suspicious i'm getting such massive egg vibes from this whole thing
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i wanna write feysand fanfic but i don't remember what they're actually like at all, so if i end up posting it i beg that no one complain that they're out of character, thank you
#feysand au#acotar#just putting it out there#i just wanna write werewolf fanfics okay leave me alone#and one where feyre kills tamlin bc fuck it i can#it is largely inspired by soooo many reylo fanfics but i don't feel comfortable writing reylo at all#mostly bc i read it but i have never finished seeing the movies so there is no backing to my liking#and its not like i'm gonna watch em bc i know they made reylo actually cousins in the end and thats disgusting#like how do you make a whole ass romance vibe thing to make them COUSINS#jail. straight to hell. this ain't game of thrones bitch.
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i didn't know he wasn't wearing shoes
#disco elysium#i spent the whole first day without my snake skins#found that fucking fridge tho omg#but kim was sayin 'yo why u ain't wearing shoes' and i'm like 'i what? :L'#from someone who also played ace attorney this is giving me MASSIVE detective bobby fulbright vibes#oh my god do all detectives with an identity crisis just forget to wear their shoes sometimes is that just a part of their thing#that whole chapter where he forgets wearing his loafers#note to self: if one day u become a detective and don't know who you are at least remember to wear your shoes#harry is a DISASTER i love him
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Oh no, not the actor from Heartbreak High complaining about how you can't just tick an inclusivity box for profit while still actively harming the minorities you claim to support, when she had no problems participating in a lesbian scene, that was mostly just extremely unnecessary cuts to some male watching, and then made a big song and dance about how great she is for representing lesbians
#and netflix was all 'look at this amazing lesbian representation'#which is exactly the same vibe as pornhub claiming they're woke for having a gay category#lmao#ppl were like 'but it's fine bc the dude is her best friend uwu'#as tho that ain't the primary fucking trope#and the whole fucking problem#since irl lesbians are most likely to be assaulted by males they know#but yeah fo sure#just make any lesbian representation entirely about some man's reaction to it#and slap a progressive flag on it#it earns money I guess#lesbian#lgbt#lesbophobia#lesbian representation#lesbian invisibility#gold star lesbian#gold star lesbians do interact
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'just need t'feel you around me'
part two of 'are you still awake?', Chris cant keep his hands off y/n once they make amends after an argument.
vibe check: pure SMUT, needy!chris, bigdick!chris, spooning position, sleepy!reader, needy!reader, 'skip the foreplay' type sex, all that good shit you get the vibes, falling asleep with it inside after sex (I wont tell you to wrap it but i will tell you to GO FOR A PISS AFTER YOU FUCK YOU DON'T WANT A UTI)
1.1k words
A/N: thankyou for all the love on part one hehe. soft and needy chris makes my toes curl like i'm biting the pillow as we speak. also you just know that chris is chatty as fuck during sex, kid loves the stimulation that comes with dirty talk so this is very verbal lol i hope you guys don't mind
love and cigs, merc
...."I jus' need t'feel you around me" Chris whispered, pulling his stiff length from his black boxers and pumping himself slightly into the curve of your ass.
You whined tiredly, the soft pressure of his leaking tip against your fleshy skin making you somewhat desperate, despite how adamant you were on Chris 'doing all the work'
Chris chuckled at your needy whines, "you still tired, ma?", he said, as he stroked his cock along your wet and puffy folds, collecting all your juices on his tip.
"mhm" you whimpered, stretching slightly and arching your back into him, the tip of his cock pressing into your hole ever so slightly with your movement.
Chris sucked the air around him in through his teeth, the very brief sensation of your sopping hole around him making him feel a little lightheaded. He pushed his cock between your folds, letting it push through them and into the soft skin of your thighs as they pressed together, palming the flesh of your ass with bruising pressure as he pulled your cheeks apart, edging his thumb painfully close to your core.
"so wet f'me and I ain't even touched you" He said in a low hum, a cheesy smirk forming on his face as he dipped his thumb into your pussy.
Your whole body shifted at the sensation, arching back into him even more as he ducked an arm in between you and the bed, wrapping it up and round you, taking a handful of your tit in his hand.
"mphm, Chris" you whined softly into the plush white pillow.
"hmm, I love it when you're all sleepy like this, baby, s'soft n' sexy" He said, peppering wet kisses along the curve of your shoulder and up to bite softly at your earlobe as he continued to tease your hole with slow thrusts between your folds.
"need you, Chris" you said through a whimper.
"m'right here, ma, what d'you need from me, huh? tell me" He whispered in your ear, a cheshire cats smile spread across his face as he felt you begin to push back onto his hips, his cock growing painfully hard as it leaked pre-cum over the soft, fleshy skin of your thighs.
"need you t'stretch me out, Chris, please" you brought your arm round behind you and raked your fingers though his hair, tugging at the root slightly.
A low and gravelly moan left Chris' throat and, with your begging, he was a desperate mess. He pulled his hips back from your ass, lining himself up with your glistening hole, his hand still gripping your ass and the other rubbing and pinching at your hardened nipple. He pressed his throbbing tip inside of your gummy walls, the sensation of you immediately clenching around him causing him to instinctively buck into you, bottoming out instantly.
A pornographic whine left your throat as Chris' teeth clenched around your shoulder, the sting of his cock stretching you out coupled with the warm pressure of his tongue, soothing over the mark forming on your shoulder made your eyes roll to the back of your head.
Chris' pumped in and out of you at an agonising pace, pulling out almost completely only to be sucked back in by your clenching, sopping hole.
"christ, baby, y'so fuckin tight around me" He moaned, pulling at the flesh of your ass before slapping the skin lightly.
You tugged harder on his hair, and he pushed his hand up and over your hip, dipping his long fingers down to find your puffy clit as he kept his agonising pace, fucking into you desperately slow.
He rubbed slow circles over your clit, your head hanging back on its hinge into his warm chest, a soft moan leaving your open mouth.
"thats it, jus' feel it baby, you feel so fuckin' good, so fuckin' good" He whispered gentle praises into your ear as he fucked into you, the pressure of his fingers against your clit making your whole body tingle.
All you could do was moan in response, your vision going blurry as your high was fast approaching, a familiar knot forming in your stomach as you clenched harder around Chris' cock.
"I never wanna fight with you again, princess, love ya too much to ever make you wanna go to bed without me ever again" He pressed warm, open mouth kisses along the side and back of your neck.
"I love you too, Chris, s'much" you whimpered.
Chris near enough growled into your ear at the sound of you telling him you love him, as if he hadn't heard it a thousand times. He picked up his pace slightly, fucking into you harder as he rubbed steady circles around your clit.
"tell me again, baby, tell me you love me, please"
"I love you, Chris" you moaned out, his faster pace bringing out closer and closer to your release.
"mphm, keep saying it, I love it when you say it" he grunted into your skin, chasing his own high now.
"fuck, I love you" your thighs started to shake as your stomach tensed completely, the act of telling him you love him as he desperately fucks into you only serving to turn you on more.
"oh shit, y'gonna make me cum, cum with me please, ma, cum all over my dick" Chris' hips began to stutter against your ass.
As if it was a reflex, Chris telling you to cum did exactly that, and your whole body shook in his grip as you released sticky hot cum all over his length, the juices forming a white ring around his base. "I love you, I love you, I love you" you whimpered out, clenching around him like a vice as you came.
"I love you more, princess, I lov-" Chris' words were cut off by a guttural moan as he came inside of you, his long threads of white cum painting your insides.
He stuttered into you, using his cum as lube as he rode out his high, unable to pull himself from you, desperate for the warmth your wet pussy provided.
Soft moans filled his room as he came to a halt, resting his head down onto your shoulder as you caressed his tousled hair.
"might jus' stay like this for a little longer, don't think i've had enough a'you yet" Chris said, bringing his arm up and pulling you into him, locking around you as he nestled his hips into your ass.
You let out a tired chuckle, nodding and curling back into him. Chris' warm skin pressed against yours, coupled with his tight grip around you lulled you to sleep almost instantly, and Chris wasn't far behind. You fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each other with his dick still tucked snug between your walls.
Even though arguing with Chris was horrible, the make-up sex was always worth it.
taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10
#©sturnsdarling#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo imagine#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#sturniolo imagine
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I also have another wack idea
Damian is Bruce's biological child with Talia, so what if Bruce had a child with another powerful assassin years ago, so batsis is basically Damian's big sister from different mothers. BUT, batsis lived with her clan because ain't no way the clan is letting THEIR assassin raised by Batman. Plus, batsis sees Bruce's low EQ and failures and go 'ew wtf'. A total mommy's girl.
Bruce trying to pst pst pst his biological child to join his family in Gotham and she's like 'no? tf?'
HER DYNAMIC WITH DAMIAN WILL BE SO FUNNY. Damian is raised to believe bloodline superiority fight for the heir blablabla and batsis is like "then have him?? I don't want our dad, I don't even know why YOU want our dad"
Batsis just wants to vibe with her mama
This is absolutely funny but I beg you this concept.
He'res the thing. Damian doesn't even wanna be with Bruce..lmao. Like baby boy was a whole prince and now he's in the ghetto with commoners...he's pissed off.
You got to stay over with your clan????...he hates you. Like it's not fair. He wants to be an assassin and live by the rules he's grown up with his mom but no. He hasn't seen his mom in a year....
You come to visit to get to see who your father is because he's supposedly so damn great...then it's like oh. yeah nvm. Like the whole bird thing is weird to you.
Maybe Damian tries to assert dominance by being the "true official one and only my father loves me more" a blood child blah blah...
"fuck off Damian, I wouldn't want to be caught dead here anyways. Btw. Bruce looks like a moron in that cowl."
*shocked Pikachu face*
Bruce is trying to force you to stay because you are a new child for his collection and Damian is having a whole tantrum. Funny if Damian teams up with you and helps you stay away from his dad so you can be out of his hair.
Damian gives you shit and tries to force you to confess that he is the better blood sibling before he breaks you out of the restraints,,,,
Having a whole fist fight after he breaks you out because he cannot stop being a little shit.
Bruce eventually hearing the commotion and ya'll both be in trouble now...
*Damian secretly starts to become obsessed with the rivalry and doesn't want you to go but won't admit it so he starts sabotaging you.*
#batsis!reader#yandere batfam#dark batfamily#batfam x batsis#platonic yandere#platonic batfam#platonic relationships#yandere damian wayne#damian wayne x reader#yandere bruce wayne#bruce wayne x reader
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somebody runs up on plug!connie while he's with you…
y'all out spinnin the block, having a chill day. It’s def a sweats + slides type time, you in some cute basics and connie in one of his usual fits. yeaaa he decided y'all matching vibes today.
y'all already got sum wing stop, spent A bag at dicks bcs you had an urge.. (yk when you get a rlly strong urge to go to a very specific store…IK y'all know what I mean), smoked a j, and fucked around in Marni, then Louis, and after that the staff started looking at y'all funny so you quickly moved on snickering the WHOLE way to the car. connie couldn’t stop laughing bcs yall got them tight asf and they don’t even know he could buy the whole storeeee
y'all decided to pull up to eren’s crib to pick up connie's controller that he left there last time they hopped on. y'all pulled up and got out, but just as you closed the car door, a grey beat up supra with damn near 2% tint rolled up to y'all. 3 rat lookin dudes strolled up to y'all talmbout “we got smoke wit ya mans mami” “damn C you got a bad one. I'm tryna get a piece of that” “lemme hold sum C”
when I tell y'all connie just about crashed tf out and caught 3 felonies. He was reaching for his glock about to finish the job when eren and ony came out the house flashing their glocks immediately knowing what's up, ony talmbout sum “y'all got balls comin here” and eren goin "y'all just let me know if you want ya last meal to be my clip”. you pulled ur glock out just for the sake of it but nobody was paying any attention to you anyways.
iss a stick up at this point and them dudes know they’re outnumbered. OFC they backin up. connie got smoke comin out his ears so they’d be stupid not to.
he was still clutching his shit as the 3 guys backed up to the car. “and if I hear y'all got my woman name in y'all mouths again, ain't nothin savin y'all”.
you cut ur eyes at him bcs hello papi. “the fuck was that” ony muttering looking confused ash and eren was already walking back in the house looking unphased “idk”
“honestly fuck the controller.” connie grunted dragging you back to the car. “bruh. ima need ya pussy on my face an a shot after that” he said flashin them grills wit that smirk that you know means you gettin ur shit tore up…
#lana.writes 🖍#sry yall this is soo like not good writing#need him to slurp my shit up fr#connie x black reader#connie x reader#connie x reader smut#connie springer x black reader#connie springer x reader#aot x black reader#connie springer x chubby reader#attack on titan x black reader#attack on titan x reader#anime x black!reader#connie springer#aot connie#connie x black y/n
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Hello! I love your work 🥹 I hope you are well
Just wanna ask your thoughts on how the seventeen members would react to see you driving speed / you being fast on connected apps like ‘Find My’ heheheeheh
Thank you ❤️
a/n: thank u sweetie, i loved it!! im doing well!! <33 i hope i understood well.. like a gearhead girlfriend?... made w/ luv ❤️
WARNINGS: mentions of breakig the speed limit
seungcheol: “yo yo yo, slow the fuck down, we ain’t tryna die today!!” he’s literally shouting through the app, and you could almost see him gripping the imaginary 'oh shit' handle in the backseat. he loves you, but he’s lowkey shitting bricks rn, “bruh, this ain't fast & furious... i swear if we crash, it’s on you.”
jeonghan: sigh “baby, why you gotta be like this?” he’s too cool to actually panic, but you can feel him judging the fuck outta you. he’ll make you feel like the most irresponsible person alive while also making it clear he’s kinda impressed. “next time, let me drive so we don’t both end up with speeding tickets… but like… you kinda look hot doing it though, not gonna lie.” he’s smirking on the other side of the screen.
joshua: “ok but like… are we trying to break a record or what?” he’s nervous but trying to stay calm, but you can tell he’s clutching his pearls behind that smooth tone. “maybe, uh, we could slow down just a tiny bit? just a suggestion...” definitely trying not to freak out completely, but he’s one bad swerve from straight-up praying.
jun’s all for it, honestly. he’s got his phone up to show the speedometer on his end, clearly thriving. “you wanna hit 120? bet, i’m down, let’s fucking go!” jun’s just living it, probably snapping selfies like it’s no big deal while the car’s shaking at 90 mph.
hoshi: “wait—WAIT! y/n, no no NO, what the hell?? slow down before i shit my pants.” he close his eyes, dramatic as fuck, genuinely convinced y’all are about to fly off the highway. nearly crying as he clutches his phone. “i got shit to do tomorrow!! i can’t die today, not like this!”
wonwoo’s just... chillin’. he doesn’t really say much at first. just sends a simple, “you good?” text. he’s the only one calm in this whole situation. when you don’t respond right away, he hits you with, “bet you won’t keep up with the guy in the ferrari tho...” and you’re like, oh shit. he’s egging you on. he's vibing with the chaos, but lowkey wants to see how far you'll take it.
woozi: “y/n, you better chill the fuck out.” straight-up scolding you. no fluff, just pure frustration. jihoon’s too rational for this speed demon shit, and he’s already calculating how much the damn fine’s gonna be if you get caught. “if you crash, you better hope i’m not in the car, ‘cause i ain’t helping your ass.” classic jihoon—pissed, but still kinda impressed at your audacity.
seokmin: “YO, SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!” pure panic in his voice,like he’s watching a horror movie. “do you wanna give me a heart attack? holy shit!!” he’s basically pleading with you at this point, full-on hands shaking, worried sick like a damn mother hen. “i’m way too pretty to die like this, please, for the love of god, just slow down.”
mingyu: WELL THIS MAN HAVE LICENSE FOR IT, no fear at all. “you drive like a fucking beast, lemme hop in the car next time.” he’s fully living for the thrill, no reservations whatsoever. he’s gassing you up like no one would. adrenaline junkie.
minghao’s already over it. deadpan as fuck. “why you gotta stress me like this? i’m way too zen for this shit.”
seungkwan: “OKAY STOP! STOP! i didn’t sign up for this kinda trauma. you tryna die young, huh?!” yelling in the app for you to pull over before he passes out from sheer anxiety. “i’m never getting in a car with you ever again, swear on my life.”
vernon: “i mean, if we crash, we crash. kinda sick though, right?” no panic, no complaints, just lowkey impressed. “but like… how fast can you actually go?”
chan: “y/n, this isn’t a fucking video game!” poor baby is stressed out, clenching his fists like his life’s on the line. “i can’t do this. my heart can’t handle this. you tryna give me a heart attack?!” genuinely scared shitless. “you really gotta slow down before i fucking pass out in the toilet bro”
#seventeen reactions#seventeen imagines#seventeen headcanons#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#svt imagines#seventeen agnst#seungcheol x reader#yoon jeonghan x reader#joshua x reader#hoshi x reader#dino x reder#minghao x reader#wonwoo x reader#woozi x reader#jun x reader#mingyu x reader#seokmin x reader#seungkwan x reader#vernon x reader#chan x reader
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brat four: everything is romantic | joel miller
pairing/au: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak
summary: joel's brat summer has come to an end.
warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes, use of pet names, angst, fluff, smut, brat tamed? reader, dom!joel, a hint of sub!joel? manhandling, oral sex (69-ing), cock worship, pussy pronouns, a little dacryphilia, degradation (whore, slut), multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, some sub space territory, unprotected sex (don’t do it!), one (1) use of the word 'daddy', no use of y/n
a/n: here is the final chapter! thank you as always to @dustydaddyyy! 💚 without her i don't think would've been able to finish this.
main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist
from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.
He was used to being listened to, your father, his voice weighty although every word he spewed was superfluous. You watched how his jaw moved, up and down, up and down, almost like he moved in slow motion, the spit splattering in big drops.
"–I need you to smile with your eyes this time– the social media intern told me a lot of people on twitter said you looked like you didn't want to be there… are you even listening?" he spat.
Never in your life had you wanted to roll your eyes as much as you wanted to now. Something ripped deep inside your heart, at a wound that had never really closed. You were used to the feeling; a quiet rage simmering under your skin at yourself for feeling it still.
"Dad, I already told your secretary weeks ago that I can't be there–"
"I don't fucking care–" he cut you off, "I tell you to be somewhere and you'll be there, understood? Don't forget your place, now."
The threat didn't sting as much as it had a few years ago. What used to scare you in the past, now only managed to make you angry. You had packed your bags already. The summer was over, your last year of post grad was waiting, along with your new internship, you couldn't just miss the first few days because your father needed you to stand behind him and smile (with your eyes) at a fundraiser.
It was ridiculous.
Oh, how stupid you'd felt when he'd arrived at the house, thinking he was there to say goodbye, to be a father for once.
Turns out you were ridiculous.
"Or else?" you spat out so quickly you didn't have time to regret it.
His eyes hardened, eyes growing cold as he dug them deep into you. The words you'd spat out had hung over your conversations with your father for years, but never had you spoken them aloud. He made you feel so small, he'd always made you feel small, and you were done with it.
He stepped closer, the kitchen island the only thing separating you now, and raised a finger at you. "What did you just say?"
Behind your ribcage your heart beat out of your chest, pumping your rage throughout your body. Images flashed before your eyes, a supercut of your childhood, of the countless times he'd stood over you with poisoned words.
"I said: or else? You need a hearing aid or something?"
Your father stepped around the island, and a fear gripped around your throat, your legs backed off on their own accord. He froze then, a pleased smile tugging at his face, ripping it apart. You felt sick to your stomach.
"Or else…" he started, "I'll cut you off. If you're gonna be an ungrateful bitch like this, I ain't giving you a penny– I'll have you removed from my will, I'll disinherit you, you understand?"
"You wouldn't dare," you tried to argue back, but your voice lacked bite and your anger.
"Oh, sweetie, I'll do it with a smile."
Looking at your father, how pleased with himself he looked, you felt your whole body deflate. How could the man who gave you life, who put you on this earth have so much hatred in his heart for you? What was it about you that was so hard to love?
"It would be a relief," he continued, but his voice sounded far away, "to finally be rid of you."
"'m sorry to interrupt y'all talkin'," Joel's drawl cut through the room, "we're finishin' up out here 'nd we need your final approval."
Joel was looking straight at you, but it was hard to interpret his face. Something dragged across it, like he fought to keep himself in check, but softening at the edges as he looked at you.
How dared he? How dared he look at you like that?
“I’m paying for this nonsense so I’ll be the judge of that,” your father huffed, pushing past you to slip out into the backyard, leaving you alone with Joel.
Suddenly, the room felt awfully stuffy, something heavy growing between you and Joel. He must've caught the end of you and your father's conversation. A mix of anger and embarrassment simmered at the bottom of your stomach at the thought.
You'd done exactly as he'd wished; you'd slipped quietly out the door at the wedding and left your dignity behind. The summer never wanted to end, and seeing him day in and day out, working away in the backyard stung more than you'd ever admit out loud.
So you'd kept your distance, leaving early to mill about downtown, trying to fill your days with anything to keep you from thinking of him. Joel wasn't worth the energy. Joel was a bug under your shoe to crush.
(Joel was all you ever thought about.)
At night a childish desires would plague you. The dark conjured them forth, made your mind lenient with hope, hope that he'd storm into the house like some love interest in a romcom to beg for your forgiveness, or he'd kiss you, or fuck you, or everything all at once.
When morning came, and you caught his eyes as you slipped out the house, you were reminded of the coldness in his voice, and not the warmth of his touch. What was the real Joel? Maybe it didn't matter? Joel had been fun until it wasn't anymore, a fling for the summer, nothing more– never anything more, because you didn't fall in love.
Love.
What even was love? Was it the way Joel looked at you right now as he stepped closer?
No.
You hated him.
Tears pushed at the back of your eyes, a lump building in your throat as you held them back. How could you ever love someone who'd treat you like that? You needed to leave; you'd rather die than Joel see you cry. Your father you could handle, that old wound would never close and the pain was numbed long ago, but Joel was like a wound to the gut that wouldn't stop bleeding.
"Hey," Joel's hand wrapped around your wrist, holding you back from leaving, "You okay?"
This motherfucker.
"Why do you care?" you bit back through your tears, because why did he? Why did he care? He'd been pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with you. "You didn't sign up for my antics, don't you remember?" you tore at your hand, and you slipped between his fingers.
Pushing through the door, you ran up the stairs to your room. Joel didn't bother with a reply, and you hated how it stung in your chest. The door slung shut behind you, and you collapsed on the bed. Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you wouldn't let your tears fall. Instead, your curled your knees to your chest, and focused on your breath.
Breathe in, slowly, steady, and then out again.
Again, and again.
Breathe in, and out.
Again, and again.
A knock at the door startled you, and you couldn't tell if you'd fallen asleep or lulled yourself into a false sense of peace. Sitting up, you wiped at your eyes, before jostling to your feet when the door opened.
There he stood, Joel, in the doorway of your childhood bedroom, rough jeans clasped in by a tool belt. He didn't belong in here, you didn't belong in here – not anymore. He didn't say anything, only looked around the room, like he was looking for you. Maybe he was? This was where you'd been born – the girl who felt like a complete mess – the disguise masquerading like a brat.
"What do you want?" you spat.
A frown pulled at Joel's face, and his eyes tried to catch your gaze, which you desperately avoided.
“We’re all finished up out there,” he told you, fingers twitching at his side, “We’ll be out of your hair in a couple of minutes.”
Why was he even in your room? Your dad had been out there, he’d talked to him, probably gotten the okay from him. Everything was taken care of… so why was he here?
“Okay, that’s fine,” you nodded, keeping your voice cold and devoid of any emotion. Joel cleared his throat uneasily.
“... your dad, uh, left.”
His tone was difficult to read, something akin to pity legible between the lines. You gave him a dry, sardonic smile.
“Of course.”
You scoffed, wrapping your arms around yourself as you turned your back on him, looking out the window. Of course you weren’t even worth a goodbye. You wanted it to hurt, but you’d been rejected by him your whole life. Never ever did you want it to happen again, but now you braced yourself for Joel’s rejection, of the sound of his footsteps getting quieter and quieter as he walked out of your life.
“Goin’ somewhere?” Joel said quietly, and you couldn’t hold back your head from looking past your shoulder. His eyes had found your packed bags left by the door, the bags now fuller than when you’d arrived at the start of the summer.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you countered. You wished your voice was harder, more accusing, but it just sounded meek.
“Looks like you’re leavin’ for good.”
“I am.”
A frown pulled at Joel’s face. Confusion and sadness? You couldn’t tell what it meant, couldn’t understand him– and maybe you never had. Maybe you’d just gotten ahead of yourself, put meaning where there wasn’t any. Confused attention with adoration.
“Then it’s my business,” Joel said, almost angry. “If you're goin' away for good then I’d like to know 'bout it.”
“Why?” you snapped, your voice biting, “So now you don’t like it when I disappear quietly? You should make up your damn mind, Joel.”
Your words seemed to stun Joel into a surprised silence. If he wasn't going to leave you alone, you'd be the one to walk out instead. You didn’t have to stay here any longer and listen to him pretend to care, not when he’d made it so clear he didn’t.
The thought gnawed at you, simmering down your anger and draining you of any substantial fight. You didn’t need to re-hash this. Tonight you were going home, to your real home, and you'd never see him again. What was the point in making this harder than it had to be? You’d always thought you were tough, you are tough, and maybe all this pain had its benefits; you'd built up a bit of a callus. You were tough skin where nothing could pierce through to the core.
“Look, I don’t need to go over this again, okay?” you let out, your voice a strange mixture of anger and defeat, “I got the message, loud and clear, now can you fuck off?”
This was the first time you’d sworn at Joel like this. You wished your voice was angrier, or cold and calculated, like how his own voice had sounded when he kicked you out the door at the wedding. Instead, there was a raw undertone in your voice, a hurt you hadn’t intended for Joel to hear.
