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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 5 months ago

Text

— i’m in love with a dying man

rating: mature. or explicit? i’m not sure. angsty study on grief in unconventional forms. (mild) smut purely for poetic reasons

word count: 4,1k

pairing: viktor x gn!reader

cw: terminal illness. several mentions of death. everyone is horny in a heartbroken way, so grab a napkin—but not for the reasons you think. and yes, you may dox me for making you even sadder after whatever happened in ep 6.

—

He licks a tear off your cheek, and it seeps in between the bumps on his tongue, all prickly salt running down your face in two glossy trails of sorrow. Stinging, when his calloused thumb swipes over a puffy eyelid, only to inevitably fall to your lip and tug, nudging your mouth agape. His desperate grip softens when you oblige and arch, letting him grunt over the slope of your throat; wheezier than you remember, raw, rhotic and ravenous. The hard shift of his lungs is palpable under your hand, ruckling heavily in his sternum. It almost breaks down to a cough when he cants his hips into you, slanting one last slow, weak slam. Spilling all his pent-up frustration deep inside you through that bitter orgasm, leaving a clumsy mess of stickiness to dry on your inner thigh. Stilling for you to hold him through that collapse, grateful for the shaky hand that you firmly fist into his hair. Not receding until at least a few kisses are strewn upon your shoulder.

It’s always like this now. Viktor clings to you, and you cling to him, nails digging into handfuls of him hard enough to draw blood, each embrace so tight your ribs might just break if he doesn’t retreat in time. And god does he wish to let it linger, to drag it out until eternity tumbles in—even if his eternity is reduced to a question of mere months at best, even if he must crawl out of a casket to have your touch back.

The night you almost lost him still has you in shambles. You remember it all too well—hell, it’s almost like that acute smell of hospitals and doom still coats his skin, more slimline than it ever was, its once ivory shade fading to chalk-like disaster. The utter horror of crushing verdicts, endless heaps of bloodied handkerchiefs and palms so cold that even the heat of your breath fails to make the feeling of him any less chilling.

The dark humor of sneaky death: she’s right around the corner, the cruelest of all mistresses. Ready to snatch him away whenever your fingers ghost over his spine, stroking a languid count over each prominent vertebrae. And no matter how tight you curl up beside him, she will supplant you, and her proximity can’t be measured in miles, feet, or inches. Because death is a termite—she gnaws at his very heart. And blooms metastases everywhere you still have him. She’s inside him. She’s merged with him into one.

At first, you denied it. Knuckles drummed against the wall in a frustrated fistfight, painting that scabrous canvas bright with your frustration. White and crimson—the speckled pattern of your hysteria. You recall how bad it stung, and how shame creeped up your spine—frightening and so, so sticky. Throttling, when he tended to that self-inflicted disaster, bandaging your smashed hand in motions sick to the core with gentleness.

And it felt so ugly. Like you’ve grown to loathe everything around you: the doctors, for their disgusting prognosis; life itself, for being hardly fair. And even Viktor. Especially him—for slowly slipping out of your pale-knuckled grip. Well, red-knuckled, more like. That angry stunt did cost you a decent injury. White and crimson, remember?

Naturally, grief doesn’t always progress by the book. However, denial always comes first. It’s an axiom, an invariable component, and you’re sitting on Viktor’s hospital cot, hand in trembling hand, eyes snapped wide and ferocious. Wrapped up in fear while the silence rings in your ears.

His doctor addresses the quandary. It doesn’t feel vicious—at least, not yet. Flimsy, more like. Deceptive, too. Like if you just blink it away hard enough everything will snap right in place, and you’ll find yourself at home again—where that aseptic smell of medication can’t reach either of you.

Well, of course, there’s always a possibility of postponing the inevitable. Winning over a year or, even, two—if Viktor’s lucky enough, that is. But you both know that he’s lacking in that department.

And yet, you grab your little hope by the throat: to look into later, when your comprehension is intact again. Surely, it’s just not plausible: so what if Viktor’s cough pulls you out of sleep every night, so what if every shirt he owns has tiny blood stains on it? Yes, he spends more time in bed than he does at the lab. He’s simply tired. He needs the rest. Not in peace.

The retraction doesn’t linger, though. It survives a few more blood tests and a lengthy, dreadful discussion of his calamity—most strikingly frightening when the doctor talks him through each option. And not a single one manages to appease you. To stop your fury from retching out and causing an ugly scene.