Joel's silence rubbed at you, rubbed your skin raw. You wanted him to scream at you, raise his voice and say something entirely too hurtful. At least then it would feel okay, you could leave with a good conscience. It just didn't work out. When Joel didn’t move, your jaw clenched, nose drawing an irritated breath.
“Fine, I’ll go.”
You turned towards the door, managing two or three furious steps before Joel spoke.
“Red,” he said suddenly.
It was just one word, but it was that word. Your word, our word. It stopped you in your tracks, turning to look at him with shock on your face.
“What did you say?” you asked him, and for the first time today, Joel gave you a look you could entirely decipher: he looked sad, almost in a desperate way.
“Red... “ he repeated, and you watched how his fist clenched by his side, “‘means stop, right? Can we just take a second and stop this, please?”
When you said nothing, he continued, “This ain't how I want us to be leavin’ things.”
“Us?” you echoed incredulously, “I’m pretty sure you made it very clear there was no us.”
“Jesus fucking christ,” Joel let out in an exasperated breath, "Look… I should've never said those things to you, especially when–"
“Don’t,” you said, your tone and gaze full of warning.
Don’t bring him up.
This was not a topic of conversation you were open to having with Joel.
"No, listen to me," he commanded, "D'you realize the situation you've put me in? You're the governor's daughter– d'you think I haven't seen him on TV? Seen his ads, and the pamphlets, and all his 'family values' politics? But I had you all wrong… How was I s'posed to know this was how he treated his daughter?"
Joel shook his head in anger, gathering a stuttering breath, "You don't deserve that shit, no one does. You're good, I can tell– even when you put on that little act that makes me want to fuck the daylights outta ya."
You fought it with every fiber of your being, but you felt something inside you soften as your eyes moved to meet Joel’s, the corners of his mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile.
“You were an asshole to me,” you told him, trying to save any of the resolve and anger you had left.
“I was, and ‘m sorry 'bout it, 'nd I wish I could take it all back,” he told you earnestly, “But your behavior wasn’t perfect either... next time you want to be my date to somethin', at least give me a chance to ask you first, princess.”
“Next time?” you questioned, and you couldn't help the raise of your eyebrows.
"Well, at the risk of soundin' like a kid still in high school– I like you, okay?" Joel confessed, and you felt a heat coat your cheeks.
Joel was right – this felt like high school.
"Are you asking me to go steady with you?"
You couldn't help it, you had to push at him, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth made it worth it. His laugh sounded like home, and you felt yourself slip under.
Again, and again.
"Not yet," he answered, taking a step in your direction. "I wanna get to know you first, take you on a date. There’s something special ‘bout ya, I’ve seen it.” He took another step.
"You do know me," you told him.
Joel shook his head, closing the distance, "I know a brat with your name, but I know she ain't the real you." A large palm cupped your cheek, making your eyelids flutter at the touch.
"Stop hidin' from me," he whispered.
Inside, you felt something crumble as a tear made a river down your cheek. You felt yourself frown at the feeling, surprised by your own reaction. Joel's thumb rubbed over it, catching it, catching you.
"I don't know how," you confessed. The words tasted acrid on your tongue, and as you let them settle another tear ran down your cheek. Once a tear had broken free, you couldn't stop them.
"Oh, sweetheart," he cooed, your tears wetting Joel's hand as he wiped at your cheeks.
"Please don't, Joel," you begged through a shuddering breath, "I don't want your sympathy."
"It ain't sympathy. I fuckin' care ‘bout you– there's a difference."
His words hit you in the chest, knocking the breath out of you. I fuckin' care 'bout you. No one had told you something like that before; no one had cared for you or about you before. More tears streamed down your face, and this time you couldn't hold back your sob. Joel's arms were around you in a second, pressing you tightly to his chest, as a comforting palm held the back of your head.
"I didn't know," you whispered into his chest, staining his t-shirt with your tears.
"I know," he whispered back, pressing a kiss to your temple, "It's okay, princess."
His lips were so soft against your skin, so gentle, and warm. Tilting your head back, you caught his eyes, watched the deep whiskey color seeping with warmth. Without thinking you leaned forward, brushing your lips over Joel's in a kiss, a first kiss.
What his lips would taste like, you'd daydreamed about before; mint-y, sugary sweet or deep like embers? Joel didn't taste like either, he tasted like Joel, like a comforting hug, like the ecstasy of an orgasm, like a home. When you pulled away, you kept your eyes shut, not wanting to let go of the feeling of him just yet.
"Listen…"
The deep bass of Joel's voice soothed your eyes open where they stared right into Joel's. His voice had sounded steady, but his eyes gave his worry away.
"At the wedding–" Joel's voice stalled.
His eyes rested at something behind you, dancing back and forth as he searched for his words. With a shake off his head he let go of your body, taking with him the soothing safety he exuded. Looking around your room for a moment his eyes settled on your bed. He looked so out of place in your room, your mattress giving way for him where he sat at the edge.
Joel let your words sit between you, as his teeth caught on his lip, chewing. "Do you…" Joel trailed off, before he drew a deep breath. "I need ya to be honest with me now, no more games–"
"Okay…" you breathed out, your heart drumming in your chest.
Joel chewed on his lip again, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown as he searched for his words. "What was all this to you? That night at the club I thought you were pullin' my leg– why in the hell did you approach me?"
This time your face scrunched in a frown, "Why are you asking me this?"
"Just humor me, please."
Taking a deep breath you grabbed the back of your vanity chair, turning it to face Joel before you sat down. "Well, if I'm gonna be honest…" you started, "I was just looking for someone to buy me a drink. You were sitting there all alone so I thought why not. I liked that you made me work for it, it was fun, and hot, and I really wanted you to fuck me."
It was hard to interpret Joel where he sat, nodding his head with his eyes glued to the floor as he listened to you speak. "Why?" he said, looking up and finding your gaze.
"Why?" you couldn't help but chuckle, "Are you serious right now? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror– looked at your dick?"
A shy smile coated his face, and you swore you saw the apples of his cheeks flush pink. "I've looked at myself in the mirror, princess, and I ain't as young as I used to be."
"Is this why you're asking? Because you're older than me?" you wanted to know.
"I'm askin' because I'm old enough to be your daddy." In his eyes you could see a glimmer of something like shame. It was contagious, snaking its way into your chest where it squeezed around your heart.
"Are you ashamed of me?" This time you needed him to be honest, but still, you couldn't help but feel a nervousness trickle through your body as you awaited his answer.
"No," he said quickly, "It ain't that…"
"What is it then?" You almost didn't want to ask, your head swimming with answers before he could utter them.
"I'm ashamed of myself," he confessed, you felt the words run ice cold down your back. "I get that everythin' is different now– with datin' 'nd all. Nothin' wrong with a one night stand… but I'm too old to be someone's fuckbuddy. I can't be that guy for you."
"I d-don't want you to," you rushed, surprising yourself as you stumbled over the words.
The corner of his mouth twitched, a small smile telling you he didn't believe you.
"Well, you tell me nothin'. The little persona you put on is fun for sex, but it ain't fun when it has repercussions in real life. When you showed up at the wedding… I panicked, okay? For you it's all fun 'n games, but for me that's my family. What was I s'posed to say if they saw you, huh? Tell 'em that's the girl I'm fuckin'? Pretty sure my daughter would have a fuckin' aneurysm."
Joel shook his head as a shaky breath sifted through him.
"I shouldn't have said all that shit to you– I shouldn't have used that tone, but I couldn't let it continue like that… I don't want casual with you– I ain't got the energy for that sorta thing. I wanna know where I stand, I don't wanna keep guessin' what you're thinkin'… I can take your attitude, but at least be forthright with me." Joel's eyes found his hands folded in his lap.
"Okay…” you hesitated for a moment, “I think I might be falling in love with you," you confessed. The words fell out of your mouth before you could think them through, and you let them. Somehow, you weren't afraid anymore. You'd already lost the people who were supposed to be closest to you, supposed to be your family. There was nothing else to lose, just Joel, just a love.
He looked up from his lap, "You think or you are?"
Your teeth came down on your lip, chewing at a loose piece of skin as your eyebrows pulled together in a frown. "I am… I think–" you tried, your finger pinching the bridge of your nose, "I've never been in love… I don't know."
The heat rising in your cheeks had you look away from him. Across from you Joel rose to his feet and closed the small distance between you. A heavy palm found your cheek, turning your face slowly.
"D'you wanna find out?" he smiled, the rough pad of his thumb skating softly over your cheek. Joel towered over you, but you didn't feel small… you felt protected. The realization had tears press behind your eyes.
"Heyheyhey," Joel cooed, while his other hand found your cheek, "It's okay."
Drawing a shaky breath, you told him, "It's not, Joel, I'm leaving– tonight." A tear broke loose as the words left your lips.
Joel's thumbs wiped at your tears before he crouched down between your legs with a groan, his knees popping loudly. "You don't need to do anythin', princess. Y'can stay at my place until you figure things out–"
You shook your head as more tears ran down your cheeks. "I'm moving back to California, I was only supposed to stay here for the summer," you told him, "I have one year left of my engineering degree at Berkeley, and I'm starting a new internship job on Monday."
"Oh," Joel let out. If he tried to hide his surprise, he did an awful job at it; it almost made a smile crack between your tears.
"You should check your face Joel,” you told him, your tone as light as you could manage it right now, “I know you're old, but in this millennia, girls can be engineers too," you tried to jest.
He let out an incredulous breath, before he let go of your face, "I know that– but California… it ain't exactly a short drive."
In your chest, you felt a twinge, "And you don't exactly text."
Joel fell silent at your words, head dipping forward, and you swore you could hear the cogs turning in his head. With a groan he stood to his feet, backing up to sit at your bed again.
"Look," he started, his eyes catching yours, "I wanna give this a go, if you wanna give this a go."
"I do," you hurried, and Joel nodded.
"You leavin' makes this a hell of a lot more complicated…" he sighed, "If we're gonna do this thing, I wanna do it right… take you on a date– treat you right."
"I'd like that," you smiled, and you knew it was the truth.
Dating had been a means to an end; free meals in the exchange for mediocre sex for a month or three (or however long it took you to die of boredom). Dating Joel would be different; it would be real. At the start of the summer, you hadn't realized how starved you'd been for something like this, how you'd filled up on emptiness all your life and mistaken it for love.
"I got 'nother job lined up startin' next week, but I should be able to take the weekend off in a month or so," Joel told you.
Inside your chest, you felt like you'd swallowed a bag of butterflies. "You wanna come visit me?" you asked, a genuine smile tugging at your lips.
"'f you'll have me, princess."
Rising from your chair, you crossed the space between you on eager feet, slotting between his spread legs. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you let your thumb run over his beard, the thick bristles tickling your skin. His face softened in your hands, and inside you felt the wound torn open by Joel, start to close up.
There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d give up the opportunity of being with Joel, but there was one condition…
"Only if you promise to never treat me like that ever again. I'll stomp on your fucking balls– is that clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," Joel said, a grin tugging at the side of his mouth.
Pleased, you climbed into his lap, locking your arms around his neck as you felt his large palms settle at your hips.
With your face only inches from his own, you commanded, "Say that again."
"Yes…" he grinned, his hands sliding lower to grip your ass, "Ma'am."
Pressing your lips against his, you felt something heavy fall off your heart. A weight so heavy if Joel's hands weren't on you, you'd float away. Joel licked into your mouth, deepening the kiss and exploring your mouth. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pressing him closer and closer to your body. You wished you could meld with him, become one, something strong and resilient.
When your hips started to grind against the hardening bulge in his pants, you mumbled against his lips. "One last time for the road?"
His laugh tasted sweet like honey, and you tried to lick up every sugary breath of it. His hands on your ass tightened as you rolled your hips again, his fingers making dents through the rough fabric of your jeans.
Pulling away, the sound of your wet lips smacked against the walls. Joel's grin looked infuriatingly cocky as he took in the state of you; your lips rawed and sticky with spit, and your eyes filled to the brim with lust.
"I ain't fuckin' you again until I've taken you on a date," he told you with a light smack against your ass.
"You can't be serious," you whined, head tilting as you pushed your lip out in a pout.
"Oh, I'm dead serious, princess. I'm gonna do this right, 'n that means you gotta be a good girl f'me 'n behave." Joel's voice dropped an octave as he whispered the last words in your ear, and a shiver ran down your back at the promise.
"But not too good," you told him, a smile coating your lips.
"No, I like you a little bratty."
"When does you flight land again?"
Propped up in bed, fluffy pillows soft against your back, you pressed your phone to your ear. A month had never passed as slowly as these past weeks. The new internship and settling into your new classes might've had something to do with it – you'd been overwhelmed with work – but the promise of Joel at the end of it had you longing.
"Five thirty– I already told ya yesterday, princess."
He did, right after he'd guided you towards a shaking orgasm just from his words. Joel had promised to text, but he was awful at it. You know he'd tried, replying to your texts sporadically throughout the day, but you'd quickly given up on anything substantial from him in that department. When he'd suggested a phone call before bed you'd grimaced at the thought, but hearing the deep bass through his drawl every night had you convinced without a fight – especially when you'd managed to tease him into spilling filth down the line.
"I know… but in my defense I was a little out of it," you reminded him.
Joel's chuckled, a deep rumbling laugh that dripped like honey in your ears. "Really? I couldn't tell," he teased.
"Shut up," you laughed.
"I don't think you want that," you could hear the grin coating his face.
He was right, you didn't want that. What you wanted was to talk to him all night, hear the static bass of his voice in your ear. It didn't matter what he said, what language he spoke, if the lilt was high or low, you just wanted to talk to him. But more importantly you wanted him in your bed – so you told him just that.
"What I want is: you here, in my bed, right now with your cock inside me," you pouted.
Your words pulled another laugh from Joel. "Well, then, you ought to be patient, princess."
"I'm very unfamiliar with that concept," you told him, a teasing lilt covering your words, "I'm used to getting what I want."
"Oh I know… but we ain't doin' this again, princess…" he told you, his voice dropping with sternness, "As a matter of fact, I don't want you touching yourself at all until I can get my hands on you. 's that clear?"
"Do you promise to punish me if I do?" you wondered, your teeth coming down to nibble on your bottom lip through a smile.
"I promise to keep my hands to myself and my pants buttoned for the whole weekend– does that sound like a nice punishment, brat?"
"Jesus christ," you sighed, "I guess I gotta be good until tomorrow, then."
"I'll make it up to you," he promised through a laugh.
"You better," you teased.
Pulling into the parking lot next to your apartment building, his words skipped around your brain. I'll make it up to you.
Now well into September, the days close to knocking on October's door, Joel had been a constant presence in your head ever since you’d left Austin. Your thoughts of him wandered away in your classes, conjuring him forth when you slipped a hand into your panties, and even filled up your dreams.
But the flimsy fantasy version of him was nothing compared to the solid form next to you. In the parking lot the sun slipped beneath the skyline and the golden orange light coming through your car windows kissed Joel's cheek, and bathed him in the last drops of the sun.
He was here, finally, his hand brushing against yours as you led him inside.
"It ain't how I pictured it," he spoke; the leather strap of his bag slipped from his shoulder.
You hadn't realized that you'd held your breath before it released at his words. It was like you'd been waiting for your bubble to burst, that he wasn't really here, forever a static voice speaking down your phone. But his voice was clear, and deep, and real; and Joel was flesh and blood standing beside you in your apartment. You didn't need to hold your breath anymore.
"How did you picture it?" you asked, genuinely curious as you led him deeper inside your apartment.
"I don't know…" he trailed off, his eyes darting through your space, "Bigger, maybe?"
You hummed, following his eyes as he took in your space – the furniture you'd picked out special, and the art you hadn't had time to hang yet – it was a one-bedroom, but it was enough for you. The previous year you'd lived with roommates in a fancier apartment closer to campus. Socially it was great living with your classmates, but they were all boys, and at one point when the apartment looked especially dirty, you'd considered hiring a housekeeper. But the downsides weighed lightly against the upsides, and you’d never felt lonely, not like you'd done home in Austin.
"I don't want that anymore… there's nothing lonelier than a big house." The words settled between you, a comfortable silence while you tried not to think about what Joel was thinking, as you felt his gaze burn at your cheek.
“Come here,” he said, slipping an arm over your shoulders, tucking you close to his chest. “Let’me look at ya.”
The rough pads of his fingers pushed at your jaw, tilting your head to look at him. A soft smile blossomed over his face, his eyes deepening with a soothing warmth.
"You see something?" you asked, your eyes flicking to his lips.
"You ain't lonely anymore," he told you before he leaned closer in a kiss.
The brush of his lips had your eyes fluttering shut, and the press of his lips against yours awakened a burning pit in your tummy – the flames licking at your insides and igniting your want. The words he’d promised you over the phone played like a broken record in the back of your mind.
I'll make it up to you.
Clawing at the hair at the nape of his neck, your desperate hand pulled him closer, eager to fill your tank up on Joel.
“Bedroom,” you mumbled, the word fanned against his lips, "It's been so long and I deserve it– I've worked all fucking week."
"Deserve it, huh?" he hummed, pulling away to catch your blown out and moony eyes.
"Yes, Joel," you whined, pressing your lips against his again. But Joel wouldn't have it, letting you get one good kiss in before he pulled away again, eliciting a pouty whine from your throat.
"Patience," he told you, teasing smile hanging off his mouth while the hand splayed across the side of your face tightened. "I already told ya, I ain't fuckin' you until you've taken me out."
Letting out an petulant huff, you stepped away, crossing your arms over your chest. "So, now I'm taking you on a date?" you asked with the raise of an eyebrow.
A smile tugged at his lips as he regarded you, a teasing glint in his eye. Hooking an arm around your waist, he pulled you closer, "Yes, you ought to wine and dine this old man after a long day of travel."
"Well you could've told me earlier," you moaned, leaning back in his embrace with drama, your arms still wrapped around yourself as you looked at him through your lashes. "All the good restaurants are probably full at this hour…" you trailed off, "let's just get take-out," you said, pleased at your work-around.
His other hand joined the other on your waist, "Nah-uh, princess, ain't a real date until we're eatin' out."
Raising an eyebrow at him, the innuendo wasn't lost on you. With a knowing shake of your head, you told him, "No, you just want me to beg."
Joel's eyes narrowed playfully at you, his head tilting in a playful scrutinized way, "Well, you beg so pretty f'me."
This time you were the one to narrow your eyes at him, your face scrunched together in the slightest frown. Staring at him like that, you tried to break him down, but Joel was used to your antics, and he didn't break.
Letting out another fussy huff, you said, "So… if I take you out to eat, you'll fuck me after?"
"If the foods good," he teased, one hand sliding down to squeeze your ass.
He was insufferable, you thought through a sigh, rolling your eyes at him as you slipped from his grip.
"Come on then, old man."
After a change of clothes and a visit to the bathroom to freshen up, you pondered over your usual 'rule': You didn't fuck on the first date. Sure, you weren't a stranger to a one night stand after a night out, but if a man were to take you out, you wanted to at least give it a shot before you gave it all up.
"Usually, I never fuck on the first date," you told him as the elevator hummed around you. Joel's hand rested comfortably at your lower back, and you found that you liked it– liked his casual show of affection. You didn't know why you said it. Maybe as a last resort to convince him to click the button to your floor and take you back up to your bed?
Joel didn't look at you as a smile that gave nothing away spread across his face. His response was cut off by the elevator dinging, and with his hand at your back he guided you out the elevator.
"Well, too bad for you then, princess," he hummed teasingly in your ear, which earned him a playful shove before you led him down the street.
Blitzes of red, green, and blue danced over Joel's face, the bright neon light tugging at his features in playful shadows. Overhead, the sky had darkened with night over the parking lot. It was empty, safe for the food truck parked by the entrance.
Before you'd moved back home to Austin for the summer, you'd been apartment hunting in this area. It was by sheer luck you'd found it, so close to your internship job with only a couple of blocks away. And when the sun hung high in the sky, this parking lot filled with hungry office workers eager for a well made burrito or taco. You knew because you liked to watch them from up high, the building where you did your internship giving you the perfect view of the small ants. Sometimes one of those ants was you.
The tired wood of the picnic table felt rough against your skin and it wobbled slightly if either of you put too much weight on it. In the background the truck generator hummed away between your bites, but somehow this felt perfect.
"How's your taco?" you asked, a smile hanging off your lips as you broke the comfortable silence that had settled between you and Joel.
"God damn good," Joel nodded, taking another bite.
"Right?" you smiled, a proud warmth settled in your chest. "Looks like I'm getting my dick wet later," you teased.
The laugh that rumbled out of Joel's chest, bubbled up inside you, feeding you more than the tacos. It almost took you by surprise, the feelings he'd conjured forth inside you, stronger now in his presence. Maybe all those #1 hits, and romcoms were right after all?
"We'll see," he winked.
Gulping down his second taco, Joel wiped his hand on a napkin before he wrapped a hand around his beer bottle. He watched you with a smile, how you tried your best to bite into your own taco without everything falling out.
"Too big f'you, princess?" he teased, "Shouldn't be a problem f'you, huh? You've taken bigger than that."
"Ah!" you exclaimed, mouth too full to say anything else. Kicking your foot under the table, you hit his shin lightly in a reprimand.
Joel only laughed it off, before taking a swig of his beer.
“That’s it,” he said, his eyes falling on you playfully, “Good girl.”
You couldn't hold back from letting out something between a snort and a sound. It resulted in an unceremonious amount of salsa to drip out of your mouth and onto the plate, which only made Joel laugh harder as you struggled to swallow down the huge bite of taco.
When you finally managed, you gave Joel a half-pointed, half-amused look, “Asshole.”
“You love it, sweetheart,” he said through a chuckle, and somehow the light words hit a little harder than you'd thought. Could you love Joel? Maybe you already did.
Shaking your head, you tried to rid yourself of your new discovery. “Don't be a brat Joel,” you said in a sing-songy voice, trying to hide your growing smile behind another bite out of your taco.
Joel chuckled again at the inside joke, and a sense of pride grew in your chest. “That a threat, baby?” he returned, raising a single eyebrow as he regarded you.
You gave him a nonchalant shrug as you swallowed down your taco. “Just a warning,” you told him simply, and now Joel’s lips curved into a smirk.
“A warning, huh?” he repeated as his eyes ran down the length of you and back up. He took his time, making sure you felt his gaze over your skin before he uncrossed his arms and leaned towards you over the table, “Thought I was the only one handin' out warnings ‘round here.”
“Roles can change,” you replied simply, your own smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. Joel crossed his arms under himself this time, still leaning on the table as he considered you, twinkle in his eye.
“Yeah?" he tsk-ed, "Y'gonna give me a run for my money, princess?” he asked after a second, his voice a fraction deeper than it was before.
“Shouldn't be too hard,” you told him with your sweetest smile.
Joel only looked at you as a smile tugged at the side of his mouth. The dark brown of his eyes coaxed you deeper, drew you in, like a magnetic force pulled you across the table.
God, you wanted him.
It was an almost overwhelming thought, Joel was too overwhelming. To settle your brain, your cleared your throat, looking away first.
“You, uh–… you want any dessert?” you asked, trying not to act flustered, "Their churros are really good."
“Y’haven’t even finished your taco, princess,” he pointed out with an amused lilt to his voice.
Right.
Continuing your act, you snorted as you picked up your last taco. “I meant after, obviously.” The smile on Joel's face had a hot flush of warmth climb up your neck to your cheeks.
“‘m alright f’now I think,” he said with a nod towards his plate, where he had one last taco left.
As you and Joel ate your last tacos, he told you about the lady he'd been sat next to on the flight. A real southern lady, he told you, "like sittin' next to the mouth of the south." The genuine tiredness in his voice as he talked about it, had a cooing laugh escape you, and you reached out your arm across the table to slot it in his.
When both of you were full and satisfied with tacos, Joel cleaned up your plates while you fished a cigarette from your purse. You offered one to him as he sat down, to which he shook his head, "You know those'll kill ya."
Tilting your head, you rolled your eyes at him with a smile, "I know."
Joel watched you light your cigarette, the flame brightening your face for a split second, before he spoke up, "I've been meaning to ask ya…"
"Hm?" you looked at him, inhaling the first tar-y breath and exhaling away from him through the side of your mouth.
"How'd everythin' go with your…" he hesitated, "Uh, your father."
Joel watched how your face changed at the mention of him, how you looked away from him like the words had stung you.
"I ain't gonna say I wasn't eavesdroppin' on y'all's conversation," he confessed.
Drawing a deep breath, you flicked the ash into your empty beer bottle. "It went like it always does," you shrugged, "He threatened me some more, and then I threatened him back. He's more concerned about his reputation than me, so I told him I'd post the truth about him if he disinherited me… shut him up real quick."
"I'm sorry, baby," Joel said with a shake of his head, "That ain't how you're s'posed to treat your kids."
"Well," you shrugged, taking another drag. "I'm used to it," you exhaled.
A silence settled between you, the only sound the sizzling burn of your cigarette as you took another drag, and the quiet humming of the truck generator. His words settled in your chest, and a curiosity you'd previously strangled resurfaced. Joel had a daughter.
"Was it hard, um…" you struggled to find the right words, pinching your eyebrows together as you searched. Joel leaned his elbows on the table, tipping it towards him, listening intently. "For your, uh, daughter when you got divorced?"
"Divorced?" he questioned, bushy brows pulling together in a confused frown. A second passed as he searched your face for answers. "Oh, right," he chuckled, his face smoothing out as he sat back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I was never married to Sarah's mom– I've never been married, baby."
"What?" Now you were confused, sporting the same frown he had, "But you said–"
"Yeah, I know," he cut you off, "But technically you put the words in my mouth, 'nd I didn't know where all this–" he pointed between you, "–was headin' so I… I just let you believe it."
"Oh."
“Sorry,” Joel said after a second as he processed your answer, “Probably should've said somethin' but–”
“No,” you said, shaking your head, “I didn’t really ask, did I? Just assumed.”
Another silence fell over the two of you while you inhaled another breath of smoke. Joel watched you, studied you as he gulped down the last of his beer. Placing the bottle gently down against the wood, Joel continued.
“So no… Never got married, and never got divorced.”
“What happened?” you asked him gently, not sure if he wanted you to ask or not, “With Sarah’s mom?”
Joel looked down at his lap for a second, like the answer laid in his lap before he looked up with a shrug. “There ain’t much to tell, honestly… high school sweethearts, just a couple of stupid kids who made a stupid mistake.”
“But you kept the baby?”
“Yeah,” Joel said through a sigh, “We live in Texas darlin’, and back then it… it just wasn't an option for us.”
Joel shook his head, before he cleared his throat. “Anyway, we convinced ourselves we’d set up our own little family, neither of us would go off to college and we’d just work… I got a carpenter job, she waited tables– it was a total fantasy in hindsight, of course, but we didn’t know it then.”
You listened intently as Joel opened up, and noticed how he avoided your eyes. He played it cool, but you could clearly see from his body language, that this wasn't a topic he spoke about often. The realization felt disjointed, a happiness inside you at being trusted by Joel dulled by the pain hidden behind his words.
“Pregnancy was fine, even the job was goin' okay, but as soon as Sarah was born it all went to shit… we had no idea what we were in for and it was hard. We were overworked, broke, exhausted and covered in poop and puke, it wasn’t pretty.”
“Wow, you make parenthood seem like such a joy,” you told him sarcastically, trying to draw a smile across his face, but Joel only snorted.
“Whoever sells that lie should go to jail,” he said with a scoff, “Let me tell you– there ain’t nothin' harder in this world than raisin’ a child.”
This time you had to look away from Joel, the words tugging at something in your own heart; that wound that never closed. Was that why he hated you so badly? Why she didn’t want to see you? That couldn't be right, they never even tried. But you remembered those who did, the revolving doors of all the nannies who'd held you when you'd cried, blew on your knees when you scraped them, played with you in the tree house, and tucked you into bed. You were half-way through your twenties now, it was time to grow your old wounds – it was time to finally let go.
“It was too hard for her, I guess… one afternoon I came home from work and she’d packed all her bags, left Sarah in her high chair with a note– 'I'm sorry' it said. I never heard from her again, but her parents told me she’s livin’ up in Seattle now. They didn’t hear from her for a while either– almost had the police involved…”
Stumping out your cigarette, you reached across the table for his hand, “What did you do?”
“I was angry first, called her 'bout a million times 'nd got an out-of-service message, which meant she’d dumped her phone already… when it sunk in I wasn’t going to see her again I was scared shitless… here I was, barely twenty years old with a six-month old baby and no freaking idea what I was doin', and the one person I was s’posed to be doing it with had just disappeared into thin air,” Joel explained, before he let out a sigh, “Poor girl probably had some kind of postpartum depression, but we were so overwhelmed with the baby we could barely keep our lives together– 'nd I was so preoccupied with Sarah I never really addressed it… in hindsight, I feel like I failed her, y’know? I should’ve noticed, paid more attention to what she needed… I never wanted to fail my family ever again.”
"So you raised your kid.”
Joel gave you a nod, as he pursed his lips together. “I raised my kid… 'nd Tommy helped me a lot. He was just a kid, 'nd he didn't have to do it, but he moved in– watched Sarah while I was at work up until he joined the army 'nd I could afford a sitter…" Joel trailed off, his eyebrows knitting together as his breath stalled in his throat.
"I remember one night…" he started, "Sarah screamed so loud, kept on cryin' 'n cryin', and I couldn't figure out what she wanted. I'd walked around the whole house, carried her for hours until it felt like my arms were gonna fall off. It would be so easy to just give up right then 'nd there… but as I looked at her, at my perfect little baby I promised myself that I'd never make the same mistake again as I had with her mother– I'd always put my babygirl first no matter what…”
Joel let out a sigh as his eyes finally caught yours.
“I guess that’s why I was so mean with you, when you showed up at the wedding. This is my family, y’know? They mean the world to me, always been my priority, always will be… I didn’t want the decisions that I had made to affect them,” he sat up a little straighter, squeezing your hand before he looked at you intently, “I realize now that wasn’t fair to you either, so ’m sorry ‘bout that–”
You shook your head, biting down on the underside of your lip as you fought the tears that pressed at the back of your eyes. Never in your life had something so rudimentary as family mattered in your life. Family to you was something to escape, a randomized lottery that assigned you to people you had nothing in common with. Not once had it occurred to you that your actions could have had consequences for Joel's relationship with his family – and never did it occur to you that those relationships mattered.
“No, I’m sorry,” you told him, with an embarrassed shake of your head, “When I showed up at that wedding… I– I was only thinking of me and what I wanted, not about any consequences it could have for you… I guess I’m not really used to the idea of thinking about what or who matters to others… especially family.”
The last word died on your tongue as your eyes found your lap. The weight of what you'd said, penetrated through your heart, made you hear it for the first time. Across from you, Joel was silent for a long time as you sat with your confession, digesting it at your own pace.
"I know…" Joel suddenly said with a squeeze of your hand, "I forgive you."
His words had a finality to them you found hard to believe. There was no bite of anger, or falseness hidden behind sincerity, only the truth.
"I forgave you weeks ago, baby, after…” He let the words die on his tongue but you knew what he meant – after he’d seen you with your father. “Let's leave it in the past, ‘nd focus on enjoyin’ these days together.”
Joel didn't give you an opportunity to reply before he stood to his feet, reaching out a large palm for you to hold. Slotting your hand in his, he guided you past the food truck and out onto the street, holding your hand the whole way home.
"I didn't know you wore glasses," you said softly, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom.
Joel was already under your covers, propped up against the headboard where he scrolled on his phone. He didn't look up right away, so you took your time to study him as you walked closer with slow steps. One graying curl hung over his forehead, his head tipped slightly forward as he tapped with one finger. His tanned exposed skin looked soft like silk, and you wanted to trace your fingers down the graying thatch of hair speckled down his chest.
At the sound of a quiet wosh! he finally looked up from his phone.
His glasses sat low on his nose where behind the glass his eyes rolled over you, and the brand new set of lingerie adorning your body. The transparent mesh was the perfect shade of green, one that complimented your skin so well it might as well have been made specifically for you. The bra was simple with embroidered flowers weaved through the mesh. The same embroidered flowers adorned the thong, barely concealing your mound. Usually, you wouldn't go for something like this, it wasn't your style– too cute, but there was something about it that made you feel so sexy. Maybe it was the mesh, the way the thin string of the thong split your cheeks in two, or maybe it was the small bow at the back.
You knew you looked hot, but you hoped Joel would like it anyway, you’d bought it just for him.
Joel placed his phone slowly on your night stand, a wide grin spreading across his face. Then he leaned forward slightly, scrunching his face together in a playful squint, "So, this is whatcha look like!?"
You couldn't contain the giggle slipping through your teeth. Joel's smile hung loose, and he leaned back casually, silently inviting you into his lap.
"I like them… You look hot in them," you told him, climbing up in his lap.
"I use 'em only for readin'," he explained, taking in the sight of you before him with wandering hands.
His rough palms over your skin left goosebumps in their wake. You let him touch you, let him familiarize himself with the fabric as you leaned forward and slipped the glasses off his nose.
"You're somethin' else aren't you, princess?" The low timber in his voice had a wetness soil your panties.
"Do you like it, Daddy?" you wondered breathlessly as one of his fingers slipped through the thin band of your thong where it traced the skin underneath. "I missed your birthday… but I hope this makes up for it?" you asked, a lilt of innocence coating your words as you rocked your hips against his.
Joel's smile sat wide and toothy on his face; forming small creases around his eyes. Under you, you felt his hardening cock grow. You couldn't help but rock your hips again, chasing the feeling of him after waiting so long – you needed him now.
"Y'look real pretty, princess… so beautiful– how'd I get so lucky, huh?"
One large palm cupped your cheek and brought you closer to his face. His lips tasted fresh and mint-y when he brushed them over yours in a soft kiss. Under your skin your body buzzed with anticipation. His kiss was short; leaving you wanting more, always wanting more.
"Too bad you don't fuck on the first date," he teased, leaning back and letting his hands fall to your ass where they landed with a playful smack!
Jumping slightly from the impact, a breathy whine escaped your throat, "I can make an exception."
"Really?" he grinned, raising a single eyebrow at you, "Just f'me?"
Pushing out your lip, you gave him an impatient pout. "You promised you'd make it up to me if I didn't touch myself…" you moaned, "And I didn't."
Joel tilted his head in feigned sympathy; his hands on your ass drawing soft circles into the skin. "That's sweet, princess," he hummed before he let out a forced sigh, "I did promise ya, didn't I?"
"Yes," you nodded with a rock of your hips against his hard cock.
"Alright then," Joel said, his fingers finding the bow at the back of your thong, "Let me make it up to ya."
The silk bow keeping the thin strings of your thong together dwindled into scraps with one tug from Joel. Something drew your closer, like something bright and loud inside your chest clawed out for him. This time it would be for real – no more act to play, and no more hiding. The thought bubbled with nerves in your throat.
After discarding your thong in the bed sheets to get lost, Joel's hands cradled your face, bringing you closer. The crook of his nose grazed gently against yours before he pressed his lips against yours.
You let yourself be explored by him, savoring the way his tongue tasted in your mouth, how he took the lead like it was the most natural thing in the world. Inside, you felt like you were about to burst; so many pent up feelings finally breaking free from his kiss. You couldn't help but grind against him; the fluffed duvet in the way of any real friction the way you wanted it, but you craved him either way.
"I know, baby," he hummed against your lips, "That pussy's aching f'me ain't it?"
"Yes," you breathed through a whine, "Please, Joel."
"Alright, princess," he soothed, "So polite for once, huh?"
"Yeah, you better savor it," you teased against him, "Because it's not happening again."
With a breathy chuckle, he pulled away to tap at the thick of your thigh. Twisting your eyebrows together in a confused frown you got off his lap. Between your legs you felt your arousal stick wetly against your inner thighs as you sat back on your knees beside him. Joel pushed the duvet away before he shuffled down the bed, exposing his body, before he laid his head down on the pillows.
"C'mon then," he waved his hand at your expectantly. "Let me take care of ya."
Not moving, your frown grew deeper at his words while your hands collected like a nervous tick in your lap.
"Sit on my face, baby, let me taste that sweet pussy."
Sit on Joel's face?
Your teeth came down to nibble on your bottom lip, as a small shiver of insecurity raced up your back. It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? You shifted on your knees unsteadily, the mattress dipping you forward where his body weighed it down.
You couldn't look at him, so your eyes found your hands in you lap. Why did you need to go through this again? What was his obsession with it exactly? To see you humiliated? And not in the fun way.
"Hey… you okay?" Joel asked, his tone low and soft. He sat up on his elbow, his body turned curiously towards you.
The way he looked at you, his eyes dark and warm and full of… something, had your cheeks filling with a blazing heat. Shaking your head, you tried to will the embarrassment away. You didn't want him to see you like that– it wasn't supposed to be like this, not this time.
"Yes." You pulled yourself together, lips tugging at a teasing smile you hoped would put Joel at ease.
Leaning forward – making sure to push your ass out and arch your back for him – you tugged at the waistband of his underwear where you could peek the outline of his hard cock straining against the cotton. Before you could pull them down, Joel's hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Tilting your head curiously towards him, you could see a smirk coat his face.
"'s that whatcha want?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, and you nodded. "Greedy girl," he tsk-ed through his grin.
His strong hands were around your waist before you had time to think, manhandling your legs over his chest, exposing you and your wet center to his waiting mouth. A panic gripped your heart then, and you sat up with haste, slipping off his body.
"Don't do that, Joel," you let out, your tone laced with an unintended annoyance.
A frown pulled at his eyebrows as he sat up; his eyes bounced over your body and then your face.
"Red?" he asked, concern spilling across his face.
A sigh fell from your lips as a hand came up to rub at your face. When you didn't say anything right away, his hand caught your own, pulling it away while his other soothing palm found your cheek.
"Red?" he asked again, a little sterner – demanding an answer.
You shook your head in his hand, the words on your tongue failing you.
"What is it then, princess?"
The tenderness in his voice almost broke you down, hacking at the crumbling wall shielding you from him. Joel cared about you. He'd told you that, came all this way to make it crystal clear. So why couldn't you let him?
"Do you wanna get your dick sucked or what?"
Shaking off his palm you could feel ashamed later for slipping into your outdated disguise. This was how the sex with Joel was supposed to go – how it always went. But Joel wouldn't have it.
"Well, now I'm sayin' it– Red."
Inside, your heart sunk like a stone in water, and before you knew it you felt tears fight their way forward. You'd ruined it– your perfect day with Joel was ruined. Cautiously finding his face, you expected Joel to be angry, but the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at you hit you like a sucker punch.
"Let's stop for a minute, baby. Clearly there's somethin' botherin' you. I knew I saw it last time– what's goin' on?" he wanted to know. "Tell me," he grabbed your hand, slotting your fingers together as he held your gaze with an intensity that burned. "'n no more hidin', remember?"
No more hiding.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you managed to push back your tears as a stuttering sigh escaped you.
Okay.
Opening your eyes slowly, you gathered your courage. "I feel like I'm ruining everything," you confessed, your voice breaking a little as you told him the truth.
"That ain't true," Joel frowned, "'f you don't want this anymore, we can stop–"
"I don't want to stop," you cut him off, "I want this– you so badly! I've been thinking about it all day– all month long, b-but I…" you stuttered.
"But you don't like oral?" Joel finished for you, his frown deepening in confusion.
You shook your head, "I– um… no, not really."
Joel was silent for a second, eyes boring into you as you tried to avoid his gaze.
This was embarrassing.
“There a specific reason f’that, pretty girl?” he asked you as his hand holding yours tightened just a little while dipping his head to meet your eyes.
Your cheeks burned furiously as you looked at Joel, trying for a nonchalant shrug. “I-It just–… it doesn’t feel good.”
At that, Joel raised a single eyebrow in surprise, considering you.
“It doesn’t feel good?” he repeated, "I seem to remember you enjoyin' yourself last time…" You watched how a frown pulled at his face, his own words sinking in and replacing them with a sliver of doubt. "Or am I wrong?"
This time, Joel was the one who wouldn't meet your gaze, acting surprisingly bashful. Quickly, you shook your head, "No."
Joel's face twisted into a sad smile, and the way he looked at you told you he didn't believe you. "Y'can be honest with me. If I did somethin' you didn't like– you gotta tell me."
"It wasn't you who did it," you muttered, voice low like a whisper, the only way the words could leave your lips.
"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," Joel let out in an exasperated sigh, his tone backed up by anger. Squeezing your hand again, he demanded your attention. "Who did then? Tell me, baby– some twenty-somethin’ asshole say something he shouldn’t have?”
Your eyes widened slightly at his words, surprised that he wasn’t even that far off, and the memories pushed their way forward. It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? His mocking laugh echoed in your head. The way he'd licked your mound with a scrunch of his nose as you'd wished you could've sunk through the bed.
Even though you hadn’t uttered a word, Joel had read your expression telling him he'd hit the nail on the head, and now his brows knitted into a frown.
“Baby,” he told you, his voice so tender it made your head spin. One of his hands let go of your palm, bringing his fingers up to graze the pads softly over the edge of your jaw. “We’ll do whatever you want, it’s your choice… but I wantcha to know that I think you've got the prettiest fuckin' pussy I’ve ever seen– the sweetest tastin' too.”
Dropping your head, you squeezed your eyes shut. Joel's hand slid from your jaw to cover the side of your face, the palm covering your ear and half the world disappeared. You were silent for a second, before you took a small breath.
“You mean that?”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, princess,” he told you, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, “m’not lying either, you know… it’s the only fucking thing I can think about, only thing I wanna see when I’m fucking ya– wanna see just how good she looks wrapped 'round me.”
You couldn't fight the smile from breaking, your eyelashes fluttering bashfully as you turned your head. "You can't just say that… this is supposed to be a tender moment."
Joel's laugh rumbled through his chest. "I'm a contractor, princess, I ain't no poet. I dunno how to wax poetic 'bout your pussy."
"I don't need you to do that," you told him through a laugh, turning your head back to look at him.
"Good," he smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling.
He studied you for a beat, before he leaned back against the pillows with an inviting raised arm. "C'mon. Let's get some sleep, baby."
“Sleep?” you asked him, the disappointment evident in your tone, “But, I–… I haven’t even sucked your cock.”
“Y’gonna let me eat you out?” Joel returned, and you crinkled your nose.
“Joel,” you whined, dragging out the vowels as your hands covered your face. A small laugh escaped Joel, and quickly his hands came up to gently pry yours away.
“Baby, I don’t wantcha doin' anythin' that makes you uncomfortable, but I also wanna make you feel good,” he told you, “I don’t believe in one-sided exchanges, and if m’honest, the only thing I can think about right now is buryin' my head between those pretty thighs and makin' you scream my name for the next five hours.”
The casual confidence in his voice sent a shudder down your spine where it pooled between your thighs. He did make you come last time, you remembered, and it had felt really really good. Still, that old insecurity at the back of your neck clung to you like a poltergeist. After a second of silence, watching the conflict on your face, Joel drew a deciding breath.
“Tell you what baby,” he said as you felt his hands gently grab at your waist and pull you towards him, “Think I know a way we can both get what we want.”
“Oh yeah?” you asked grudgingly, “What’s that, hm?”
Joel leaned forward and slotted his lips against yours gently, pulling you deeper into a sense of safety. After a second he pulled back, teeth trapping your bottom lip.
“You still have to sit on m'face,” Joel told you with a smirk, “But I’ll level with ya princess, you can do whatchu want, and I’ll make sure to keep ya distracted… promise.”
A beat passed as you let his proposal settle between you. A thought of how you could always say your safeword if you absolutely hated it crossed your mind. He'd established it so early in your relationship, set the boundaries between you clearly and you knew Joel would never force you to do anything you didn't want to do.
Drawing a deep breath through your nose, you let out a breathy, "Okay."
Joel's smile brightened before he leaned closer to press another gentle kiss to your lips, "Attagirl."
Turning you around, Joel helped you swing your leg over his broad chest where his palms settled over your hips. Maneuvering your hips backwards he positioned your exposed cunt to his face.
Afraid to put your whole weight on him, you hovered, your knees digging deeply into the mattress on either side of his head. As reassuring as Joel had been, being this exposed still made you nervous, and you couldn't help the way your body tensed up. Trying to distract yourself from what Joel thought about you, you focused on your distraction; Joel's straining cock hidden away behind the woven cotton of his underwear.
Pulling at the elastic band, you slowly revealed the length of him inch by inch. A pleased smile tugged at your lips as you took him in your hand; his thigh reacting in a twitch at your touch. He still had the prettiest cock you'd ever seen, veiny and thick, and perfectly heavy in your hand. Leaning down, you pressed a light kiss to the skin right above the base; the dark and silver wiry hair tickled your skin as you inhaled the masculine musk of him – of Joel, your Joel.
Joel's greedy fingers dug deliciously into your skin, as his dominant hand glided up your back, pushing you to lay your weight on him. You couldn't see what he was doing, only feel the hot breath of him so close to the core of you.
"She looks so pretty drippin' f'me," his voice rasped, placing a fluttering kiss through your folds, "'n she tastes even better."
You couldn't help the stuttering breath that escaped you, your eyes squeezing shut as Joel licked a stripe from your clit to your hole, tasting you unabashedly with a content hum. His fingers dug deeper into your skin as you whined, holding you firmly against his mouth to keep you from squirming away.
Focusing back at your task at hand, you tightened your fist around his cock, gathering a blob of spit in your mouth and let it slowly drip down the length of him. You watched your spit run over your knuckles before you started to work your hand up and down his length, thumbing over the head to mix your spit with the precum sprouting from the tip as you wet his cock with slick squelching tugs. Against your stomach, you could feel his chest vibrate in a content hum.
Kneading your ass cheeks firmly, Joel spread you apart for him before you felt him spit harshly against your cunt. The spit ran down your folds, gathering at the flat of his tongue where he circled it around your clit. You tensed at the contact, your face pulling together in the slightest of frowns of pleasure.
"Shit," you let out in a breath.
Pleased at the reaction he'd pulled from you, Joel hummed against your cunt, wet and spread open for him to devour. "Yeah? That feel good, princess?"
"Uh-huh," you moaned, your hand stilled at the base of his cock, as he traced circles around your clit with his tongue.
Cocking his hips, Joel reminded you of your neglected job. Pulling yourself together, you tightened your fist around him again. Mesmerized, you lowered your head and dropped open your mouth, slapping the wet length of him against your waiting tongue. Pleased, you hummed at the first salty taste of him, the familiar heaviness of him in your mouth. Enveloping him in your mouth, you closed your lips around the mushroom tip to tease the head with your circling tongue, making him twitch in your mouth at the new stimulation.
The way his mouth had latched around your clit, sucking and flicking it expertly, made it hard to concentrate. So much was happening all at the same time, his tongue devouring you, urging you towards a long awaited orgasm, but judging from the way he started to buck his hips into your mouth, you figured the same thing was happening to him.
Trying your best to keep your focus, you started to bop your head. Relaxing your throat, this new angle made it easier to take the hefty length of him down your throat, and you found that you liked it. Pushing your head deeper, you gagged yourself on him, loving the feeling of how he filled up your throat with each bop of your head.
On his tongue your clit pulsed with need, and you found yourself moaning around his cock, making Joel's hips buck from the vibrations in your throat. Joel ate your pussy greedily, drinking up every whimper and moan your body produced as he coaxed you closer and closer with just his tongue.
You couldn't stay still, even with Joel's fingers digging harshly into the flesh of your ass, branding you as his. With your head clouded in lust, you didn't realize you started to push back against his tongue, chasing the high of the swipes and zigzags of his tongue through your soaked folds. "Feels so fucking good," you mumbled, lips pressed to the side of his cock while your head was clouded in cotton candy bliss.
Choking yourself on his cock again, you pulled yourself under the blanket of tranquil arousal, your head filled with nothing except the way Joel took care of you, and how good his cock felt in your throat. Your desperate hands found his heavy balls, cupping them gently before you rolled them in your hands, earning you a deep rumbling groan.
"That's it– play with my balls, baby– good girl," he moaned into your pussy.
His praise settled in your tummy like a warm cup of tea on a cold day. The wet breath of him against your throbbing clit was almost too much to take, and now you started to grind against this face, fucking yourself against his tongue as you chased your high that just continued to build, and build, and build. His rough hands on your ass guided your movements, and when your thighs started to tense with arrhythmic shakes, he latched onto your clit and sucked.
"Come on baby… that's it– good girl," he hummed, "Come f'me, princess."
Pulling off his cock with a wet pop, your head came to rest over the thick of his thigh as your body started to shake and wither with your orgasm. You felt him grunt against your cunt, his tongue never ceasing to assault your aching clit. He lapped greedily at you, tasting each drop of your blinding ecstasy. His cock sat heavy in your hand, small wet whimpers puffing against the wet skin of him as you rode out your high.
In your chest, you could feel your heart grow larger, bursting out of your chest for Joel, like it reached its hand out to intertwine it with his.
When the tension in your body let go of you and your grinding hips faltered, you sat up slowly, sliding down his chest on shaking legs as you beared your weight on his thick thighs. His hefty cock laid heavy and throbbing against his stomach, smeared and glistening in your saliva. With a curious tilt of your head, you wrapped your hand around him, his hips bucking as you jerked him slowly.
"Fuck," he spat.
Looking over your shoulder, Joel looked a mess coated in your arousal. The coarse salt and pepper hair of his beard glistened in the dimmed light as he turned his head to the side, pushing it deeper into the pillow while you teasingly skated your fingers down the length of him. His moan vibrated through his chest, and a smile followed a pleased prickling feeling of pride in your chest – pluming yourself at having a man like him at your mercy, your eyes found his cock again.
In your hand you felt him throb; the thick vein down the underside of him protruded with need. His hands found the thick of your thighs, palms spreading over your skin like an afterthought before they settled at your hips. Leaning down, you longed to feel him fill up your throat again – finding you liked this new angle.
Placing a pouty kiss to the head, you licked at the pearling precum. Did it always taste this good, or was there just something so obsessively special about Joel? Humming contently, you hollowed your cheeks around the head, before you dropped your jaw to slowly ease him back down your throat.
Joel's hands on you tightened like he was holding on for dear life, as another pleasurable moan fell from his lips.
"Shit– you love that cock don't cha– love sucking cock like a good whore."
His words had you whimpering around him – he was right after all, you loved sucking his cock. You wished you could see him, see the way his eyes squeezed shut as you took him deeper. A rush of arousal pooled in your tummy at the thought, ready to gush over the greying hair scattered over his chest.
Starting up a bopping rhythm again, an obscene gagging squelch escaped your throat at every bop, filling your bedroom with filth. Joel's mouth wasn't any better, rambling degrading praise that only urged you on. When your hands found his balls, slicked up with your runaway spit, his fingers dug harshly into your ass cheeks.
"Stop, baby… I'm so fuckin' close."
Pulling away, you dropped your head to his thighs, laying down gently with your hand still wrapped around him at the base. Tightening your grip around him, Joel's breath stalled in his chest, and you couldn't help but place a soft kiss down the length of him.
"Baby," he said sternly, and a bubbling laugh escaped your lips.
Loosening your grip, his cock slapped against his skin where the head wept onto the skin below his belly button. His hands on your ass pushed at you, and you slid your body off him, your thighs sticking together wetly as you sat back on your knees beside him.
Sitting up against the headboard, a soft groan fell from his lips. His gaze over you was blown out and wide, and his grin wide with teeth.
"Come here," he ordered, the crook of his arm open for your body to slot into.
His other hand fell at the top of your chest, sliding it up around the back of your neck, holding you. The heavy weight of his touch had you pliant and loose in his hands; your eyelids fluttering with desire. He could do whatever he wanted to you in that moment, and you'd let him, but the only scandalous thing he did was kiss you.
He tasted like you, and you as him, and nothing had felt more right. Somehow, he maneuvered you onto his lap, distracting you with his kiss as he positioned you how he wanted.
His leaking cock pressed into your stomach, and if you hadn't been so distracted the visualization would spark a thought of how deep inside you he'd reach, would graze you. Instead, you licked into his mouth, your desperate hands finding his cheeks where his beard prickled your palms.
"You want that cock inside, don't ya, princess?" he nudged between kisses, slipping a hand between your bodies to angle the tip of his cock to rub through your folds, circling it around your aching hole.
The new stimulation had you pulling away from his mouth with a hitched breath, "Please– been so long."
Pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck, a sticky sheen of desperation clung to your skin as you lifted your hips. He slid the bulbous head through your seam where you dripped over him, coating him in your slick arousal.
"Go ahead, baby, sit on that cock, take what you need," Joel's voice rumbled against your skin.
Lowering your hips, the blunt fat head of his cock pushed past your folds and nudged at your opening. He let you take the lead this time, letting you control the pace at which you worked inch by inch of him deeper inside you. The stretch of him always burned deliciously, an aching pleasure that you didn't think you'd ever get enough of.
When you finally eased yourself down on him, your hips flush with his, a guttural moan fell from Joel's lips. Sitting on his cock like this, he reached deeper than he'd ever done before; a heavy pressure poking at the deepest part of yourself. It was almost too much, your thighs clenched as they fought to move back up.
"There you go," he cooed, "So fuckin' tight f'me."
"Joel," you whined out in a heavy breath, digging you face deeper into the crook of his neck.
"'s alright," he soothed, nosing down the length of your jaw, "'s all yours, use it princess– get yourself off on my cock."
You couldn't help the whimper you stuck to his skin as you felt him flex inside of you, your walls fluttering around him desperately as you rocked your hips into him. The wiry hair at the base of his cock nudged against your throbbing clit, the new angle prodded at the spot inside that made your hips stutter.
Joel let you do all the work as you lifted your hips, slowly at first, and lowered yourself down on him. Looking for more leverage, you forced yourself to sit up straight, your hands digging into his shoulders as you pushed back on him at an increasing pace, using him for your own pleasure.
"Such a good girl, keep goin', just like that," he praised from under you, watching how your eyebrows creased as your eyes shut at the increasing pleasure.
Moving your hips at an unabashed pace, Joel's hands found yours to intertwine with. "Come on, baby, don't stop now, ride that cock, bounce on it like a good slut," he encouraged, pushing back against your hands.
Lost in the fog of your own pleasure, desperate pleas and whiny breaths were the only coherent sounds falling from your lips, the feeling of him filling you up repeatedly, too good for words.
When your thighs burned with effort, you slowed down your bounces and fell against his chest to catch your breath. Swiveling your hips between chasing grinds, the desperation in you still chased your orgasm.
"Gettin' tired, princess?" Joel asked, his voice full of faux pity. His hands untangled from yours to fall at your back, his fingers teasing over the band of your bra. "Need me to do it f'ya, huh?"
Hooking his finger under your bra strap, he pulled, letting it smack harshly and quick against your skin in reprimand. You jolted against him, letting out a whine and a "Yes, please," as the end of him poked at your spot at the movement.
Unhooking your bra, Joel cast it aside, getting lost in the duvet along with the rest of your underwear. Cupping your ass, he squeezed a good handful before a hand came down in a stinging smack!
What happened next was nothing short of instinctive. Keeping you steady in his lap, Joel thrusted up into you, setting a brutal pace. Bouncing in his lap, you felt like a rag doll. Rolling your head back, you met every thrust, felt every vein, and every ridge of him, as the fat head repeatedly hit the spot so deep inside you. When your vision started going spotty with pleasure, and Joel's lips spilled filth between his grunts, you were tethering right on the edge.
"Keep goin'– good girl, earn my fuckin' cum."
"Y'want me to fill y'up don't cha? Have it leakin' outta you all night."
"Come on, princess, I know you're close, give m'cock a big squeeze."
The noises spilling out your throat were breathy and whiny, harmonizing perfectly with the deep guttural grunts out of Joel. When his hand reached between your bodies, the flat callused pad of his thumb putting pressure down on your clit, it was all too much.
With an arch of your back, he tipped you over the edge, the pleasure rolling over you like a blinding wave. Your body went rigid for a moment, your cunt squeezing around him like a vice, before the tension released in a stuttering shake.
"There she goes, my good girl," Joel praised, but his voice was far away, like someone had stuffed cotton in your ears, or pulled your head under water.
Prolonging your release, Joel never stopped his thrusts, only slowing them down as he sped up his fingers on your clit. Your mouth dropped in a quiet scream, your face twisted in pained pleasure as a stream of liquid gushed from your cunt.
You didn't notice the surprised look on his face, or the way he groaned out, "Fuck– you're amazin', princess– 'm comin'." But you felt the way his cock twitched inside you, pulsed thick spurts of his cum as he filled you deep and steady with his hot release.
Caught up in his own pleasure, Joel sunk down the bed, dragging you with him. The feeling of his cum filling you up, branding you as his, had you withering with another gush of release over his thighs. Your skin stuck to his, and with this new angle his cock slipped out of you from the force of your orgasm.
Everything was sticky, everything was hot. Riding out the last buzzes of your ecstasies, you could still feel how intensely your clit throbbed as Joel's heavy release dribbled out of you, making a mess over his wet thighs and softening cock.
You didn't realize you were crying until Joel peeled your cheek from his chest, two large palms cupping your head to thumb at the wet tears.
"'s okay, baby, you're okay," he cooed, wrapping his strong safe arms tightly around you, while you clung to him like a koala bear. "I'm here."
It was only two words, but it was just the two you needed to hear.
Joel was here.
"Thank you," you whispered, afraid your voice would break if you spoke louder.
"You did so good f'me," he cooed, as your heartbeats steadied.
Pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, Joel turned to the side, dragging you with him. Your limbs were coated in your releases, and sweat clung to your skin, but it didn't matter as he pulled you closer. You didn't know how long he held you, how many kisses he pressed against your skin, but you could never get enough.
When he finally pulled away, you whined, your fingers digging into the flesh of his arm.
"Please don't leave," you whimpered, your brain scrambled with vulnerability.
"'m not leavin', pretty girl, but ‘m gettin’ you cleaned up. That sound alright?"
Getting out of bed felt like moving through molasses, but Joel was patient, helping you to the bathroom on your wobbly legs. Finding a washcloth in your cupboard, he dampened it with warm water before he dragged it down your thighs, catching the mix of your combined release where it had started to run down your leg.
"Made a mess didn't we?" he teased with a wink.
Shooting him half of a smile, you only nodded, tiredness pushing at your eyelids. Joel didn't push, only cleaned himself up before he told you to pee while he changed the sheets. When you finally emerged from the bathroom, Joel invited you back in his embrace, curling himself around your body in a safe weight as your eyelids started to droop to the feeling of his soft kisses against your skin.
When you woke, the bed was empty. Looking around the room a coldness ran through you as you started to wonder if last night had all been a dream. But then you heard a low hum of music coming through the open bedroom door, along with the smell of breakfast cooking, and the coldness melted away.
Grabbing your robe off the hook by the door, the music got louder as you padded into your kitchen. Joel stood with his back to you, already dressed as he pushed gently at the eggs frying in the pan. With a look over his shoulder, Joel noticed you and the smile that spread on his face as he took you in in all your morning glory, had a warmth tug at your heart.
"You ain't got no coffee in this house," he told you, turning back to the eggs.
"I usually go down to the coffee shop on the corner," you shrugged, sitting down at the table.
"That ain't real coffee, princess," he clicked his tongue playfully, sliding the eggs carefully onto two plates he'd set aside with two pieces of toast ready.
"Thank you serf," you joked as he placed one of the plates in front of you. It earned you a genuine laugh as Joel sat down opposite you.
"You're welcome, brat," he smiled.
There was something so romantic about the way he said it, all casual and smirking. And when you caught the way his eyes glinted as he looked at you, you found yourself thinking that if this was love, then you thought you could get used to it.
For the first time in your life, you wanted to fall in love.
Again and again.
© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#joel miller angst#joel miller fluff#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us smut#the last of us fanfic#tlou smut#tlou fanfiction#tlou fanfic#brat!reader#pedro pascal
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When we getting yo spin on Aaron Pierre frenn 👀👀👀
the time has come. YOU SHALL BE BLESSED
Any Time, Any Place
Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond
You as Yourself
Summary: You just had to fuck around and find out on this one particular night, the same night you and Terry go out!
Warnings: Possessiveness up the ass, breeding kink if you squint, rough sex, size kink, established relationship, im missing some but my coochie is rawring.
A/N: Now listen, ik you asked this like 2-3 months ago, but i told you it was coming! megan! um i thank ms big bertha for helping me finish this, i owe her one😏
This man, this man is something else. You and Terry went to his former military friend’s homecoming party! The vibes were great and everyone was nice to you! even got a ‘I see you nephew’ from one of the older ones.
But something about his glare, his hands feeling on you in public and more sultry in private, his kisses on your cheek leaving you flustered, too flustered to even finish the conversation with some of his friends. But you managed, tonight was a good night! The vibes were good, the music was amazing, even got new shit to add to your playlist! Your hair was dyed, fried, and laid to the side, the curls bouncing with every move you took, and the wind having the right amount of umph to blow it correctly, felt like a Disney princess. Too much of a princess, it wasn’t long till you two were pulled up behind a family dollar with your legs in the air, his eyes looking like what boiling water would feel like.
The whole night he was giving you glares, was to warn you, the hands that traveled your body, were to warn them, the private kisses were to remind you, but you didn’t pick up on nothing, poor you, you didn’t know! You were just enjoying people being friendly.
“I’m sorry!” you managed to cry aloud, his hands at the perfect spot to hold you in place, the faint but still strong scent of Gin tainted his lip, his strokes matching the mighty smell.
“I bet you are ma, but I can’t have you being friendly to these niggas.” he said ever so sweetly, slowing his strokes to match his tone, the feeling of feeling him twitch inside you drove you mad, the kisses he gave you trailing onto your neck once you couldn’t keep contact.
“I wasn’t trying to be niceee,” you tried to plead your case with tears of pleasure stinging your eyes, threatening to fall but it’ll mix well with the sweat that ruined your hair, it wasn't the only reason though. “Then what were you?”
You attempted to answer his question, jarring your lips to fix up a sentence, but you were too slow.
Terry slammed into you continually, each and every slam and thrust he gave you found a new place to dig out. His eyebrows furrowed as he lingered for your answer, knowing good and Christ juice you couldn’t answer. this nigga was evil.
He slammed into you once more resulting in you screaming, staying still in an attempt to not cum inside you, but you just looked too exquisite at this angle, the soft white light emitting from above shined across your face, your eyebrows scrunched, and your mouth permanently ajar.
“You can scream but can't answer? I said,” he began to repeat, slowly rocking his hips into you. “I don't know!”
“At least you're honest, that shit ain't cutting it.” He told you, maintaining his pace exactly where and how it was. His tone is mean yet delicate, his eyes still burning into your skin leaving different patches of hotness until your whole body warms up again.
“This my pussy right?” You nodded, “And Nobody will ever get it right?” you nodded your head obediently, “And nobody’s gonna take what's mine?” his voice nearly going primal, his pace quickening at the idea of someone attempting to take what was his.
“Nooooo,” You slurred on your words, drunk off his loving, high off this moment, rolling your eyes back to see your own little sky with stars with a biggg shooting star as your orgasm washed through you, your body jerking around violently as Terry held you steady, giving you two more pumps before sliding out, leaning back to watch you melt further into the backseat.
When you came to, you looked down to see Terry slowly stroking himself, “Knees.” He commanded, your knees buckled as you could hardly move but you obeyed, perking your ass up in the air, teasing him a little.
His hefty hand landed on your cheek a few times, each time leaving a pleasurable sting behind. You heard him shuffle behind you, lining himself up with your entrance, swiping your pussy with his dick making you clench over nothing.
“This your dick right? Show me.” Terry insisted, pushing only the tip driving you madly in love.
You slid down on him with ease, a guttural moan fleeing the two mouths as the feeling of being together again, feeling the chemistry oozing off of each other, it was something that couldn’t be replaced.
You grabbed a hold of the driver’s seat as you threw your ass back onto him, arching your back some more, the clapping intensified times ten.
“Fuckk,” Terry cursed lazily as he fucked you back, giving each cheek a little smacked turning that spot more redder, caressing the right one as the left one was left to die, that asshole!
You felt Terry's presence grow closer as his chest rested on your upper back. His left hand snaked around to keep your face to his as he attacked your lips, the taste of gin deepening your taste buds as you savor the flavor of him, moaning into his mouth.
His left hand released your face, kissing your back before pinning your face down onto the seat, his right hand placed in the small of your back, bending your back in a way you didn’t think it could bend.
He moaned deeply, his languidish strokes reminding you of one thing: This pussy was his and to never let another nigga think he has a chance. Truly, you learned from this experience but will try again when you recover from this in 7-10 business years.
You felt a familiar sensation forming in the pit of your stomach, Terry sensed this and evilly went deep, hitting all new spots as he damn near bottomed out in you. “I want you to cum on this dick and I want you to cum now.” but little did he know you were waiting on his approval.
You erupted into a screaming, shaking mess, the sounds of squelching and slapping of skin drowning out the music.
Terry gave you three sharp thrusts before nutting in you, painting your walls like you were a canvas, and it created a beautiful scene. Terry collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily into your ear feeling accomplished that he was able to go through with his ‘Punishment’ beating the last score of 3 to 7.
“I love you,” Terry said innocently, kissing you gently, whimpering as he slowly pulled out of you. “But Don’t do that shit again.”
You flopped onto the backseat as you stuck up a thumbs up, your arm flopping back down as you heard him laugh.
Fin ♥️
Youve got Mail!📥 @megamindsecretlair @theebaddesttt @thecapodomme @henneseyhoe @planetblaque @kindofaintrovert @blackerthings @harmshake
#bratz got a ask!#told by bratz#aaron pierre#terry richmond#terry richmond x reader#x black reader#x plus size reader#Rebel ridge smut
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Let the Bodies Hit the Floor
prompt: what happens when Tangerine's little lady is targeted in their home?
pairing: Tangerine x female!reader
fandom masterlist: Bullet Train
word count: 9.1k+
note: this got away from me. like wtf is this plot, Cherry?
warnings: author still runs with Tangerine's name being Aaron and Lemon's being Brian. inspired by GIF, established relationship, Russian Mafia vibes, physical violence / assault, blood, character injury, small angst, mostly hurt and comfort, Tan and Lem standing on business.
The skirt of the designer dress fanned around your thighs when you turned swiftly from the stovetop to a separate counter in order to collect the chopped vegetables. Light music filled the space between the sizzling of different dishes cooking, bare feet sticking to the linoleum floor of the kitchen.
"Right," your sweetheart, Aaron, announced as he jogged down the glass stairs while fixing his cuff link, entering the shared space, "know I hate t'do this, love, but I promise we won't be long."
You smirked, "Uh-huh, and where have I heard that before? Oh! That's right, when you - "
"Oi, oi, oi, you know I ain't mean to disappear in fuckin' Kyoto for 6 weeks, love," he repeated in exasperation, "please, stop holdin' that against me."
"I'm not," you sang in a singsong voice, dropping the vegetables to the stir fry you were preparing, "but you know, you say you won't be long, and then you disappear for random amounts of time."
"You know why," he sighed, buttoning his suit jacket as he closed the distance between you, "and you know it ain't my choice."
"Yeah, yeah, job first, girlfriend second."
"Not even close t'what my priorities are," he smirked, snatching your hand to twirl you around and tug you closer to face him. You grinned up at him, hands landing on his chest; letting his arms lock around you to keep you pressed against his impeccably sculpted body. "You look so beautiful tonight," he whispered, eyes flickering over you, "just love you in this dress. Could ravish you right here, right now."
"Yeah?" You cooed, "Recognize it?"
"Hm, feels rather expensive," he pet around your hips and waist, cheekily moving them around to grip both arse cheeks; causing you to gasp lightly, "thinkin' I must've gotten it for yah. Huh?"
"From Paris last month," you chuckled.
"Ah, yeah, I remember. Lemon was right hacked off we spent so much time shoppin', but no way was I gonna come home without something for yah." He sniffled and patted one hand in a gentle smack on your bottom, continuing, "Now, listen, sweetheart, I know tonight's real important to yah, so, I promise, Lemon and I will be back before the main course, yeah?"
You tisked, "Don't fucking call him that, you know I hate it."
"Apologies, lovely girl. Listen, I won't have my phone on, so, you need me, call Brian - "
"'If I need you'? See, now it's sounding like you're gonna disappear again, Aaron," you complained. "What the hell's this job anyway?"
"Nah, don't worry 'bout nothin'," he promised, "'cause we'll be back in time for your li'l dinner party."
"You know tonight's important for us - both of us!"
His eyes rolled, "Yes, yes, t'finally get your father's approval, right?"
"More like my whole family," you reminded with a roll of your eyes. "Goddamnit, I knew you weren't gonna take this seriously - "
"No, hey," he soothed, squeezing his hands to gently jostle you into silence, "tonight's very important to me, darlin'. I swear it, yeah? We'll be back in time, promise you."
"Good, you better."
"But in case, call Brian - "
"Aaron!"
He grinned, watching your own lips spread, "Jesus Christ, can't take a joke no more, can yah?"
"Maybe on less important days."
"Duly noted." The apartment's buzzer sounded, your boyfriend sighing, "Right, then. That'd be Lem - aht, ahem, Brian." He frowned, "Feel bad skippin' out on yah like this, but duty calls, baby."
"Mhm," you hummed, lifting on your toes to peck his lips. "Just be careful, please."
"I always am."
"You literally crashed a Bullet Train into an entire village - "
"Told yah, that was the Ladybug twat!"
"You also got shot! A centimeter to the side and you'd have bled out your fucking jugular."
"Again, the Ladybug twat."
"Potato, po-ta-toe."
Aaron chuckled, kissing you again, his mustache tickling your skin; groaning in annoyance when the buzzer sounded again - but for a prolonged time. "All right," he pulled back only to peck your lips again, "I'm off but I'll be back real soon. Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Good without me?"
"I have to be," you teased, petting the lapels of his suit jacket and readjusting his tie. "Go, before you give your brother a fucking aneurism."
"Right," he chirped, pecking your forehead with a loud smooch. Swiftly, Aaron reached over to pluck a carrot from the wok, hissing from the heat, "oh, hot, hot, hot!" You swatted his bottom as he stepped away, eating the veggie, knowing you hated when he sampled your cooking while in the midst of actually cooking. "Mh! Tastes divine, sweetheart, maybe a bit more garlic. Love you!" He called over his shoulder, dropping a quick wink.
"Love you," you repeated, smiling; feeling lucky in love. You watched him go; his curls slicked back, classic navy blue suit on to make the crisp white button-up stand out, his shiny dress shoes winking at you. With a sigh, you focused again on prepping an admirable meal for the evening, planning on hosting both your divorced parents, their partners, and three older siblings.
Obviously, as the youngest kid, any and everyone you dated fell under heavy scrutiny.
The plan was to shmooze them into accepting Aaron as your lover, something your father and eldest brother were specifically vehemently against. But you weren't a little girl anymore, they couldn't dictate who you loved, but you could do your part to make your contract killer boyfriend more appealing to your kin. Easier said than done, but tonight was about at least trying.
So, you cooked a series of dishes to present on the grand dining table your boyfriend had furnished your apartment with, yet never utilized. Humming to the music, you hopped around the cooking space, and about an hour later, the apartment's buzzer was sounding in an obnoxious echo.
Dusting your hands off, you rushed to the comms system and pressed the big green button that unlocked the door building's front door. You left the door to your flat unlocked for easier access, rushing back to the kitchen to finish plating dinner. Not a minute later, the door opened and in walked your family; bottle of wine in your father's hand and a bouquet of flowers in your mother's.
Your father, Edward, had his newest wife on his arm; in the tallest heels you ever saw and a dress made of sequins, being far too short for this kind of event.
You mother, Linda, powered walked ahead of everyone with her boytoy of the month kept a close distance to the matriarch. He was probably just a few years older than you - but you were dating a contract killer agent, there was no room for judgement.
Your eldest brother, Robert, or better known as Bobby, entered with an aurora of arrogance; instantly looking around and judging your home unfairly. You sister, Mabel, just looked stony and stoic; completely bored of that night already. Lastly, your brother older by just a single year, Jonathan, or John, or John Boy, followed behind your siblings, wearing a thick gold chain against a classless wife beater.
"Oh, I'm so glad you made it!" You squealed, opening your arms and practically skipping close to greet your parents and their partners. "About time, don't you think?" You smiled at your father, hugging him first and kissing his cheek.
"Well... Guess better late than never," he begrudgingly agreed. "You remember my wife, Crystal?"
"Of course," you tried to politely smile and offered the fake-blonde a greeting kiss to her cheek, "lovely to see you again."
"Thanks for the invite," her tired voice drawled; indicating she'd rather be literally anywhere else.
"Mum," you moved along, hugging and kissing her cheek, too. "You're look fit."
"Thank you," she sighed.
Looking to her boyfriend, you greeted, "Thanks for coming, Keith - "
"It's Toby."
You blinked, "Huh?"
"Name's Toby," he explained.
"Right, right, Toby, my fault," you apologized, ignoring the look he sent your mother as you greeted Bobby, Mabel, and John Boy.
After, your father stiffly asked, "So? Where is he? This boyfriend you want us all t'like so much, huh? Not even out here to greet us?"
"Running an errand, but he and his brother will be back for dinner."
Bobby scoffed, "So, we do all this for him and he's not even home? Wow... Real stand-up guy, innit he?"
"You're also here to see me, aren't you?"
"We see enough of you, we're here for your dumbass boyfriend you're so enamored with that you missed Christmas last year."
"Bobby," you warned, taking your mother's flowers and heading back into the open-concept kitchen to locate a vase and fill it with water. "You're gonna play nice tonight or I'm gonna be really pissed," you warned your family, "and I'll cancel the New Years trip."
"Woah, hang on," your sister, Mabel, interjected, "let's not be hasty, the night's only just beginning - no need for threats."
"I know," you smirked at her, "it's called incentive."
"Truly your father's daughter," you mother scoffed and rolled her eyes. Edward just mocked her and handed over the wine bottle; making your mother snip, "No drinks to offer us? Not a very diligent hostess, are you, darling?"
Her sickly sweet tone gave you a cavity, but this was simply how your mother behaved when around her ex-husband - all passive aggressive and holier than thou.
You pointed, "There's an entire cart behind you, there. Help yourself."
"Hm," she hummed, nodding, turning to make herself a hefty bourbon with Toby right behind her.
"Um," Crystal hummed, "do you have seltzers?"
You almost laughed but managed not to, "No, no, just win and whatever liquor's on the cart."
"It's a nice place you've got, love, if not overly expensive," Linda cut off anything Crystal might've said; complimenting you stiffly, looking around as the amber liquid was poured, "bit empty, though, innit? I don't see one single family photo, not a personable damn thing."
"Oh, well, Aaron and I just like the minimalistic aesthetic," you deflected; the truth being, Aaron was constantly on the move for his job, there was no real time or reason to decorate the flat. You began transporting the large dishes on the kitchen counters to the table, your other brother, John, springing into action to help.
To say it was awkward was the simplest way to put it. After pouring herself a second drink, Linda started to trade insults with Edward; both telling the other how pathetic it is to find younger lovers. Mabel rolled her eyes but listened carefully, ever the quiet mouse who opted to observe rather than be seen. Bobby was snooping through anything he could get a hand on; attempting to know Tangerine without outright meeting him yet. John Boy didn't care this way or that, happy to just be involved and set the table for you.
"Chow's on!" You announced, leading everyone to the table and take whatever seat they liked.
"You know," Bobby started, "think it's a bit weird."
"What is?" You asked, handing Mabel the steamed sticky rice.
Bobby gestured around, "The whole thing. I mean, I'm almost tempted to believe you've made this Aaron character up. What kinda man skips out on a family meal like this?"
"A man who has a very demanding job," you snapped, the table still passing dishes around to take their fill. "I didn't ask you guys here to fucking harp on him, I asked you to just give him a chance and get to know him."
"Why should we even bother?"
"Because he's important to me!"
"You honestly think this is gonna last?" Bobby scoffed, shaking his head and passing the vegetables.
"Of course I do, I know how strong my relationship is. What the hell do you expect me to say, do, think, or feel if Aaron and I get married, and my family's feuding with the groom - "
"I beg your pardon?" Edward snapped, making the table go silent. "You're gonna marry this bloke?"
"No, Daddy, he hasn't proposed or anything, but we have been together almost 7 years" you explained. "I just used it as an example. Aaron's going to be in my life for a long time, I'd really appreciate everyone getting along."
"I think that's reasonable," Crystal smiled.
"Oh, shove it, nobody asked you," Linda sneered.
"Could you maybe not be a raging bitch for five minutes?" Edward snapped, dropping the cutlery with a loud clatter. "Don't talk to her like that - "
"The trollop doesn't get an opinion on family affairs!"
"Now that we're married," he held up his left hand, golden band visible, "she does get an opinion. It's your newest toy that shouldn't talk!"
"I didn't even say anything, mate," Toby scoffed.
"I'm not your 'mate', silly boy - "
The table erupted in a busy and loud argument, you slumping back into your chair; listening to your siblings attempt to resolve the feud. You thanked yourself for making the conscious decision to have this little dinner party at home instead of a restaurant; knowing Linda and Edward were never able to resist a good screaming match, even if in public. You sipped your wine mutely, eyes darting back and forth between either sides of the table.
However, they were silenced when there came a pounding at your front door. Three distinct, punctuated knocks of a fist, your mind instantly jumping to thinking it was the police - nobody else knocked like that. You went rigid instantly, brow furrowing, your father asking, "Expecting more company, honey?"
"No," you shook your head, already out of your seat and heading for the door - when suddenly - it was kicked in. Your scream was shrill from shock. The force of the violent entry splintered the doorframe; knob colliding with drywall, indenting it from the jarring movement. You yelped in shock, trying to back up, but there came a flood of armed men that instantly rushed you. You were only briefly aware of chairs scraping on hardwood floor as your family leapt up in shock.
Long gone was the argument, your family mutually screaming in fear.
These intruders yelled in Russian, fanning out to gather you and your family in harsh grips; shoving everyone into the living room. You were forced to sit down, at least one armed man posted for each of you, the others spreading out and searching the flat.
"What's happening? What the hell is happening!?" Mabel squeaked through her huffy breath, the men exchanging a few words before one stepped forward with his gun drawn at the ready. "Please, there's some mistake! Please, please, why are you - what is happening!? You can't do this! We only - "
"You," one of the intruders spoke with a heavy accent and a thick, pointed finger, "quiet." From his utility belt, the Russian produced several zip ties, demanding, "Hands. Hands, together! Now! You understand, eh!? Hands! Your hands! Now! Right now!"
Another henchman barked in Russian, telling you to comply or things would get messy. "Just do what they say," you whispered, pressing your wrists together and presenting them. They were secured tightly, your parents, their partners, and siblings enduring the same, and by the time the last zip was tied, the other henchmen returned.
You identified what was reported: "He's not here, no trace where he went."
"No, hmmm," mused the man obviously in charge, "well, that's all right, his girlfriend is right here." Your eyes widened as the Russian turned to look at you with a sadistic smirk. "Heard he's real protective of you, likes you a lot. Huh? Heard he once broke a man's collarbone for just looking at you - must be very important, yeah. What do you think he will do when he finds you - ruined?"
"You're not gonna do anything," you seethed between gritted teeth, "because you know he'd kill you all. Now, there's been no harm done so far, so there's time to walk away and I'll guarantee he or his brother won't come after you."
The Russian chuckled, "Oh-ho! Hear that, boys? Good old Tangerine's domesticated now. Takes orders from his bitch, and boy, she likes to bark!" Other henchmen chuckled, a few picking at the abandoned dinner. "I think it's time we send him our message, no?" The leader grinned to his men, earning a chorus of agreement.
Your eyes widened when the man lunged forward and yanked you to your feet, yellowed teeth gnashing in your face. "Whole family can watch!" Another intruder barked, curating a wave of laughter, "Call it, uh, bonding? Trauma bonding?"
"Oh, I like that," the leader of the kill squad grinned.
You gasped when the Russian balled his fist and socked you directly in the diaphragm; winding you, bending you at the waist, and giving him the vantage point to rocket his fist upwards into your nose. There was a sickly snap, you whimpering when a different Russian shoved you from behind and forced you to your knees; three different men joining the relentless and savage beating. You were kicked, punched, breaking several bones, being spat on, shoved over, and made to bleed your own blood. Though you hadn't wanted to, wanting to appear strong and unfazed, you cried out when the pain became too much; heaving for breath and praying the next kick to the head was enough to knock you unconscious.
But you weren't so lucky and wishful thinking was simply that: wishful, not applied or actual. Your family begged and pleaded for mercy, flinching when you spat blood on numerous occasions; shoes squeaking when they stepped in the globs. Everyone helpless and powerless in the current predicament, no hero to swoop in and save the day; your family knowing they were yelling into thin air and their words fell upon deaf ears. They could only watch and listen as you took the brunt end of three angry Russian's brute strength.
The leader had lit up a cigarette, watching his men physically assault you with an air of entertainment and aloofness. This went on for several long, agonizing minutes; you eventually going limp. "Hm," he waved his hand through the smoke, inhaling nicotine, "enough, boys, that's enough. She gets it, she gets we mean business." His men complied and backed away from you, letting the leader kneel at your head on blood-smeared hardwood floor. "You tell Tangerine and Lemon who did this, huh? Yeah? You tell them for me."
You spat blood in the Russian's face, smirking in satisfaction when it hung off his nose in a humiliating display of your stubbornness.
"Ah, I see," he wiped the blood clear, regarding it on his hand before bare-knuckle punching your head back into the ground. You were instantly dazed, groaning, the man continuing, "Now that you got that out of your system, you will remember my name. Huh? Ivan, yes? You remember that? Ivan. Fucking Ivan Kostka, you tell Tangerine and Lemon Ivan Kostka did this."
"The fuck does it matter who you are!?" You whimpered, eyes burning and being kept screwed tight. "You're a deadman walking, nobody cares about your fucking name except whoever inscribes your tombstone."
"Because your fruity boyfriend and his twin took something very valuable from me," the Russian leered, "and I have come to collect it back into my possession. You tell them, Ivan did this to you. I want them to know they are not untouchable - not to me. Not to my men. Tangerine can try to protecting you all he wants, but there will always be a time and place to act." Then, he laughed, "Know how easy it was for us to get here? Huh? Bit too easy, I admit. See, we picked up Tangerine's trail and followed him here. All we had to do was be patient for our opportunity."
"Who the fuck is Tangerine?" John was heard whispering to the others, a series of shrugs replying. The Russian gave a new command and several men divided to use their weapons to wreck the flat you called home; tearing up pillows, smashing spider-web cracks to the windows, tossing plates and mugs, overturning a bookcase, throwing expensive crystal glasses to watch the shards scatter.
Ivan continued to explain, "Your stupid fucking family talk so loud, eh, it is miracle they are not in witness protection, huh? We see them at your door, and when you opened for them, oh, it was easy to, ehhh, just follow them inside. Yeah? And now, here we are," he smirked. "I am sorry about this, though. You've such a pretty face, I almost don't want t'taint it," he pet a finger down your bloodied cheek.
"Go to hell!" You hissed.
"Oh, I will be when the Reaper comes for me. Remember, tell Tangerine it was Ivan... Ivan Kostka did this," he gestured to your tattered form, "and that I want my Faberge Egg and little sister back or this will get a lot worse for everyone involved."
You coughed as the man stood, whistling sharply and commanding his men to follow. The moment they were gone, as your family erupted in panicked screams, Mabel raced for the kitchen and snatched up a knife from the counter. Returning, your sister carefully uncut everyone's ties, your mother gasping and dropping to her knees when freed.
"What have you gotten us into, you stupid girl!?" She cried, massaging her constricted wrists.
You manage to mumble before passing out, "Call Brian."
Tangerine and Lemon had been on their own stakeout, tracking a gang of Russians accused of money laundering. He had forgotten to put his phone on the charger the night before, it dying and being left behind at his flat; so when there came a vibration, he knew it was Lemon's phone.
He hate the sound of the vibrations in the cupholder. "Oi, gonna fuckin' answer that?" Tangerine snapped, staring out the windshield.
"Uh, bruv?" Lemon turned the phone for Tan to see, guessing, "It's for you, I'm sure." The contact name displayed your home number.
Tangerine sighed and accepted the call with it on speaker, "Yeah, hello? Love? That you?"
"A-Aaron?"
"Linda?" Tan questioned in curiosity, hearing your mother's soft sob. "What's goin' on? What's wrong? Why're you calling? Where's Y/N?"
"Th-There's been an accident."
"What kind of accident?"
"The kind that involve angry Russians looking for some egg and someone's little sister? I don't know - "
"Oh, fuck me! Don't move, we're on our way," he rushed, hanging up. "Oi, fuck this, mate, get us back home," he barked at his brother, "we gotta get back now. Like right fucking now!"
"We can't just - "
"What? Leave our post?" Tan snapped. "Brian, you know where we are right now?"
He glanced outside, "Uh... Little Italy?"
"Fuckin' wanker," Aaron snapped. "No, this shipping yard is owned by the Kostka's - Russian crime family. You heard Linda, means the tip tonight was a set up t'get us away from the flat. They probably moved while we were absent. Now, c'mon, fucking hustle!"
Lemon connected the dots and started the engine, peeling away at a dangerous speed to navigate the city back to the high-rise apartment you and Tan shared. He couldn't explain why, but Tangerine could feel his heart in his throat; a sick feeling taking over at the thought of the Russians setting this entire thing up.
Why send he and Lemon to stakeout the shipping yard? Why remove them from the equation?
Upon arriving at the shattered front door, both men in pressed clothes came to a jarring halt, taking in the sight. The flat was a wreck, literal feathers from pillows still floating in the air, their dress shoes cracking over shattered glass.
Tan caught sight of your hunched body sitting on the couch. "Right, the fuck is this, then?" He demanded, striding up to where your family had surrounded you. "The hell happened? Swear t'God, I'll put a bullet... In... Whoever..." He trailed, pausing when he saw your state. Tangerine slowly squatted in front of you, gently trying to coax your chin up, "Lemme see, darlin', c'mon, c'mon, lemme see, c'mere."
When you met his baby blues, you could only watch as tears filled them - knowing they'd never fall. "I'm sorry," you whispered, throat soar from the beating; making you sound a lot hoarser than ever before.
"For what? You did nothing, love, nothing - couldn't have deserved this, now could yah?" He rushed to comfort, caressing your jaw in both hands to look you over. There was a long gash in your hairline that dripped racing drops of blood down your face. "This is my fault, I know it is, God fucking damn it. Who the fuck did this? Hey? You remember, darling? Remember anythin' 'bout these men?" But you were silent from shock. So, he addressed the room by barking, "Does anyone? What the hell happened here, tonight!?"
Your father cleared his throat before knocking back the last swig of his whiskey. "These Russian fuckers," Ed answered. "Big lot of 'em, too, all with scary lookin' tattoos and fucking guns. Some were automatic." He eyed your boyfriend, "Associates of yours?"
"Fucking hell," Tangerine looked up at his brother, "think they want the Faberge back?"
Lemon frowned, "Possibly, but that's only if - "
"Ivan," you whispered suddenly, Tangerine and Lemon both looking back at you in mild shock. "He said his name was Ivan and he wanted you two t'know there was no hiding from him. He wants back whatever it is you two took."
"Yeah, they want the fucking Egg," Tangerine's jaw flexed as he glared at the floor, sighing deeply, and then looking back at you. "Hey," he whispered, "I'm just glad you're alive and well-enough. Yeah? You're my priority, sweetheart, nothing else matters."
You sniffled, "I'm okay."
"Like hell you are," he shook his head, gently prodding around your bruised face and sighing, "look at yah. You're definitely not okay, sweetheart. Right, then, listen, we'll go to a safe house for the time being - "
"A what?" John asked incredulously.
"A safe house," Lemon repeated, "you know? Somewhere not on record to let us hide discreetly?"
"I know what it is - but why go?"
"Can't stay here, mate, it's compromised," Tan answered with a hardened tone. "Now, you gonna fuckin' stand there, questioning me, or go be useful and get ready to leave?"
"Tan," his brother offered softly, "lay off, they just watched our girl get the shit kicked outta her."
Tan nodded and looked back at you, "Yeah, all right, sorry, love, just a bit on edge. But I'm gonna fix this - "
Robert (or Bobby, he's also known as), scoffed a sarcastic laugh, arms crossed, approaching you and Tangerine. "You takin' the piss? Your fuckin' job is leadin' men t'my sister, breakin' in her own home, givin' her a beatin' meant for you, yah fuckin' twat! Yet that's all you got to say to us? That you're on edge?"
"What'chu want, then, bruv?" Tan snapped, standing to face Bobby. "Huh? Call it an occupational hazard, but just 'cause you wanna bring it up, know that we ain't never had no situation like this before. All right? Excuse us for tryna piece it best together."
"My fuckin' sister's still bleedin', and you're, what? Makin' it up as you go?" Bobby snarled. "You owe us a plan! Somethin'! Fuckin' anythin'! How the fuck are you gonna rectify this situation?"
Tan's mouth opened, ready to retort.
"All right, all right, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, no, no, quit it, cut it out, yah fucking ninnies!" Lemon stepped between them and forced distance between the two men. "That shit ain't gonna help us right now. We all need to think clearly, so let's try not to wind one another up. Yeah? Fair?"
"Fuck you," Bobby spat, "fuck the both of yahs, you're both responsible! Puttin' my sister in harms way! Fuckin' look at her!" He snarled and pointed, "Shakin' like a fuckin' leaf!"
"Yeah, all right, you what, mate?" Tan sneered.
"I'm not your mate."
"I'll just fuckin' handle this on my own - "
"Like hell you are," His brother interrupted. "They fucked with our family, ain't nowhere for them to hide."
Tangerine nodded, then asked, "How many men were here would you say? Ballpark number." It was quiet. "Someone better answer me!"
Linda sneered, "Some 12 or 15 men, most of whom carried assault rifles. Anything you wanna tell us, Aaron? Huh? Why were these men searching for you? What'd you do that was so bad, they hurt my little girl?"
Your boyfriend nodded and looked to his brother, stiffly nodding and stoically demanding, "Let's get fuckin' Biblical, then, yeah?"
Brian clicked his tongue and winked at his brother in agreement, Crystal handing you a bag of frozen peas to hold against your head.
"You're sure it's safe?" You whispered, holding onto your boyfriend like a crutch as you exited the elevator.
"They didn't want our protection, love, 'cause the Russians are after us," Tan answered. "Easy does it," he whispered, opening the door to the safe 'house' he and Lemon kept in downtown London - not terribly far from your actual flat. "At's a good girl, slowly - slowly," he kept one arm around you, the other holding the door for Lemon, who carried several duffels. "Right, see? Nice, ain't it?"
You nodded, still relatively drugged from the hospital you just left. After begging them to come with you, your family outright refused, saying Tangerine and Lemon were bad news and they wanted no part in whatever bullshit was happening; even though it meant leaving you alone. So, Lemon packed up the flat while Tan took you to the hospital, meeting again at the skyscraper that doubled as a fortress.
"Here we are," he sighed, lowering you to the couch; left wrist in a cast, a brace on your ankle, concussion, bandages and gauze stuck to random open wounds that required stitches. "Right," he knelt in front of you, "you saw the lobby, yeah? Ain't nobody gettin' in here without clearance, you're safe. Yeah?" He pushed a strand of hair from your face, hating how it was still crisp from dried blood.
"Okay," you whispered with a nod.
Aaron sighed, "I'm so sorry, love."
"Not your fault."
"But it is," he frowned, "'s all my fuckin' fault."
"Did you really take a Faberge Egg?"
"It's what our employer wanted, so... Yeah. Apparently, it was a right dime piece, thought lost in one of the wars. Very exclusive - "
"Most expensive Egg made," Brian added, dropping a couple of the duffels. "And it's not in our possession anymore, love."
"Fuck would we do with Faberge?" Aaron rolled his eyes.
"Hock it," his brother answered, bringing grocery bags into the kitchen and setting them on the counters.
"And the sister?" You asked, eye once being nearly swollen shut now just red and irritated; looking at him with profound sadness. "What happened to Ivan's sister?"
Aaron sighed, wiping a hand down his face, "She was placed in witness protection, she's an informant f'MI6 and Interpol. They want her 'cause she's been spillin' secrets, gettin' business all topsy-turvy."
"They wanna kill her?"
"Seems so," he nodded, smoothing his hands over both your thighs, "but don't you worry 'bout nothin', yeah? We'll handle this."
"How?"
"We've got a couple calls to make," he alluded, standing to his full height but bending at the waist to kiss your forehead gently. "Try to rest, love, we'll be here a bit."
You nodded and watched him stride out of the living room, grabbing one of the duffel bags Lemon had dropped and brought it to the glass dining room table. He ripped it open as you sunk into the plush fabric of the pillows, but perked up when Brian came into sight. "Here, darling," he set a mug of tea to the granite coffee table in front of you, "just a bit of something for your nerves, yeah? You all right? Need anything? A pain pill, maybe? You look uneasy."
"I'm all right," you promised, trying to smile, but it came out as a grimace.
"Mhm," he sent you a look, grabbing the pharmacy bag. "Don't be a hero, just keep yourself afloat. Here," he handed you a little, round, white pill and the tea. "Bottoms up, huh?"
You half-chuckled and did what he said, settling again as he grabbed a blanket and tossed it over you. "How often are you two here?" You asked.
"Ah, usually when we're doin' recon," he answered, handing over the remote. "All the streamin' you could want," he winked, pointing at the TV.
"Oi, mate," your boyfriend called, "thinkin' we should call Kiwi?"
"To stay with her?" He asked, caressing the top of your head affectionately; grabbing another duffel and meet his brother at the table. The London Eye was visible from the window, creating a picturesque scene.
"Yeah," Tan answered, "she's good company, ain't she? Handy with a gun. Usually shoots first, asks questions later."
Brian shrugged, "Couldn't hurt. But I think we need t'call Moss... See what he and The Agency can tell us 'bout Ivan."
"On it," Aaron agreed, rapidly typing on a nondescript laptop. But he paused suddenly, looking up and asking, "You gave her a pain pill?"
"Yeah."
"She should eat with it..."
"I'm right here, you know!" You snapped. "I can hear you!"
"I know, doll, sorry," Aaron sighed, going to the kitchen and grabbing you trail mix - knowing opioids gave you the munchies. "Here, love, just wanna make sure you stay all right," he handed the bag over, dropping to the spot beside you with a heavy sigh. "Listen, uh, we're gonna have some of the lads come over t'help."
"Who?"
"Well, Kiwi's a lass, but she works with us sometimes. She's handy t'have 'round inna pinch. That all right?"
"I'm not one for much company right now," you frowned.
"Nah, don't worry, she'll entertain herself," he chuckled slightly, eyes darting around to take in your appearance. In a low whisper, he breathed, "I'm so sorry this happened."
"You've said that," you half-smiled, placing an M&M at his lips. He accepted the treat. "We knew something was bound to happen eventually, right?"
"Not like this, this ain't acceptable," he shook his head. "Lookit, Ivan's one of them nasty fuckers, traffics narcotics into the country using a series of shipping yards. He's got a whole army at his fingertips, plenty of money t'sustain an all out war if he wants."
"When was the last time you dealt with this guy?"
Lemon joined you two, sitting on the other side of the L-shaped couch. He worked on the laptop now, but sent a look to Aaron that begged him to lie. But often, Tangerine never could to you, so, he told the truth, "Last we saw him was some 6 years ago."
Your head cocked, "That's when we first started dating."
"Yeah," he smirked, stretching his arm around you to bring you in close for both your comforts. "Remember that week you couldn't get ahold of me? I told yah I was on some bloody fishing trip?"
"Mhm."
"We were in Colombia, fuckin' up part of his operation."
Your eyes widened, "Colombia? You mean, this Russian's in league with South America? The cocaine capital of the world?"
"Yeah," he sighed, "but it's taken him apparently this long to get shit straightened out - else he would've come sooner."
"Or he was waitin' until our guard was down," Brian chimed in, rapidly tapping on the laptop. "Intel says... Ivan's been in the country 'bout 3 months."
"And before that?"
"Uh... Looks like... Ah, fuckin' hell, he was in Spain, Portugal, Nicaragua, even fuckin' Trinidad."
"Sounds like he's made some friends," Tangerine frowned. You nestled a little closer, his arm contracting to squeeze you tight. "Send word t'Kiwi and Moss, ask Moss t'bring only The Jailbird."
"Who the fuck - you know what? I don't want t'know," you whispered.
"The Jailbird is a brutal fucker," Lemon chuckled, typing faster, "took out an entire fright train by himself with a single shotgun and only a couple rounds of ammo."
"Brian," Tan warned, shaking his head.
"What? 'S not like she's gonna say shit, you picked the most loyal girl in the world," he grinned, winking at you. "Right, love?"
"Mhm."
"That pain pill kicking in yet?"
"Not yet," you yawned.
"Right," your lover chuckled, handing over the mug of tea, "we've got some work t'do, you sit tight. Need somethin', anythin', just ask. Please," he frowned, "don't try t'get up."
"All right," you whispered, lifting your chin slightly with intent. He smiled and met you the rest of the way, pressing a gentle kiss to your split lips.
The lads went back to the glass table, setting up a network of tools and technology, muttering to one another as they did what they knew to gather as much information as possible.
About an hour later, there was a knock at the door that made you flinch. "It's all right," Tangerine rushed, but pulled his gun in hand, "probably Kiwi - "
"It's me, fuckers!" A female called from the other side.
Your boyfriend checked through the peephole and sighed, holstering his gun and opening the door. "Kiwi," he greeted.
"Tangerine," she rolled her eyes, strolling into the flat with her arms full of food. "I brought lunch! Know you fuckers aren't payin' attention to time and shit. Oh!" She grinned when she saw you, "Oh, my word, you're her! Wow, you're even prettier in person! You know, Aaron's told me all about you - "
"Fuck off," Tan snapped.
"Fuck you," she sent right back, "been askin' t'meet your lady for years now, now I finally get to."
"I wish it were under better circumstances," you offered softly, watching the lass with stark white hair round into the living room to set coffee cups and paper bags down.
"Oh, hi, hello, you gorgeous girl," she grinned, sitting next to you and hugging you softly. You were shocked, eyes wide, but hugged her back. "Oh, it's real nice to meet yah, heard all about'cha!"
"Really?" You asked when she pulled back, "'Cause I didn't know a thing about you until an hour ago."
"Makes sense," her eyes rolled, "them two never talk 'bout shit. Makes 'em good agents, but shit lovers. Huh?"
"I'd have to disagree," you smiled softly, defending your love.
"Yeah," she grinned, "knew I'd like you. Lemon!" She greeted in a cheer, standing swiftly to set one coffee cup out for you and take the rest over to the table.
"Hi, Key," he chuckled, offering her a hug. "Lookin' fit, aren't yah?"
"Just got back from a 6 month stint in the DR," she nodded.
"R&R or mandatory?"
"Rehab," she shrugged casually, "but not for me."
"Makes no bloody sense," Tan rolled his eyes.
"I was there, cozyin' up t'fucking Francisco Juarez."
"No fuckin' shit," Lemon laughed. "How was that?"
"The man's mental, but shit, he's got some balls of steel."
"Jesus Christ," Tan groaned. "Can we focus, please? Where's Moss? Anyone heard from him?"
"Mh," Kiwi nodded, swallowing a mouthful of coffee as you gingerly reached for your own; trying not to strain the shattered ribs you earned. "He called me on my way here, said he was on his way, just had to pick something up."
Lemon and Tangerine shared a look as Kiwi practically skipped back over to you. She happily struck up a conversation, telling you all about how she first met Aaron and Brian on some recon mission in Moscow - the three apparently all tracking Ivan. So, no wonder she was asked to assist on this little mission.
The man named Moss arrived not long after, dropping another duffel in the foyer and silently approaching Tangerine and Lemon. Kiwi waved the behavior off, whispering, "That's one of the bosses. Not a man of many words, just a man of action, yeah?"
You nodded in understanding, accepting the Tylenol she handed you and answering her 20,000 questions. You heard the three men muttering together, papers shuffling over the tabletop and the laptop dinging every time there was new information.
"Oh, holy shit," Lemon gaped at the screen, earning everyone's attention. "You lot aren't gonna believe this."
"What's wrong?" Moss asked, moving to his shoulder and peering over to look at the laptop. "Well... Ain't that interesting?"
"What?" Kiwi asked.
"Looks like Ivan's here for some wedding..." Lemon muttered, tapping on the return key repeatedly. "No shit!"
"WHAT!?" Kiwi snapped, making you flinch. She instantly apologized, "Oh, shit, sorry, sorry, sorry, love, I get a bit excited when outta the loop."
"Ivan's sister's gettin' married," Moss reported, "to the Minister of Defense."
It was quiet for a long moment, the agents stewing in shock. "Well, that can't be good," you whispered to Kiwi.
"Not entirely, just means our jobs got a helluva lot more exciting, though," she grinned, dropping a wink.
Three days. Three bloody days, you've been confined to the safe house. You were under strict orders not to leave out of fear of retaliation, so you remained for Aaron's peace of mind.
Moss, Tangerine, Lemon, and Kiwi were preoccupied focusing on their plan of attack. They figured there be an altercation at the engagement party, designing a trustworthy team to help them infiltrate and keep an eye. The day of the party, you were curled up in bed, reading to pass the time, and when you noticed Tangerine leaning in the doorway, your book snapped shut.
"How long you gonna keep me here?" You asked. "Some of us have day jobs they need to get back to."
He smirked, "I covered for yah."
"How?"
"Said you had a funeral t'go to in the States," he eased, pushing off the doorframe and approaching your side of the bed. He grunted as he sat, sighing deeply, "Listen, sweetheart..."
"Oh, that's never good."
"Just listen," he smirked. "Tonight's the engagement party, so we're gonna make our move."
"Are you sure Ivan's gonna be there? That this is what needs done?"
"We got it worked out, love," he promised. "Just need yah t'stay here with Kiwi. Keep safe, yeah?"
You stared at him for a moment, cocking your head slightly, "Been meaning to ask - why refer to each other's codenames when alone, like we are?"
"Good habit t'have," Aaron shrugged, caressing your head and then petting a finger down your cheek softly. "Hate leavin' you like this, but I'm gonna kill the fuckers that dared touch you."
"I'm not usually one for violence or revenge, but in this case, go crazy."
He nodded and stood with a smirk, stooping slightly to press his lips against yours. There was a solemn tension in the air, foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, him whispering, "Love you, darlin'."
"Love you, too," you answered instantly. "Just make sure you come home, yeah?"
"As quick as I can," he swore.
You learned that day, you hated waiting. You despised being out of the know, having no connection to tell you what was happening on Aaron's side of things. Kiwi was a great distraction, though. She was chipper, talkative, wildly animated; sharing a joint with you, ordering take out that a security guard brought up, and making you watch all her favorite movies.
She checked her phone several times, eventually, you begging, "Any word?"
"Nah, don't worry," Kiwi smiled, "they usually don't give updates when on the job."
Unknown to you, on the other side of town, Tangerine and Lemon were changing into suits the hotel waiters would wear to serve the engagement party. Moss was in a nondescript white van, working surveillance, informing in the headset, "The Jailbird's in position."
"So are we," Lemon reported, nodding at his brother. "Ready, bruv?"
"It's gonna get messy," he nodded, cracking his neck and leading the charge into the event room with trays of champagne. He surveyed the room subtly, seeing The Jailbird working the catering table in a matching suit, and when the couple of the hour entered, it was showtime. However, before springing into action, the trio of trained and paid assassins had to wait for the first move else they'd blow their cover and alert Ivan they were onto him.
The future bride's name was once something traditionally Russian, now choosing to be Veronica, and her soon-to-be-husband, Gerald, was the very man who had established her witness protection. It was romantic, in a way, that the two fell in love; being naughty and a little forbidden, yet still tantalizing. Their families filled the room with the groom's colleagues, security lining the walls - yet being unable to do anything if the Russians decided to attack.
However, the moment Tangerine saw Ivan, he went rigid with anger. "Mate, hang on, don't do it - we have a plan for a reason," Lemon tried to warn, but sighed hotly when his brother stormed off. Into the comms system, he warned, "Heads up, lads, Tangerine's on the move. 'S bouta get real sticky, people, stay sharp."
Tangerine surged up behind Ivan, who was dressed similarly and indicating he, too, was undercover at this event. Tan felt his face redden with anger, tapping Ivan's shoulder, and when the Russian turned, he didn't hesitate to pull his fist back and launch it directly into Ivan's nose. It was the first punch thrown (literally) that spurred the other Russians into action.
People shrieked, heels clattered to flee, and security guards rushed to cover their employers; not knowing who the desired target was. Luck didn't seem on their side that evening as security managed to get Gerald out of the hall, but his fiancé, Ivan's sister, was separated in the stampeding crowd; gunshots making patrons scream in concern.
In their comms, Moss barked, "Veronica! Someone cover Veronica! She's the informant - get to Veronica!"
The Jailbird flipped the catering table to reveal several heavy-duty guns strapped for this very moment. He and Lemon made their selections, Tan preferring his fist; someway, somehow, missing getting shot by Ivan's men. But the Russian gangster was just as angry, fending off Tangerine and even getting a few punches in himself. All for nought, though, because Tangerine had the power of his anger propelling him; your face conjured in his mind, bloodied, making him hit harder - and harder - and harder.
"You! Dirty! Fuckin'! Scum!" Tan punctuated each word with a blow of his fist, keeping Ivan in his grip like a vice. "C'mere! You've done it now, haven't yah, you fuckin' bastard? Fucked up by touchin' my woman! I'll fuckin' gut you!"
Ivan's elbow cracked Tan's nose, making him stumble back a few steps. The Russian grinned, blood outlining his teeth, "She was real pretty, wasn't she, eh? I tried to leave her face for yah! Didn't wanna fuck that up too bad!"
"C'mere!" Tangerine roared, knuckles bloody. However, as he was winding up for another hit, one of Ivan's men tackled Tan from the side and knocked him into a banquet table - collapsing it.
The Russians were in an abundance, yet stood no chance when Tangerine got ahold of a handgun. The Jailbird preferred the larger shotgun, blowing gargantuan holes in people's chests; Lemon keeping it simple and just doing his job by taking out the enemy. It was Tan who was absolutely feral, sprayed in the blood of his enemies and sparing no life he came across; the party's occupants screaming in terror and trying to flee the event hall between gunshots.
"Tan!" The Jailbird barked, pointing off at someone, and when he looked, Tan locked onto Ivan again. The Jailbird located Veronica, trying to save her, but being unsuccessful when a Russian got to her first - disappearing from his line of sight as the chaos rampaged.
Growling, Tangerine started firing single shots to the heads of anyone in his way of his main target, but this time, the Russian saw him coming and was plenty prepared. The blade Ivan used cut Tan deep, filleting flesh; but did not stop the man wanting to avenge his love.
Bodies hit the floor left and right as Tangerine's anger swelled, there not being a single force in the world that could stop him now. Whatever Tan could get his hands on turned into a weapon, finding every single Russian responsible for what happened to you - the love and light of his life.
The engagement party was decorated with white table cloths and white roses, now stained and splattered in blood the longer the fight went. The musicians of the live band had fled, security encountering the Russian that had Veronica and shooting him dead, food covering the walls. Moss had tapped into the security cameras, informing his men when more Russians were racing towards the room; grunting when he threw off his headset, grabbed a gun, and left the van to take out anyone trying to get inside.
Lemon did his best to cover Tangerine's six, but the Russians kept coming in waves; far more prepared than they were that evening. Yet it didn't matter, their numbers might've been high but the anger Tangerine and Lemon felt was a gift from God Himself, spurring them to work harder and smarter.
Once inside, Moss brought The Jailbird to higher ground and strategically shot down their enemies while Lemon and Tangerine operated on the ground. When face-to-face with Ivan, Tan seethed, "You waited 6 years for a shot at me, would've thought you'd try harder."
"Don't need to," Ivan laughed, "I already got you!"
"Didn't get shit - "
"That why your girl's all alone? Don't worry, lad, I sent some boys to go deal with her. C'mon, then!" Ivan taunted, waving Tan in an antagonizing motion, weilding the 6-inch blade. As the two exchanged blows, Ivan laughed, "Never told me! Did you like my li'l gift? How I left your girl?"
Tangerine grit his teeth and used a chair to bash the Russian over his head. "I'll fucking gut you for touching her!" He shouted, people still squealing and screaming in fright.
"You stole my inheritance! That Faberge Egg's been in my family for generations!" Ivan roared, "And my fucking sister! If not for you," he grunted, taking a hacking swipe and missing, "she never would've opened her mouth!"
"Your sister, mate, fuckin' hates your guts!" Tan barked, kicking Ivan back and sending him crashing through a table. "She would've spoke even if we hadn't picked her up!"
"Bullshit!" Ivan snarled, swinging and his blade catching Tan's bicep, slicing shirt and flesh. "My sister knew loyalty! Until you rotten fucks showed up, kidnapping her, confusing her! Fucking brainwashing her!"
"She's the one who hired us, mate!"
"Liar!"
Tangerine earned the upper hand by flipping Ivan onto his back, dropping to his knees, and wailing his fist into the Russian's face. He kept hitting him, even when Ivan stopped moving; flesh tearing, meat flying, bones breaking, and blood spurting in every which direction.
Blood painted his face, droplets racing down to create streaks.
At the safe house, Kiwi was making tea when there came a series of distant banging from outside the flat's door. She met your worried eyes and pulled out a gun, holding a finger to her lips to indicate you to stay quiet. She checked the in-house security system, spying a few Russian Mafia members fighting through the security guards and getting closer.
"Right," she rushed, helping you off the couch, "you gotta hide and stay quiet, love, I'll handle this quickly."
"Handle what? What's going on?"
"They're here."
"A-Are we safe?"
"For now."
"Are the lads!?"
"We'll find out!" Kiwi stuffed you inside one of the closets, assuring, "No worries, I'll handle them, you just stay here. Aaron would kill me if he knew something happened to you on my watch."
You didn't even have time to register that she used his real name; finding no choice in the matter as she shut the doors, and through the slats, watched her brandish a gun. You flinched when you made out the sounds of a struggle and then several gunshots, not knowing who fired them, who was being shot at, or what was happening.
Tears of fear filled your eyes, holding your breath and just waiting with trembling appendages. You hated waiting. You hated not knowing. You hated the tension, the fear, the cultivation of stress.
When the doors ripped open, you gasped shrilly and stepped back into the wall, but calmed when you realized it was only Aaron. And then you realized - it was Aaron!
"Baby," you gasped, leaping into his embrace out of sheer relief; arms wrapping around his neck and being dampened with blood. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, you're okay - you're okay, you're really okay."
"Yeah, 's all right, love," he rushed, one arm holding your waist, the other petting the back of your head. "I'm all right, 's all right, I'm here. I've got yah, love, I'm here now. They're all dead, they're all dead, my love, we got 'em all, you're safe, it's all right. Nobody will touch you again - never again, sweetheart."
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" You sniffled, pulling back to take both his cheeks in hand and frowning, "Is this blood!?"
"Yeah," he whispered, gently taking your wrists to pull your hands down. "But it's all right, 's not mine. I'm not hurt." He didn't let you answer, rushing, "Are you all right? Hey? Not hurt?"
"No, no, Kiwi - she protected me," you nodded, sniffling. "Where is she? Is she all right!?" You suddenly panicked, but Tangerine shushed you gently.
"She's fine, love, she's safe. Not a single scratch on her. Had most of the Russians down and out by the time we got back."
"And Brian?"
"Lemon's fine," he promised softly, "just cleanin' up in the other bathroom. Which," he smirked gently, "we should probably do the same. C'mon."
You agreed, hating the sight of blood on your man. When in the shower together, you got a look of the cuts and bruises he earned that night; knowing that despite him being the reason you were attacked, he was also the man who would protect you from anything and anyone. No matter the cost.
There was nowhere you were safer.
Watching you wash his wounds in spite of your own, Tangerine realized he didn't need to ask your father for permission - he was gonna marry you. Come hell or high water, there wasn't anything or anyone - be it Edward or Ivan - that could keep him from loving you the rest of his life.
requesting rules and masterlist
Bullet Train masterlist
#tangerine#tangerine bullet train#bullet train tangerine#tangerine bullet train x reader#tangerine x reader#tangerine x fem!reader#tangerine x y/n#tangerine x oc#tangerine x you#tangerine imagine#bullet train tangerine x reader#bullet train#bullet train movie#bullet train 2022#aaron taylor johnson#atj#atj character#atj tangerine#tangerine atj#atj x fem!reader#atj x reader#tangerine oneshot#tangerine angst#tangerine fanfiction#tangerine fluff#tangerine hurt and comfort
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Maiden
Aemond Targaryen x OC lyseni brothel worker {NSFW} {RQ}
Warnings ● Misogyny, Classic harmful Westerosi male bullshit, canon Aemond incelness, smut, not proof read, mother issues, general woman issues, awkward ass vibes, mentions of violence, UNEDITED, etc etc
Word count ● 5.6k
Author's Note • This isn't QUITE the same as the request, but after ep3... well let's just say it's pretty clear Aemond really ain't the type to uh, treat sex workers with respect. I mean he never was... but this really plays into the whole incel book thing. Sorry y'all. Enjoy the fucked upness. Also sorry for any typos.
Masterlist
The few nights that Aemond Targaryen had spent visiting Madame Sylvie, were indeed - strange ones.
He had never thought he might return here; never thought he'd stomach the sight of the woman whom his brother had coaxed him to lay with all those years ago. It seemed as though Aemond could remember that fateful day, his thirteenth name day; down to the very last detail. What he had eaten to break his fast that morning, the feeling of his mother's weary smile beaming down at him softly, the bitter taste of the ale his brother had poured down his throat before pulling him towards the seedy streets of flea bottom.
He could remember all, but the memory of entering into Cock Inn, meeting the Madam. That, he'd somehow forgotten, only the knowledge that it had happened remained.
Yet, the first night he returned to Cock Inn, suddenly all returned. The aching saccharine scent of the perfumed air, the soft flesh of bare whores dancing and of course, the peaked eyes of the Madam as she looked upon him.
All were things that seemed to bring him back forcefully to the night Aegon had first brought him here, the night he first lay with a woman. There was still a hardened ache of disgust and humiliation in his chest regarding the matter, for it had not been an experience Aemond enjoyed. Even now, upon returning, he wasn't particularly certain he enjoyed fucking the Madame as he thought he should.
For he hadn't touched a woman since his name day, and strictly returned to the Madam for she felt familiar, known to him.
The prince rather preferred taking comfort from the older woman, laying upon her soft lap, the thick flesh of her arms and thighs cradling his bare body, her hands stroking his hair. She was soothing, understanding - of course only in a way a whore could be. Afterall, Prince Aemond was no fool to think the Madam's affections extended beyond the coin he paid her. Though it was clear she held some level of care - which for Aemond was more than enough to warrant his actions.
He needed to be soothed, cared for - especially after what happened with Lucerys. Especially since he could not bear to see the glimmer of disgust in his own mother's eyes. After all, Aemond had done for her, the sacrifice he had made in honour of duty. After all the years Alicent had willingly chosen Aegon to give attention to over himself. He had been starved of love, starved of affection. So, he sought it in the one place he knew he could get it: Sylvie.
He sighed, laying his head gently upon her lap, her fingers grazing his scalp. For a moment Aemond pretended the Madam was Alicent, that it was she who cooed and praised him softly. Who's touch was soft like silk upon his taut flesh.
Aemond closed an eye, taking in the warmth as the two lay upon a large circular bed, in which candles draped all around the stone ledge behind it. Despite the fact, he knew the brothel's surroundings to be the mastery of artificial comfort, lulling drunken men even further into depravity - he still could not help to take comfort in it. It was a welcome change from the often dreary halls of the Red Keep - which seemed more like the Sept these days.
The prince coiled himself even further upon the Madam, cuddling into her so that he might feel the plushness of her belly upon the back of his head. She felt warm, safe - in an odd way. She made him feel as though he was allowed to rip off the mask of strength he had so thoroughly integrated onto himself. Sylvie looked down upon him, slightly bewildered yet pitying the young man before her.
It was not until the familiar sounds of her protégé entered the room did her eyes wander from Aemond's silver hair. She looked up, noting the tray the young woman held. Upon it a small copper cup in which she had carefully begun to pour milk within its confines. Sylvie gave her a nod, watching as the young woman filed in, placing the tray near the bed.
The Madam rarely took in women and girls to mentor into the trade; however, her current protégé was undoubtedly one which was most promising. The day she had been bought by the Madame was a most memorable one as it was the first time she had ventured to Lys to select girls of a more prestige history - in order to attract patrons of noble birth.
She had remembered laying eyes upon the girl, Sierra, she was called, a girl of ten and two - born in a Lysene pillow house to one of the women who serviced there. She was a strange thing, soft spoken - unsure. She even looked particularly peculiar given the Valerian appearance of most Lysene citizens. Sierra did not bare the silver hair nor purple or pale blue eyes of those whom she lived amongst- instead her hair like aged gold and her eyes stormy.
The girl was odd indeed, not quite as lush or alluring as most Lysene, but rather moony. However, she was prized possession, most commonly sought by older noble men or the sons of Lords recently betrothed. Sierra was easily controlled, unintimidating, so in that way she seemed more like a Lady of the court that a brazen a brothel worker. Sylvie often sent her to men who wished to fuck a maiden and Sierra was most perfect for such desires as in all sense she truly seemed to be one. In that way she was perfect for Aemond, unthreatening as so many young whores could be – and most importantly would not remind him of whatever depravities he stifled down within himself.
“Come.” Sylvie gestured to Sierra, hailing for her to bring the prince the cup.
As she approached the two upon the bed, the prince peaked his head upwards, slowly sitting up and taking the cup from the young woman’s hand. Aemond had remembered her from his name day, remembered her wide eyes observing him and the Madam for a moment before ducking behind the silken drapes. He had always wondered what such a young girl had been doing in a brothel, remembered the coils of her golden curls flickering in the candlelight. Now, as he looked upon her after all those years, it was a reminder of how much he had grown too. She was a woman now, though still seemed just as uncertain of herself he remembered her to be.
Aemond downed half of the milk, his eye scanning her as he placed it back upon the tray, he caught the way Sierra averted his bare body. As he settled back upon the Madam, he rested his head right on her breasts, taking in the comfort of her warm flesh.
As he did so, Sylvie caught note of another worker peak her head through the silken curtains, her eyes wide as if to signal there was trouble that needed to be attended to, the Madam nodded and then caught the gaze of Sierra who approached the intruding brothel worker. Sylvie watched as the two young women were caught in a brief exchange, and it seemed that Sierra had been passed a small note – which soon made its way into the free hand of the Madam.
Patron trouble. Girl left bloodied, after a refusal of payment.
Sylvie then gave a nod to the waiting brothel worker, sighing softly as she knew this would be no easy task. The known rule of Cock Inn was for no harm to befall her girls, lest there be a tax placed upon any patron for the coin she would be unable to make in her recovery. Though it wasn’t uncommon for patrons to become… unruly with her girls, and such behaviour was not tolerated at the Cock Inn as it was to be one of the finer establishments – meant for pleasure, not outright degeneracy. For the most part the tax alone dissuaded most men from harming the workers, though for the ones that did – it was an arduous task getting them to meet the agreement of the tax.
Aemond closed his eye when he felt the warmth of Sylvie’s hand come to his chin, guiding his eye to meet hers.
“My prince…” Her voice soft, cooing, “It seems I must attend a rather urgent matter regarding one of the girls. I shall see to it that some of your coin is returned.” The Madam lowered her head, shifting away from him as Aemond raised his brow in curiosity.
He sat up, then, extended back to lean upon the stone ledge, “Hm, I shall wait your return.”
The Madam shook her head, rising up to her feet as she readjusted her robe, “This particular matter shall not be easily solved, I fear. I may not return for quite a time.”
Her head turned to meet the gaze of the waiting brothel worker, she then found herself pondering upon Sierra. Who meekly awaited the Madam’s next instruction, she cleared her throat before speaking to the prince once more, “Very well then… please allow for Sierra to amuse you in the meantime. She is particularly popular amongst many noble men as yourself.”
He shook his head, averting his gaze, “I’ve no use for her in that manner.”
“Indeed…” A small smirk came upon Sylvie’s face, she lowered her head, raising her brow as she chuckled briefly, “I mean for her to take my place... to satisfy such particular tastes of yours as you would have me?”
Aemond met Sylvie’s gaze, almost like a boy stubbornly resisting his mother’s advice, the Madam tilted her head, moving over to Sierra who stood; wide eyed and unsure. The Madam gripped Sierra’s arm, leading her closer to the bed, “She is most gentle.”
His eye narrowed and Aemond took a deep breath in, his chest raising in apprehension as he scanned the young woman before him. Her cherubic face, slightly trembling demeanour. He gritted his teeth and nodded, “Very well.”
With that Sylvie gave him a small nod of approval, before gently grazing Sierra’s lower back as she left. As the older woman made her way through the drapes, Sierra quickly followed; gripping her forearm softly causing the Madam to snap her head towards her. The young whore stuttered as she whispered, meeting the concerned eyes of her mentor, “Madam I…”
Sylvie sighed and brought Sierra closer, whispering firmly, “Just hold the boy. Do as you’ve seen me. Go, girl.” She pulled herself way, giving the other worker a subtle nod as she was led away.
Sierra turned, taking a deep breath in to centre herself. She had never been with a man as powerful as the prince, never known such fear which coursed through her at the thought of what might happened to her if she was to displease him. Her hear thumped as she took that fateful step back through the haze of silken drapes, as she entered she felt the harsh gaze of that lonesome eye upon her, scanning her.
Aemond sat up freely, leaning back upon the stone ledge – uncaring that he was completely exposed before her. He let himself take her in, her willowing form which held a peculiar softness to it. The roundness of her breasts and hips which clung to the silk robe draping her form – the familiar flicker of her flock of curls which had turned a rich gold with age, a few bronzed and silvery strands peppered through them. He watched as her fingers delicately began to disrobe herself but her looked away. “Don’t.” The prince muttered.
As Sierra heard the smooth sound of his voice ring, she froze slowly looking up to him as she thought how odd he was to refuse her bare. Instead, he merely signalled awkwardly for her to join him upon the bed, in which she obliged.
She sat carefully upon the end, feeling the gaze of him boring into her back, Sierra lowered her head, “Do I displease you?” A soft tinge of her Lysene accent still lingering.
A small sigh left the prince as he shook his head and mumbled once more, “No.”
“You… you wish for the Madam.” Her voice soft as she turned her head to look upon him.
“We share a history.” Aemond spoke plainly, his eye narrowing as he gazed upon the young woman before him.
The soft flush to her cheeks, her skin plump and face still retaining the kiss of girlhood upon it, there was no mistaking the difference in her appearance to the Madam. He had noticed how despite the womanly graces Lady’s his own age possessed, they hardly appeared as grown at all in comparison to the older counterparts. There was something distinctively different to a mature woman, the way her cheeks sunk in a tad, or her skin would be softened with lotions to mask the tautness that comes with age. How their voices are deeper and eyes brimming with confidence, as if they know you all too well. In a way it was a comfort for Aemond, to have a woman understand his desire – to have seen so many men before that harboured similar needs, that for once, he did not feel so different in his depravity. The Madam knew just how to sooth and ease him, without judgement that so many younger women may possess. Indeed, there was no mistaking how Sierra was likely no older than himself.
He suddenly spoke, “What age are you?”
Instantly she felt her cheeks go red, her voice soft, girlish, “Eight and Ten, I believe.”
The prince raised his brow at this, slightly shocked at her coyness. He had never seen a whore blush before, it almost seemed like a jest, “You believe? You do not know how old you are?”
She let out a gentle breath before shaking her head, beginning to turn away before a sudden fierce grip clutched at her wrist. Seirra turned upon the bed, her eyes wide.
“Do not look away. Speak.” Aemond commanded softly, though a slight unease filled him at the sight of her uncertainty.
“I… I do not know of my name day?” She replied.
He tilted his head, once again shocked by her flustered appearance, and of course that she would not know of her name day. “You do not know?”
Sienna felt the soft satiny texture of the sheets below her, her eyes drifting downwards as she spoke, remembering her fractured girlhood, “I was born in a pillow house… my prince. My mother perished but a few years into my youth, I remember little.”
He bit his cheeks, studying her, “Hm, and your father?”
The whore looked up, her voice soft, “A mystery.”
As Aemond continued to scan her, he noted the way she altered herself in his presence – making herself appear small, less intimidating. A strange, amused look fell upon him as it found it both titillating and frustrating. He spoke sternly again, changing the subject, “Your accent…tis strange.”
“I am from Lys.” Sierra replied.
The prince hummed, seemingly surprised, “The Valerian freehold? You appear more like a Lannister than Lysene.” He watched her as he shrugged, and he hummed again, “Hm.”
The energy in the air was rife with tension, not to mention a cloying awkwardness Sierra had seldom felt with other patrons. As though he was waiting for her to be the one to approach him, and that he was.
Fed up with his inaction she moved closer to him, noting the flicker of discomfort in his gaze – still the young whore pushed forward, positioning herself beside him. Aemond gave her awkward glance before slowly sitting up, looking out onto the lewd paintings on the chamber walls. He couldn’t help but feel a sudden nervousness, he had never been with anyone but the Madam, never touched a younger woman. He felt a vulnerability like none other, his face hardening as he began to withdraw back into himself.
“My prince?” Her voice faltered, exhaustion over the situation making her voice all the meeker, she didn’t wish to pursue him if he was to be like this. It was too much, she risked too much – the mere throughout of displeasing him and what he might do was enough to have her tense. But the mere fact it was he who seemed nervous, he who seemed unsure of himself – made the matter all the worse.
She reached out, attempting to draw him back, her hand brushing his shoulder.
“Don’t.” Aemond shifted, refusing to meet her gaze as he felt the touch of her fingers.
Another silence bloomed, and Sierra moved back, contemplating on what seemingly had set him off in such a manner. However, the thought soon occurred to her that she had never once seen the prince with any other but the Madam recently, that never once had she noticed or even heard of the King’s younger brother gracing the Street of Silk. It had only been that night all those years ago, a slight pity bloomed as she understood he was likely uncertain of how to even engage with a woman of his own age, so stifled by his own propriety, “You have been with no other… haven’t you?”
Aemond did not respond to this of course, only growing more angered and overwhelmed by the situation he found himself within. In fact, he began to regret even returning to Sylvie, he ought to have dealt with his feelings as a man would, focus on the war, on sharpening his mind and training his body. Readying himself to lead forces to take Harrenhal, not simpering like a boy in the arms of a woman… not even just a woman… a whore in fact. His thoughts were broken by Sierra’s silvery voice, “It would bring me much disgrace if I were unable to please you. The Madam would not have asked this of me, if she did not think me… fit.. for you.”
Her words though, seemed to tempt him once more and though he wished to resist it, he also feared the idea of her finding him so weak to be unable to face both his desire and lack of experience. With a small puff of his chest and stretch of his neck, he found his gaze hardening and mummering lowly, “Move.”
The younger woman followed his command, moving herself to the position in which Sylvie usually encompassed upon the bed, Aemond turned his head gazing over her swiftly before he moved to lay upon her hesitantly. Sierra looked down, her mind reeling as she had never seen a man behave in this way towards her… it was odd, though not displeasing. Slowly she brought her hand to his silver locks, gently threading through them, attempting to mimic what she had seen Sylvie do upon him. As the prince laid his head upon her chest, he felt himself unable to find the same kind of comfort as he usually did, his eye remaining open, the thought of giving in to such vulnerability in front of a woman such as she, seemed unthinkable. He couldn’t relax, shifting and readjusting himself endless and Sierra could sense as such as she cringed internally at the sheer gracelessness of it all.
As the prince finally settled upon her lap, he had managed to find a semblance of relief from the tension that made him restless. It was the familiar softness of her thighs, that same sweet and musky perfumed skin that it seemed all the whores, the Madam included doused on their skin. Gradually he had managed to close his eye, letting himself be taken by her hand making contact once more with his scalp.
“I… remember you.” She whispered.
Instantly his muscled stiffened at her words, Aemond didn’t reply, he only opened his eye.
“From all those years ago… and yet never again since.” Sierra whispered again, her voice sweet and girlish as she looked down upon the gleam of his silver strands.
The prince cleared his throat quietly, “Hm. I had no need to return.”
“And now?” She countered, though the prince did not reply, he closed his eye once more, ignoring her and focusing on the soothing pleasure of her fingers against his scalp.
“You have only been with the Madam-” Sierra began again before being swiftly interrupted.
His head turned upwards slightly, Aemond suddenly gripped her wrist, forcing her hand from his hair as he snapped, “I do not pay to have my intentions dissected freely.”
Sierra found herself suddenly stammering as she nodded fiercely, feeling his grip loosen upon her wrist as she slowly brought it back to his hair. Aemond gave her a warning glare before turning his head back, nestling his head further into her lap before he closed his eye. Silence bloomed… and awkward one at that.
As the prince lay there, awaiting for her to further such affections upon him he huffed, “You may do more.” He mumbled.
The young whore looked down upon him, unsure of how exactly to approach furthering her touch, nonetheless she lowered her head, her head turning slowly to look up to her. Sierra cupped his jaw and forced herself closer, straining her body slightly from the awkward positioning. Gently she let her lips kiss at his forehead and cheek, her hands moving his face slightly awkward and soon the prince himself shifted his frame to a more accessible position. His head now once again resting upon her chest, tilted upwards as she gazed upon his softly, he noted the way her eyes flickered as they lingered upon his sapphire eye.
Sierra went to kiss him away, but Aemond suddenly grew discomforted – feeling a particular sting of insecurity of his face. He had never been so close to a woman of his age. Never been touched by skin which was plump with youth. His jaw clenched as he pulled away slightly, but the feeling of her cool hand came to his face once more drawing him near, “You are unsure.” She read him.
“No.” Aemond replied firmly, though it was a lie.
Sierra shook her head, scanning him carefully, “Do you not think I might know when a man might feel…tentative? You have not known the touch of others; I do not blame- “
“I am not some simpering boy who has not fucked a woman. Do not presume to know the reason behind my hesitation.” The prince snapped in response, his temper flaring as her words struck a chord so exact it made him reel, for he knew she was right. Knew that he had indeed never been with another but the Madam, and even that had been a affair spurred on by recent events. The Madam felt easiest to approach, easiest to reveal himself to. She had already seen him at his weakest, frozen with fear and disgust as a young boy. Spurred on by the taunting of his brother. Who else was he supposed to turn to with such desires, who else would give him comfort in the way he needed?
He stiffened attempting to regain the well curated mask of infallibility though he could not stifle that familiar nervous restlessness which dawned upon him again the wake of her silence.
Sierra let her gaze fall, seemingly thinking on his words. Though she ignored them all together knowing they were merely the deflections of a young man who felt his ego wavering at the notion of his inexperience. The young whore looked up softly and before she could stop herself, “I wish to show you.”
Prince Aemond merely blinked at her, shocked by her sudden request. The two shared what felt like an eternity in stillness and like that he nodded, no other words being exchanged.
Sierra almost couldn’t believe he had agreed so… easily? There was a small moment of uncertainty between them as their bodies shifted once more, Aemond sitting upwards gazing at her expectantly as she disrobed herself. His eye couldn’t help but scan her tender form, the peaks of her breasts, the blooming swell of her soon to be developed hips; a young maid’s body – not yet enhanced by motherhood.
She settled back into her spot where he could coil upon her again and that he did. Her gaze lowered as she noted how his soft strands felt upon her bare skin. Slowly she brought his hand into hers, guiding it to her breast, letting him knead the soft flesh. Aemond found himself unable to fight against his desire carefully watching the way his fingers grazed the bud of her breast. A soft moan escaped her, making him buzz with desire, he did not resist when feeling her other hand guide his head closer, he wet his lips before leaning in further to clasp them upon her nipple, suckling softly.
The young whore let out a soft whimper, moving his hand lower, “You may please… a woman by touching her.” She guided his hand between her wet folds, letting his fingers graze her clit.
The soft mewls which left her lips set off a fire in him, the feeling of her wetness on his finger made him want to work to pleasure her more. His lips clasped her nipple harder, his soft suckling intensifying as his fingers rubbed quickly, inching to stick themselves inside her. Sierra grabbed his silver hair gently, pulling him away, her eyes meeting his lonesome one.
Aemond felt his cock stiffening greatly and slowly she let her hands come to his chest, his body shifting as he cradled himself against her. Sierra found herself grasping at the length between him, stroking it gentle to gauge his reaction – which was all but enamoured with pleasure as he shut his eye, burying his head in the crook of her neck.
Her hand moved, stroking at him feeling the softness of his skin in her palm – as she did so, her lips peppered small kisses upon his forehead. Sierra was gentle with him, despite the lewdness of the act – her touch and tenderness was a comfort the prince was indulging in. He raised his head up; a soft groan left him as he forced his lips into hers. For a moment he would pretend she weren’t just a whore, but a woman who’s feelings were that of true care. As her hand increased its speed, Aemond let out a low whimper into their kiss, moving to force his lips on her neck.
Sierra tilted her head, closing her eyes as she too found herself letting go to the heady feeling between them. He was much different than the usual man who might use her, he seemed less interested in fucking her and more interested in being tended to. So that’s what she did; slowly Sierra pulled her hand from his length, a soft muttering of protest leaving him.
“Lie back.” She whispered, and Aemond obliged.
His eye was narrowed with need as he gazed upon her, watching as her soft frame now hovered over his own. Slowly he raised a hand to her cheek, feeling the smooth skin that flushed pink upon his touch. He watched her with a keen eye as she lowered herself down further, settling between his legs. Aemond shuddered a breath, his eye growing wide as he felt his heart thump wildly; suddenly he felt like a boy again – struck by an awkward inability to verbalise his desire. Though Sierra already knew, as she lowered her head, kissing softly upon his hip as her hand wrapped around his length once more.
The sight of her doing such a thing made him furrow his brow, her lips pressing so gently into his taut muscle made him feel a tad unmanned; mainly because he enjoyed it. Aemond brought a hesitant hand to her hair, deciding that he would indeed take control for once, that if he were going to let a whore take him – he would attempt to assert his desire.
As his fingers laced his spindly fingers into her curls, forcing her head lower until he felt her lips graze against his aching tip. “Take me.” He grumbled.
Her eyes looked up to his as her mouth came to clasp his tip, swirling her tongue upon him; the fleshy, yet salty taste that dripped from him filling her mouth. Aemond’s own mouth dropped, his jaw slightly slack as his head tilted back, he felt his fingers tightened their grip in her curls, slowly moving her mouth to take more of him. The prince opened his eye, looking down as a strange satisfaction brewed from the sight of it, her mouth taking as much as he wished it to.
Another groan left him as she moved her lips up and down him, gaining traction as the moments passed, his hips now bucking – fucking himself into her mouth. He forced her head upon him faster, and Sierra let him as she hollowed her cheeks – siphoning him to the point where his moans turned to pants. Her own sounds falling from her as she too felt a strange enjoyment from seeing him take so much pleasure.
He kept pushing, his cock now an ache in which he needed relief from, Aemond’s mouth hung once more as he mumbled, “Faster.” To which the golden haired whore before him did so, her hand now enveloped around the tail end of the base of his cock, stroking it so that the orchis’ which hung between him were grazed – sending him into a further frenzy. Thoughts of wanting to push himself between her thighs filled him, a fantasy of what she may feel like around him, how her arms would wrap around him, cradle him; it all made him huff. The pressure that built in him felt more than pleasurable, it felt like a burning flame had been set off in his loins; at this point he could hardly care about the comfort Madam Sylvie brought him, now all he could think of was how he longed to see his seed force its way into Sierra’s mouth.
Then a tinge of anger filled him, frustration as his grip intensified as he fucked himself into her mouth – edging at his release. He felt like his brother, depraved, hungry with a force he had stifled for so long. But the thought of a whore striking such feelings in him suddenly left him feeling slightly conflicted, almost angered by the sight of her bringing him such pleasure. Aemond’s hand tugged harshly upon her hair making her wince and she looked back, confused by the sudden streak of aggression, to which in her uncertainty she began to pull away.
“Keep going.” The prince choked out, his voice low and soft… yet, oddly threatening.
Aemond reeled at feeling small snaps of her curls break in his hand. Sierra slowly finding her mouth back upon him, siphoning him as quickly as possible though she began to tremble slightly. Afterall, this was no common patron, she could not warn him of the brothel’s code of conduct – for he could very well burn the place to a fucking cinder or worse, have their heads for an accused treason… or in an effort to purge Kings Landing of its sin. The Gods know it would not be the first time whores were blamed for the depravity of men’s desires.
It filled him with a familiar streak of satisfaction as he watched her buckle beneath him. Glory flooding him as the pleasure of her mouth brough him finally to his peak and the events of recent flashing through his mind as he rode out his long awaited release. That flash of fear upon his face reminded him of who he was, and what he was capable of. Afterall even his uncle… The Rogue Prince himself had sought for him to be slayed in his sleep.
Daemon feared him, his mother feared him, his grandsire… the Blacks…and now the whore between him feared him. They should. He thought.
The sentiment lingered as he felt his peak slash through him, spilling into Sierra’s now hot mouth. He looked down, satisfied though disgruntled. He was quick to force her off of him, interrupting her as she went to speak. It was clear Aemond did not wish to hear what she had to say.
Uncaringly, he rose to his feet, his cock still stiff and buzzing, he reached to dress himself – feeling the soft, unsure gaze of the whore who still sat upon the bed boring into his bare back. He ignored her, unwilling to admit the pleasure he had brought her, or the vulnerability that had been seen of him. It was gone, just like that. Done away with.
As he felt himself calm, a focus coming over him as the blood rushed from his length. Without another word he abandoned her, sauntering through the Cock Inn, the sounds of passing moans flooding his ears and perfumed air attacking his senses. Clarity. Is what he thought.
Clarity that he did not need to bury himself in a whore like his brother. He had greater control; he was indeed a man of finer stock. What need did he have to give in to not only a young woman… but a whore. Born so lowly she was conceived and birthed in a pillow house. No, Aemond would take the pleasure and comfort he had gotten and focus his mind elsewhere.
At least until such desires demanded easing again.
#hotd#aemond targaryen#targaryen#house of the dragon#got#aemond one eye#daemon targaryen#rhaneyra targaryen#helaemond#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x brothel worker#helaena targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#house of the dragon season 2#aemond targaryen x oc
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Said I was not gonna make Dune Messiah predictions but here I am making Dune Messiah predictions. Because I've been thinking about how smartly Part Two used all the characters around Paul to embody the different forces pulling on him, and I wouldn't be surprised if we see a similar thing in Dune Messiah.
I think Irulan's role will be more or less the same as in the book--she'll be plotting against him. She represents the interests of the Bene Gesserit and the other Great Houses--all the various other imperialist powers that Paul pissed off by upending their carefully laid plans.
Chani will definitely be there but she will not have spent the intervening years with Paul. It's much more of a punch in the feels for her to pop up as a plot twist partway through the story and for us to see their reunion happen in real time. I've seen some predictions that try to like...bend Paul and Chani's relationship back into a shape approximating what's in the book and I am saying now that that ain't gonna happen. Spending years hanging around the imperial palace trying to get pregnant and soothing your dictator bf's existential angst makes no fucking sense for movie Chani. She will be organizing against him. If she "forgives" him and spends any amount of time with him it'll be a ruse in order to spy on him or something like that. I think it would be a great source of internal conflict for her to discover along the way that she still harbors some compassion for Paul as a person, but there is no way she will compromise her political principles; that is the bedrock of her character. She will serve much the same role as she did in Part Two: she gives voice to Paul's conscience, his better instincts, and the interests of the Fremen independent of what various imperial powers want from them.
The twins will still be born, because that is central to why Paul does what he does at the end of the story, and that is part of "leaving the door open" for any fool who might take a crack at directing Children of Dune. (I think Children of Dune can work just fine as a movie but anyone who does it will be Not Denis and therefore setting themselves a formidable task.) But like...Paul and Chani only have to have sex once for that to happen.
The role that Chani plays for a large chunk of the book, of being Paul's loyal confidante and the person he allows himself to be most human around? That role is gonna be filled by Alia.
Alia...doesn't really have a lot to do, plot-wise, in the book of Dune Messiah, and this is the perfect place to put her. She is the only person in the Known Universe who maybe sort of a little bit understands what Paul's experience of reality is like now. She's the perfect conduit to voice all the philosophical stuff about prescience that's in the book but hard to work into casual dialogue. The book is full of people saying stuff about how Paul and Alia are so close they seem like two halves of the same person but we don't really see it that much on the page, and this is the perfect chance to add that stuff in. (I could very much see them borrowing not necessarily the actual plot points but some of the weird incesty vibes from the Children of Dune era.) I wouldn't be so surprised if some of the moments that happen between Paul and Chani in the book get handed off to Alia (blind ornithopter ride maybe??) and Chani gets a whole new storyline, independent of Paul, that's not in the book at all.
It kinda fits with the rhythm of the films, too. In Part One Paul's most important interpersonal relationship is with Jessica. In Part Two, he's in conflict with Jessica and his most important relationship is with Chani. In Messiah, I think he'll be in conflict with Chani and his most central relationship will be with Alia. (And ghola!Duncan probably, but I think that will be another surprise reveal that happens later in the story.) And at the end of Messiah, he won't end up in conflict with Alia exactly. But he will leave her behind.
#dune#dune messiah#paul atreides#alia atreides#irulan corrino#chani kynes#denis villeneuve#adaptation#chani is my homegirl 5eva but i would much rather her have a smaller role that's consistent with her character#than a larger role that doesn't make any fucking sense with what they've set up#and based on what denis has said in interviews i would be shocked if they don't go this direction with her#if i'm right about all this then paulalia stans are gonna be eating well
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( in the accent of a suburban blk girlie ) dhmu just thinking ab being art and patrick's joint pretty little thing and they're both like hah ! art/patrick could never score a girl like this, she's different from every woman ive ever met ( black as hell, boujie as hell, BUILT as hell ), he doesn't have it like me. and then all of a sudden they both find themselves at a mostly black club she frequents and posts ab on myspace a lot and they both find themselves giving her flirty, llustful looks across the dance floor at her, go to give eachother a 'hah you could never pull all that' look and realize they're both doing the same thing and then realizing that you could pull any little frat-esque, trust funded white boy you wanted and they LOCK TF IN on proving they could treat and fuck you best
- 🎹
all that | artrick + black reader
literally obsessed with this request piano anon ... thissss is universe-building and i LOVEEEE to cross cultures >:-) also, made this playlist to fit the vibe (tried to keep it 2006 themed but haddd to throw some cash cobain in there — his new album is also perfect to listen to for this)
contains: a FINE black GYAL, art + patrick feening they ain't never BEEN with a baddie, smut: fingering, oral (f! receiving), threesome i realize i could've made this a drabble but i'm a writer. so imma write. so i hope y'all fw this! word count: 7.7k and not proofread
It's giving Stanford era Art and Patrick — Art feels like he has dibs on you because he met you first and takes a few classes with you. Unlike Patrick, Art prides himself on being your friend — even though you've really only interacted through class projects, and Art hardly has the courage to talk to you outside of class.
You're different from anybody Art or Patrick have wanted in the past. Stanford opened up a door to a whole new world for them — a world outside of rich white girls who spent their summers in the Hamptons or elite tennis camps. and you were the key holder. you were hands-down the most stunning girl they'd ever seen. For Art, it was the Marley twists that reached your butt (a staple hairstyle of yours when you weren't rotating from lace fronts to sew-ins to natural), the way your brown eyes glimmered when a ray of sun shone over you through the window.
For Patrick it was your lips, thick and glossy or perfectly painted with a brown lip combo — gawking at you in the cafeteria when he visits and watching you reapply your lip gloss after you eat might be his favorite pastime.
Once, Patrick literally groaned, throwing his head back with a hand on his forehead when you bent over to pick up your lip liner, then readjusted your jeans and did that little jump trying to fit your ass properly back in the pants. Art couldn't even call him out on it because it took everything in him to hold back a whimper.
Your skin was supple and a rich brown, soft like a pillow they wanted to sink into. everything about you was something to admire — your laugh, the certainty in your voice whenever you spoke, your graceful yet assertive demeanor. You knew who you were, and that was something lacking from all the Sarahs and Kaylors and Brittanys they had been with. And, satisfying their basest desires, was your stallion body. tall, thick, and fit.
"She's so pretty," Art blinked slowly, the two of them watching you from a distance in the library as you gathered with a group of friends, standing around a table and giggling softly.
"Her ass is so fat. I've never seen anything like that shit before," Patrick murmured, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were concerned— really he was just incredulous.
A beat as Art swallowed hard, clenching his jaw. Ignoring the way his pants grew tighter. Patrick doing the same.
"Yeah," he exhaled after a moment of silence and low-eyed ogling from the two of them.
It was weeks of that — just gawking at you and getting themselves worked up thinking about you. At that point, there was more sexual tension between Art and Patrick than either of the two lusting boys had managed to work up with you. Tashi found their fantasizing aggravating and berated them for not just going up to you and talking to you — secretly, Art and Patrick praised the fact that Tashi has a girlfriend, otherwise she'd be competition too.
Art practically fainted when he saw you in the hallway talking to Patrick— Patrick leaning against the wall with his hand just above his head, towering over you with the confidence of a sly dog. He could just make out the murmurs of your conversation, the warm ringing of your laugh, Patrick's flirtatious chuckling overlapping just a few seconds later. He was laying it on thick, and Art felt like he might go into cardiac arrest with how angry he was.
Art strode up to the two of you with determination, slowing down once he gets closer so he doesn't come off as defensive as he felt. He gave Patrick an icy, tight-lipped grin that made Patrick smirk ever-so-slightly, his eyes wandering to some spot just above Art's head.
"Pat," Art bleated. He turned to you, his eyes softening along with his brain and everything else in his body except his dick. He smiled gently, locking eyes with you. "YN. It's nice to see you. I'm Art, by the way."
You shook your head and chuckled, one of your braids drifting over your shoulder. You pushed it back, and Art and Patrick went numb at the simple maneuver. You bit down softly on your bottom lip, grinning bemusedly,
"I know who you are. We did like two chem projects together, don't you remember?"
"Yeah, remember?" Patrick echoed, glancing over smugly at Art, who was too enamored by you to side-eye Patrick in return.
"Yeah. Yeah of course I remember. You were the backbone of our projects," Art trailed off into a genuine laugh, one full of appreciation.
"Well, I am pre-med, so," a slight laugh bubbled up in your throat and it was so attractive and confident, Art couldn't help but grin at you dazedly.
"Smart girl," Patrick inserted himself, catching your eye as soon as you turned your head to him again.
You didn't miss the way he held eye contact, the way he was so comfortable giving you a name to hold on to, like it was something he was used to doing with you. There's some sort of intimacy to a nickname like that, suggesting something provocative yet impossible to name. You're well aware of the fact that they're both attracted to you — you couldn't possibly miss them staring at you even when you knew they thought they were being discreet.
Seeing them now, up close and personal, finally actually talking to you instead of checking you out and avoiding eye contact, you saw their strategies, their archetypes. Art, the charming and unassuming rabbit — assumed timid by most but smart and eventually crafty — and Patrick, the rakish, bold fox, unabashed in his cunning and willing to show out. Both types that you'd seen before, but not quite in this form. And both intrigued you deeply. You, the snake. Letting them have their glory in this game now, but plotting just how you would leer over them soon enough, evaluating your prey.
"Gotta be. I only get one chance," you replied to Patrick's comment.
You could tell he was used to having girls stuck, and you weren't that type. But with you, their eagerness and need to prove themselves was strong right away.
You could tell they were trying to figure out what to say. You figured they were used to girls giggling and blushing over them. Maybe they expected a thank you, complete with hair twirling and bashfulness, like you didn't already know you were smart, fine, and everything in between.
"Mkay," you hummed, smiling precociously up at them. "I'm gonna hit the library, got a bio exam next week. I'll see you both later?"
"Yeah. Yeah, you'll see us," Art assured you immediately, on top of Patrick drawling,
"We'll be on the lookout."
You chuckled, giving them one last look over your lashes before you turned around. You could feel their eyes on you as they left, tracking all the way down to your hips which swayed as you walked.
They watched you like that all the way out the double doors, in a trance. When the door finally closed, Art swiveled on his feet and jabbed Patrick in the shoulder, walking off dramatically. Patrick caught up to him quickly.
"What the fuck? What's that for?" he whined.
"What the hell man, you can't just talk to her," Art frowned.
Patrick paused, staring at Art like he was a middle schooler,
"I just did. Besides, it's not like you were talking to her anyway, I did us both a favor."
Art knew he was being petulant but he couldn't himself — he didn't mind admiring you with Patrick, but sharing you was a whole 'nother thing. He wasn't ready to admit that the thought turned him on, and the attraction was still fresh enough that he was possessive. Maybe the doors would open once he knew he could get you.
"Yeah, well I was gonna."
"Ha!" Patrick barked out a cold laugh. "Like that'd get you anywhere."
"Fuck does that mean?" Art scoffed, glaring at his best friend and lamenting the luscious mop of overgrown dark curls brushing against his forehead.
Patrick tapped the underbrim of Art's red hat, which Art quickly readjusted,
"Look at you. You're dressed like a skinny white cuck. You don't even know what to do with all that." Patrick was growing more and more defensive and loud by the minute. He shook his head and glared off into the distance like he was thinking of just how he'd handle "all that," then continued. "She wants a big dog."
Art actually laughed — he genuinely doubled over laughing, and Patrick marched along while Art was cackling a few feet behind. He caught up to Patrick, red in the face,
"And you're a big dog? You're a rich white Jew from Rochester, New York."
Patrick smirked, like he knew something Art didn't — but when does he not know everything before Art has even gotten a hint? Or at least, he pretends to know everything. Art wasn't sure if it was too late to come out from under Patrick's wing, it's all he knew.
"Exactly," Patrick responded quietly.
Art, miffed but trying not to show it, switched the trajectory of the conversation and shook his head. He offered the first reality check ever since this little crush had formed,
"Don't sound too sure of yourself. I don't think either of us are her type."
"C'mon Art, don't be racist. You think she only likes black guys?"
Art was ruffled— he retorted,
"I didn't say that!"
"Whatever, I got her Myspace. I'll give it to you so you can stalk her but don't actually follow her like a creep. You're welcome, dumbass. You can thank me for bringing you a step forward from jerking your tiny little dick while you think of her alone in your dorm room."
How the fuck did he get her Myspace?
| | |
Patrick was back again by next week, fooling around on the computer while Art laid back on his bed and bounced a tennis ball against the ceiling.
"Oh shit," Patrick muttered to himself, a toothpick wiggling in the corner of his mouth. Art perked up, sitting up on his elbows.
"What?"
"Come look," Patrick waved Art over.
On the computer screen was your Myspace, which you just updated few minutes ago.
[ YN ] Can't wait to hit up Nebula later tonight!
"What's Nebula?" Art asked, his voice quiet and curious as he squinted at the glowing screen.
Patrick wordlessly pulled up another tab and typed up Nebula. It was a club a few miles north of campus. It had no description but a bunch of pictures. It was different from what they were used to — frat parties consisting of fist bumping and neon necklaces, a sea of white crashed against the floor and someone shotgunning a can of Budweiser. Instead, they're looking at photos of a nightclub with flashy lights and graffiti decor, and not a single hint of white — at least, not in any of the pictures. But it looks busy, and as far as they can tell, it actually looks fun.
Patrick and Art scanned the page of images meticulously, it was like their brains were reconfiguring. After some time, they both speak at once:
"Should we go?"
"We're fucking going."
The boys spent the next few hours getting ready. Or at least, Art did. Patrick didn't have a change of clothes, so he was going as he was — untucked Ralph polo, khaki shorts and all. Art on the other hand, showered and rotated through multiple outfits. By his third shirt, Patrick was fatigued,
"What are you doing?"
Art held up a white t-shirt to the mirror and angled it against his body,
"I don't wanna show up looking like an asshole. Look at you, what are you wearing?"
"There's nothing wrong with it," Patrick griped, though he did a double take at himself behind Art in the mirror.
"Did you not see how everyone was dressed in the pictures? We're gonna look like idiots if we show up like a bunch of tennis douchebags," Art retorted, finally deciding on a white shirt and ripped blue jeans.
"We are tennis douchebags," Patrick said to himself. "Got a pair of black jeans I can wear?"
Art smirked wordlessly, throwing a pair over to Patrick.
The club is packed, to say the least. But it's huge. The bouncer took a long, hard look at the two boys before graciously deciding to let them in. They did look painfully out of place — the club seemed not to have a white person in sight for miles. They were tokens here, not oblivious to the curious looks and outright glares. Chingy's Right Thurr was blasting from the club speakers, booming over the sound of Air Force 1s and chunky heels scuffling across the floor. Art and Patrick stood in the front, taking in the view of the dance floor like a pair of birds overlooking the sea from the shore.
"What if she's not even here?" Art muttered.
"She's here dude, trust me. No way she's staying in on a Friday night after exams and this is clearly the place to go," Patrick shouted over the music. The two silently scanned over the crowd, desperate to pick her out in a sea of people. Then, Patrick laid eyes on her. He jabbed Art's side, who immediately snapped his vision to focus on you, so far away on the dance floor, unaware of their presence.
You were in a tight-fitting short pink dress that hugged every inch of your body — it seemed like it was made for you. Your tits sat pretty and your ass jiggled with even the slightest move. Your brown skin glinted under the flashing lights, and reflections shimmered off of your golden bracelets. You were with a group of friends, laughing and rolling your body to the beat, hips swaying with the motion of water. Patrick and Art were absolutely stuck, staring at you with dry mouths.
"Fuck," Art mouthed, and Patrick found his lips pulled beneath his teeth.
You didn't have a care in the world. You weren't drunk, but you had a few drinks in you and the bass was thudding against your eardrums just right. And you knew you looked good. Everything felt right — but the last thing you expected to see when you turned your head was two white boys, especially not two white boys who you knew. They seemed to realize that they were caught once you made eye contact with them, squinting at first in confusion.
Then, you saw it, the lustful look in both of their eyes. Patrick was unabashedly checking you out — you were sure he was doing it before, but now it was like he wanted you to know. And Art had this look in his eyes, so deep and watchful that you could tell he was simply drinking you in. Arms tucked over his chest, his tongue swiping slowly over his lip.
You giggled, returning their gazes with a subtly flirtatious cock of your head, and a bemused grin. Patrick smiled and nodded, and Art cocked his head in unison with you. Like he was playing. And you liked this game. You turned to your friends for just a moment and quickly excused yourself, then turned back to face the two boys, glancing towards the bar.
You didn't wait for them, just started slowly sauntering over, knowing they would follow you.
Once you broke their gaze, they turned to each other, smirking. On the one hand, they knew they had an in. But they were challenging each other too, with a competitive spark in their eyes that said, "you wish."
They rushed over to the bar, practically skidding across the bar and even bumping into each other. They got there just seconds before you did, still catching their breaths by the time you got close enough. Before you could even open your mouth, both of them were panting. In unison, they spouted,
"Hey—"
"Hi."
"Can I buy you a drink?"
They glared at each other, and you laughed, shaking your head. They were practically brothers, the way they were so in sync with each other and seemed to bounce off of one another. It was fun analyzing their characters, and even more fun because they were trust fund babies without a care in the world, and you couldn't be any more different. But one thing was for certain — you could get anything from them.
"That's y'all's favorite question, isn't it?" you grinned up at them slowly, batting your lashes.
They both laughed weakly, not used to being called out so bluntly. They were so set on having you, but now that you were in front of them, it was clear you made the rules. The way you assessed them both silently, letting your eyes observe the both of them from head to toe, slowly but surely, they had no choice but to stand at your feet.
"How about this," you started, and they perked up like dogs, hanging on to your every word. "Whoever guesses my drink of choice can buy me a drink."
"Sex on the beach," Patrick blurted, mainly because he was thinking about sex.
"Vodka cran?" Art offered hesitantly.
You squint at them, shaking your head.
"Cognac, neat."
Patrick snorted, and you looked over at him with a curious grin. He explained himself,
"Sorry, it's just... that's dark liquor."
"Duh. I don't waste my money on watered down cocktails." A pause. "So...?"
They fought to get drinks, but ultimately, Art was the one who flagged the bartender down first. You told them that you should talk somewhere a bit more quiet, and led them to a couch beneath the stairs, where the music was slightly muffled. You knew that their eyes were on you as you were walking, you could tell by the way they went silent while behind you.
You sat between them on the couch, one leg over the other. Both their mouths went dry over the sight of your thigh pooling and expanding as you placed it on top of your other one. Your brown skin contrasted deliciously with the pink fabric of your dress.
You sipped your drink and leaned back just a bit against the couch. Basking in their intent eye contact.
"So," you smirked.
"So..." Patrick grinned at you, unafraid to show all his teeth.
You glance between the two of them,
"It's your first time here, isn't it?"
"Whaaat?" Patrick feigned offense, shaking his head and waving his hand. He sips his drink, leaning back just a bit to align his body more with yours. "Psshh, no, we come here all the time."
"Really?" you challenged him, and he just nodded silently with that fucking smirk on his face, his eyes boring into yours with an impish sparkle. "'Cuz I come here all the time, and I haven't seen you two before. Like, ever."
"Guess you weren't looking for us hard enough," in comes Art, quiet as ever but still so strikingly present — it's impossible to forget him, the way he sneaks up on you every time with some suggestive comment or smart remark.
You turned your head towards him now, your smile growing bigger by the minute, thoroughly enthralled by this delicious dialogue.
"Oh, I should be looking for you two?'' you raised your chin up, humored.
"Nah, but I mean... you might find something you like," Patrick replied, coolly as ever, never looking away from you even when you weren't looking at him. It was how you found yourself face to face with him when you turned your head away from Art.
"Yeah? And what's that?" you mastered your most innocent voice possible, rubbing your glossy lips together. Patrick's eyes lowered down to your lips, and he let them stay there for a while before he spoke again,
"You gonna let us find out what you like?"
No smirk this time, accompanied by unshaken eye contact. It got your heart jumping, but you played it cool, chuckling and sipping your drink,
"Y'all play too much."
"Who says we're playing?" Art interjected then, and you're met with a charming, slow-appearing smile.
“Messy. You usually have the same taste in girls?"
"I mean, yeah, we do," the boys glanced at each other and nodded good-naturedly as if assessing the question together before providing you with an answer. "But you're just... better," Art replied, and Patrick nodded.
"Better? Better how?"
"I mean... you're incredibly sexy," Patrick said as if it were self-explanatory.
"Yeah? Tell me more," you bared your teeth in a slick-mouthed smile, leaning your chin on your hand and blinking softly up at Patrick. You turned your head slowly when Art spoke.
"Your lips. They look soft," he licked his lips when you looked at him. It was like he was a completely different entity now, shrouded by the thick cloud of desire he had for you. His voice had dropped an octave lower and his lids seemed heavier. He took a sip of Cognac and leaned back just a tad.
"Got a pretty voice," you turned this time to Patrick, whose lips were turning up in a slow smile, his teeth glinting in the dark club.
"Beautiful eyes," now Art — you knew you had them right around your finger but they were proving to be more than you'd bargained for — you wondered how often they moved like this to a girl, together.
"Your body's absolutely insane," Patrick divulged.
"Personality takes the cake, too," Art chimes in.
By the time they'd finished, it felt like they were inches closer to you, encasing you in their body heat. And they had inched closer to you, the both of them cocking their head in your direction, studying your face. It all felt so practiced, yet natural. They knew just what they were doing, and that's why you didn't move a muscle. But you'd be lying if you said it didn't have an effect on you.
You didn't reply, you just sat back and slowly swallowed down the rest of your drink. All eyes were on you, the boys both leaning back against the couch and just admiring you. You set the glass down on the table in front of you and got up to stand, wiggling your dress down to readjust it.
"Let's dance."
That's how you found yourself sandwiched between Art and Patrick while a song by Miguel played. Your breaths, hot and smelling of liquor, floated against each other, bodies pressed into yours. Patrick was behind you with his hands on your waist, towering over you and looking down at you in awe. He kept it respectful, but you could feel him against your ass, poking through his ripped black jeans. Art was in front of you, your arms around his neck, just inches of space between all of you. The club was dark bar for a strobe light rotating across your faces periodically, so you could hardly see the desire in their eyes, but you could feel it. You swayed your hips to the rhythm of the song and let your head fall back against Patrick's shoulder, swaying your whole body now. Art was pressed into you, his face dipping into your neck. He nearly whimpered— you smelled like caramelized vanilla and a hint of coconut oil. He imagined you lathering your damp body in creams and oils after getting out of the shower, and had to fight an erection from forming directly against you. Meanwhile, Patrick was already half-hard.
All they felt was bliss — Patrick had more of a sense of certainty that the night would end up somewhat like this, but Art doubted they'd even be able to find you. You could sense the way they held back, waiting for you to shut it down or take it an inch further. You paused when you felt your cellphone vibrate in your purse. You pulled away gracefully from Art and Patrick, who stood there dumbly waiting for you to pull them back in. You grinned when you read the text from your friends, who knew of your whereabouts, telling you to pull up to Alicia's apartment for afters, and "bring your little white boys."
You let the boys usher you out of the club, Art with his hand on your waist trailing behind you, and Patrick taking your hand as he pushed through the crowd and out the door.
"You smell amazing," Art mentioned the minute the fresh air hit you, re-surging the scent that drove him near ballistic in the club.
You giggled at Art's sudden outburst, and the genuine admiration in his tone,
"Thank you, babe. Now, are y'all good to drive?"
| | |
Alicia's apartment was huge — her dad paid for everything, to say the least. The moment you walked in, Alicia, Nessa and Tiana crowded around you, squealing and ooh-ing and aah-ing over Patrick and Art.
"This your lil shit right here? Go head, then YN," Tiana stuck her tongue out raucously and you shook your head, laughing.
Before you knew it, you were pouring shots of Hennessy down each other's throats, playing a vicious game of Uno, and blasting Me & U by Cassie. Art and Patrick had some settling in to do at first, since they weren't used to being around mostly black girls — the most fun they knew how to have at parties was fist-bumping to dubstep. But they fit right in, and your friends had no trouble making them feel welcome. As the night went on, you lost some of that mysterious enigma, but it didn't make them want you any less.
Art nearly melted beneath you when you stood up above him and poured Ciroc down his throat, holding his chin up with your fresh French tips. Patrick was next, putting on a brave face, unwavering against the screeches and pointing from your friends. He made sure to keep eye contact with you, swallowing boisterously with an "ahh!" sound, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You grinned and took a swig yourself, then ran to your friends to dance with them, swaying your hips and shaking your ass in a way they hadn't seen just yet. It was like they weren't even there, it was just about you and your friends now.
"Fuck, man," Patrick blinked slow, standing beside Art just feet away from you.
Art ran his hands through his hair, in disbelief at the way your ass moved in your dress,
"I'm gonna be honest, Pat. I don't think either of us could handle that."
For the first time, Patrick nodded, wordlessly agreeing.
It didn't take long for your friends to disperse about the apartment, most of them heading out to the balcony to smoke. You decided to stay behind inside ("For your guests, right?" Nessa had snickered, smirking over at Art and Patrick).
"Are you bored to death yet? You're the only two dudes here," you sauntered over to the two boys, who were leaning against the kitchen counter. All three of you were just a bit more than tipsy, eyes bleared over and heat fanned against your cheeks, drifting about in that pleasantly warm dreamscape.
"Bored? You just baby birded both of us with Ciroc," Art guffawed, and you cocked your head to the side, looking up at him with those low, drunk eyes,
"Yeah, you want more?"
"I want whatever you have to give me," Art replied with quickness, simply entranced by your eyes and that sweet voice. You chuckled, shaking your head.
A smattering of shrieking sounded from outside on the balcony. You scoffed, swiping a joint that Alicia had rolled from off the kitchen table. You started walking down the hall, back faced to them as you said,
"They're so loud. Let's go somewhere quieter."
Art and Patrick both gave each other a glance— they weren't sure if the night would ever actually come to this, but still they didn't quite know what to expect. All they knew was that whether or not either of them could "pull" you, you were the one in charge. Your hips swung more freely from side to side as you walked loosened by the Henny and Ciroc concoctions of the night. Art and Patrick's eyes were like pendulums following your hips.
You turned into the guest bedroom, plopping down onto the bed.
"Close the door," you gestured to Art. Heart pounding, he closed it behind him.
Art and Patrick stood stupidly in front of you. You shook your head at them, laughing quietly,
"Are y'all gonna sit?"
They might as well have tripped over themselves zooming to sit next to you on the bed, one on either side of you. You had the whole world in your hands. It was silent bar for the muffled R&B music from outside. For boys who were so flirtatious, they were awfully quiet now. You shifted to place your legs underneath you, sitting on your knees, your dress riding up your thighs just so. If they looked behind you, they'd see your ass poking out a bit too.
"So. Who's idea was it, hmm?" you hummed. "I mean, you must've wanted to come find me. I'm impressed."
You lit the joint, pressing it to your lips.
"Saw your Myspace post. Thought we'd keep you company," Patrick admitted, coolly as ever, though you saw the bulge forming in his jeans, saw the way his eyes drifted down to your lips around the joint.
You tossed your head back to exhale, giggling up at the ceiling and covering your mouth with your hand.
"You thought you'd keep me company. Y'all are too good."
You passed the joint over to Art, who took a drag and exhaled while keeping it perched in the corner of his mouth, voice half-muffled as he continued,
"We just wanted to make sure you weren't lonely, that's all."
"Yeah," Patrick took the joint from Art, doing the same. "Since you don't have a boyfriend or anything."
This time, Patrick lifted the joint up to your lips for you. You leaned into it, slowly wrapping your lips around it and sucking for just a second longer than you usually would, never breaking eye contact while Patrick's smirk grew wider and wider with each passing second. You blew the smoke out and it fanned against his face.
"And how would you two know if I don't have a boyfriend?"
Art sniffed, humored, as you passed the joint to him. It was starting to hit now — a haze rose up just so slightly in the air. You relaxed into it, feeling emboldened.
"Don't think we'd be here if you did," Art shot back.
You snaked forward, taking the joint from Art's lips and putting it to your own. He let out a sharp breath at the casual dominance such an action exuded. Your face was just inches away from his— you didn't know if it was the weed, or how turned on you were after exercising the utmost self-control for the better part of the night, but you noticed that his eyes had such a gleaming strike of blue in them.
"Think you got me, is that it?" you questioned, so close to Art that if you inched any further, your nose would brush against his. He swallowed, unsure of whether he should be turned on or scared, but either way, his pants were getting tighter. Your voice was so tantalizingly quiet as if you were sharing a secret just for him and Patrick. You huffed out a humored breath. "I'm not gonna fuck you, you know."
The way you were looking at him begged to differ. You felt the strap of your dress slide down ever so gently over your left shoulder. Before you could push it up, Patrick's hand, strong and firm, was grazing against your shoulder, pushing your dress strap up. You let your gaze on Art linger for just a moment longer before you turned to Patrick, smirking. You handed him the joint, which had gone out. He placed it on the bed beside him. You were leaning in, an unmistakably seductive twinkle in your eyes as you got even closer to Patrick, murmuring under your breath,
"'M not gonna fuck you either."
“Not gonna fuck me?” Patrick smirked, looking from your hazey eyes to your lips. You pressed your lips into his, letting your eyes flutter closed as you hummed your response into his mouth,
“Mm-mm.”
A slight breath escaped Patrick, keeping his mouth open so you could slip your tongue against his. Patrick kissed you hard and slow, his hands immediately wrapping around your back as you lifted your leg over his lap and straddled him. You could feel how much he’d been wanting this by the way his tongue curved effortlessly against yours and his grip on your hips got stronger. He kissed the way he talked. Rough and hard, but with effortless ease, like he knew exactly what you liked. Maybe it was his confidence that made the kiss so good, his lips locked in perfectly with yours. You reached behind, pulling Art in as you simultaneously pushed Patrick down so his back was against the mattress.
You pulled away from Patrick and in one fluid motion turned your head to kiss him, letting your hand wrap against his neck and run up through his hair. Patrick, who was watching from the pillow, groaned and let his head fall against the pillow. Art kissed you needily, but gentler than Patrick. He kissed you like he was parched and your lips were a fountain of water found in a barren land— like he needed to explore more. As you kissed Art, you felt Patrick’s hands kneading your ass, and you moaned — which made them both moan. It took everything in Patrick not to just lift your dress over your ass. But you must have been reading his mind because you wiggled your dress over your ass so it was finally exposed.
“That’s it,” Patrick groaned in approval, his hands finding new purchase against your bare skin, squeezing your ass with a tender grip.
Your kiss with Art grew sloppier, spit threatening to spill out from the side of your mouth as Art pressed himself against you. You let your hand wander down to his black jeans and gripped the hard bulge that was poking out, running your hand up and down it. Patrick, not one to be left behind, took the liberty of lifting your dress a little higher so he could see the black, lacy panties you wore. He let out a low whistle, his firm on your hips grew firmer, keeping them in place as he ground his up into you, rolling up directly against your clit through your underwear. You gasped when you felt how big Patrick was, pulling away from Art to look down at the sight of Patrick’s hips snapping slowly into you.
“Fuck,” you moaned, tilting your head gently to the side so Art could press his lips against your neck.
Patrick chuckled, but he was unable to hold back the groan that lodged in his throat. He could feel your clit pulsing through your underwear.
“Take it off, baby,” you gestured down to Art, who scrambled to take your dress off, throwing it carelessly to the side once it was over your head. Both the boys nearly busted on the spot, because instead of being greeted with a black, lacy bra, your tits simply tumbled out of your dress, perfectly plump and brown and sitting pretty.
“Oh my god,” Patrick groaned at the sight of your tits above him. He sat up immediately, attaching his mouth immediately to your tits. Art, a whimpering mess by this point, followed quickly, his lips wrapping around your stiff, brown nipple. They both sucked on your tits lasciviously, reserving one for each of them. The lewd sounds of their tongues sucking your plush skin as their hands fondled and squeezed you filled the room. Art was gentle, shifting from reaching a hand underneath your tit and cupping you softly to circling a gentle finger around your nipple. Patrick was more direct, grabbing you with closed hands.
If you weren’t so turned on, you would honestly giggle at the sight— these two boys who’d been fiending for you for so long, showing you just how long they’d been waiting for this very thing. It was a wonder — the school’s prestigious tennis players who attended every frat party and had enough money to be set for life (Patrick at least), reduced to a melting puddle beneath you. At your beck and call, your mercy, even as the grind of Patrick’s dick against your clit made you soak through the panties.
You looked down at them with a cunning smile playing on your lips, cupping both their chins softly,
“You’ve been wanting this real bad, haven’t you?”
Two pairs of needy, blissed-out eyes looked up at you immediately, their heads nodding insistently as they moaned around your nipples. You chuckled, your laugh ringing like bells in their ears. You tasted so divine and they hadn’t even tasted you where it really counts. Art decides he wants to get a head start. You felt his hand, his fingers long and spindly, travel down your body, past your soft stomach and down your thigh, until it looped back up to the waistband of your panties. He toyed with the waistband of your panties, pulling at the stretchy fabric until he let it snap against your waist.
He pulled away, his lips warm and wet against your ear as he whispered,
“Can I?”
You bit down on your lip and nodded, gazing at him as he let his hand travel back down until it crept into your panties, never breaking eye contact even as he dipped two fingers against your soaked slit. You trembled at his touch and he smirked, cocking his head gently as he brought his fingers to his lips, tasting you on his fingers.
“She tastes so good, Pat, you gotta try,” Art said, leaning down — Patrick, dazed, lifted his head and looked up at Art with glazed-over eyes.
You watched, rendered speechless for the first time that night as Art dipped his fingers back just slightly against you again, and placed them at Patrick’s wanting lips. Patrick sucked the taste of you off Art’s fingers like it was nothing, like he’d done it before and would do it a thousand times more. The sight of him, lifting his head up to meet Art’s fingers, made you stir above him.
“Fuck, she’s perfect,” Patrick practically moaned, his lips hovering at Art’s fingers. He wasn’t even looking at you, still holding Art’s gaze as he dipped his hand into your panties and prodded at your slit, the pad of his finger tapping against all the arousal that’s gathered there, making wet sounds like fat raindrops collecting in a puddle. “She’s so wet already, shit.” He held Art’s gaze for a moment longer before he turned to you.
“Can we taste you?” Art asked, his voice soft and lilted.
You lifted yourself off of Patrick’s lap and kneeled between the two of them, taking their shirts off one by one. Art went to take off his cap, You embraced Art in a kiss first, then Patrick, until it was lost on you which was which— it was all a blur, mouths sloppily entangled and meeting in the middle, kissing each other all at once and you were certain Art and Patrick’s lips met more than a few times. Somewhere in the middle, they had pushed you back against the mattress. You whined as their lips suctioned against your body, down down down until they stopped between your thighs.
You couldn’t see whose lips were on you first, but you were sure it was Patrick, the way he dove right in without hesitation and started sucking expertly at your clit. You cried out, your back arching slightly off the bed at the sudden jolt of pleasure from the contact. You saw Patrick’s tuft of black curls right in between your thighs, and Art’s golden-orange locks just beside him, placing chaste kisses on your inner thighs, his hand massaging the plush skin there too.
Patrick moaned from in between your legs, sending vibrations through your core and up your chest. You relaxed into his touch, pushing his head in and burying your fingers in his curls. He made sure to drag his tongue along every inch of you, pointing it into your slit and thrusting it into you, and flattening his whole tongue against you as he gave kitten licks to your pussy.
His grecian nose poked deliciously against your clit and he used it to his advantage, bobbing his head up and down each time you moaned at the point of contact. He sucked your clit gently with his lips, toyed at your slit with his finger and glanced up at you to gauge your reaction. The moan that fell from your lips as you locked eyes with him from between your legs was almost pornographic, and enough for him to slide one thick finger inside of you.
You were writhing above him and Art, moaning ever so softly. Your tits were splayed perfectly against your chest and your face was constantly contorted in the sweetest expressions. They’d both imagined you like this, mouth open and eyes rolling back into your head, trapped in bliss. Then another finger, fucking into you deep and slow as he continued lapping up all your arousal, all while Art kissed your thighs with increasing hunger, his once soft kisses becoming wet and crazed.
“Fuck,” Patrick pulled away, his mouth and chin glistening wet with spit and your arousal. “Art, taste her pussy. Want you to feel what I did to her.”
Art whimpered and assumed position immediately.
“Wait,” you said, shifting and turning yourself around so you were on your knees, your pussy pulsing right in front of Art’s face while Patrick pulled down his shorts and boxers, wrapping a hand around his shaft and starting to tug slowly, groaning under his breath. Meanwhile, Art’s eyebrows rose up so far he thought they’d get stuck there, his mouth dropping slightly at the sight of your pussy throbbing around nothing, your folds dripping with a mixture of your own arousal and Patrick’s spit.
You placed your head on the pillow, craning your neck to look back at the two boys. You liked the juxtaposition that was happening — the two of them in full control of your pleasure, while you were granting them the only thing they’d been thinking of for weeks now.
“Oh fuck,” Art whispered to himself, and Patrick chuckled darkly, squeezing the base of his cock.
You wouldn’t admit it, but their faces in this moment were seared in your mind permanently – Art’s gaze of pure amazement, and Patrick’s wicked smirk snaking across his entire face, glaring down at your pussy. It was enough to make a shiver run down your spine, how readily they consumed you — the feeling of being wanted wasn’t new to you, but with them, it was just… different.
“Her pussy looks so pretty after it’s been ate, doesn’t it?” Patrick noted to Art, who nodded with a broken whimper before shoving his face into your pussy, his button nose dancing against your clit as he put his tongue to work.
“Fuck,” you moaned, your head dropping down against the pillow. Art might have been gentler, but that did not mean worse by any means.
If anything, he was passionate, noting every slight movement and sound you made and following in your stead. His tongue lappd against your clit, pleasure climbing up your spine. The new angle had you struggling to keep your legs up, but Patrick was sure to keep you in check.
“This is what you wanted right?” he proclaimed, one hand on your thigh to hold you steady, the other still stroking his cock, a bit faster now. A guttural moan surged from your throat as you nodded weakly. “Yeah? So take it. Take Art’s tongue in your pussy, fuck.”
Patrick looked down, his mouth hanging open as he watched the way Art slurped away. He detached his lips only to slide a finger in, kissing you gently as he fucked his finger into you, slow and deep and relishing the way you stretched over his finger.
“So fucking warm,” he muttered, talking to your pussy like you and him were the only two in the room. He slipped another finger inside you, which made you cry out, pussy throbbing around his fingers. “There you go, squeeze my fingers.”
“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, delirious. Art was rutting against the bed now, chasing his high along with you, and Patrick’s hand was working overtime on his cock, spreaidng the precum leaking from his tip along the shaft. His hand reached up to smack your ass, groaning at the way it reveberated beneath his touch.
“You’re so fucking hot, oh my god.”
Inadvertently, you started to catch the rhythm of Art’s fingers, throwing your hips back against his fingers and his face. The sight of your ass practically covering Art’s face was almost too much for Patrick to handle — he actually glanced away for a second, hoping he could hold off on his swift-approaching orgasm.
“Yeah, fuck back onto my face, I want you to use me,” Art moaned, muffled by your thighs wrapped around his head.
You weren’t sure when it all happened, you just knew that you were moaning both their names as you’re sent over the edge, Patrick and Art deftly following — Patrick in his hands, Art in his jeans, hips stuttering against the bed. You squeezed around Art's fingers as you dripped down onto the bed, soaking Art's tongue and chin. It took a while for all of you to gain some semblance of reality, pushing past the haze of pleasure and smoke and bitter alcohol that you were floating in.
“Did you come in your jeans?” Patrick’s voice cut through the foggy silence, and Art slapped his chest.
“Shut up, look what you did to the sheets.”
You were lying on your back, gazing up at the two boys with a sated grin, resting your hands on your stomach.
“Aren’t you glad we found you?” Patrick teased.
You didn’t have to answer, he already knew.
i think i’m gonna have a part two for this you guys have no idea how much i was debating whether or not they should fuck in this but i feel like reader is the type to make them wait… plus it would've actually been a novel if i added that and i wanted to get this out cuz i don't wanna keep y'all waiting!! so when they fuck they'll fuck NYASTY.
#challengers#x black reader#x reader#challengers fic#challengers smut#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x black reader#patrick zweig smut#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson x black reader#art donaldson#artick#artrick x reader#artrick x black reader#art donaldson smut
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