So you fling the door to his room ajar and leap inside with a bitter scowl, teeth gritting hard enough to crumble into powder. Arms a tight crisscross over your chest, step wide and listless—punctuated with a muffled clack of heels. Viktor’s eyes follow your tremulous circles—a lazy, sheenless flick of pupils, each widened into a bleak void from the rancid dose of painkillers. He lays supine, with his hair ineptly slicked back, umber waves awry, loose and sweat-damp. He’s almost mellow, tongue barely a glide over his chapped bottom lip—a martyr-like stiffness, the carrion of a man.

But you don’t look at him. You pace, and pace, and pace—in that same tiring route, all around his creaky cot. Viktor rasps something indistinct—a muffled plea that tickles the back of his throat, rupturing yet another coughing fit. You silently hand him the speckled handkerchief.

He looks up, eyes the saddest shade of buckwheat honey—dark with remorse; seeking comfort. But you don’t have any to give. You stare past him, gnawing at your tongue hard enough to draw fleshy copper. Dodging the kiss he tries to press to your wrist—pulling yourself back and out of his loving grip, igniting a staring competition full of glassy eye-daggering. Blink slow and borderline drowsy.

“Milackú,” he pleads. Pulls at the corner of his mouth to wipe the bloody evidence of his withering.

Your tear catches in your bottom lashes.

“Milackú,” he rasps again, kicking the blanket aside. Stepping one bare foot on the cool tiles and reaching for you: arms, legs, and heart—all yours for the taking. If only you consider crawling under his minty sheets again.

You don’t.

“Why?” It’s so meek you barely recognize it as your own. Taut throat tightens even more, and, suddenly, you’re choking on a gasp. “Why did you turn down the treatment?”

“Please, if you could just—“ He husks, but you can’t hear him through the ringing in your ears; the room already smudged into wattery, astigmatic lumps, Viktor’s face but a bunch of fuzzy dots you’re struggling to make out. All missing jigsaws, blurry little fractions.

“What did I ever do to you?” You yell, shielding your eyes. Turning away from the arm he extends, his weak fist clenching to grab thin air, then tumbling as he stares at his palm in sheer dubiety, upper lip trembling.

He winces. Ceases you by the hand and tugs as hard as it gets—frail enough for you to easily nudge him away—but you don’t bother this time. Your knees ungainly bend into shaky arcs, drifting apart when he clasps around you and pulls until you finally land on the sheets next to him, your tears mingling with his cold sweat—a salty fusion of mutual suffering.

Then comes a sequence of guttural, squealing whines and you stay twined with him for a while. Lithe fingers run through your hair, spreading to untangle an occasional knotted strand—up, and down, and over your shoulder in a caress. His lips purse on your temple, sucking an indistinct kiss. His heartbeat trails off under your fingertips the second you rake them over his thin hospital gown, growing frenetic again when you tug at the fabric, demanding closure.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me.” You exhale your choked up entreaty into his neck and it pours over his skin in a rigid breath, aftertasting of stinging desperation. His hand seeks your face, taking a forcefully gentle hold of one puffy cheek, drinking in your unsightly, woebegone rebuke. Looking at you like a repentant devotee, his timid eyes meeting your fierce ones.

“This is not about you,” he wheezes, too stern for your liking. Presses his forehead against yours and holds you through yet another shudder—and there’s no avoiding his pleading stare. “I’m not trying to get away from you. I merely want to escape my conundrum.”

“These aren’t mutually exclusive, Viktor,” you hiss, voice simmering with betrayal.

“Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?! Is that all you have for me right now?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He sighs like he means it. His words keep slipping away from him, drowned in coughs and ambiguous humms. You get it, though. Your semantics became sparse the minute Viktor almost died in your arms.

You melt into one-another in a teary, sniffling twine—simply breathing, trading tense silences. His stately stance collapses into a lifeless hunch, straightening a bit only when your fingers billow over his shoulder-blades—chiseled like ones of a famished dog. There are plenty of dog-like things about him now—the pleas lodged in his glances, the newfound hunger for your touch. Especially for the way you’re holding him; every embrace like a loving headlock—and the pressure soothes him.

“I’m tired of taking risks,” he finally whispers against your temple. “All these… labored efforts for mere fractions of peace. Decaying steadily. Constantly hurting. I’m spent.”

“Exactly. Which is why you need the treatment.”

His lashes shudder against your cheek in a prickly tickle. They keep fluttering when he recedes, shaking his head with a bitter frown.

“But its success is… highly improbable.”

“Yes, but there’s still hope—“

“It’s running thin as we speak. I shouldn’t squander it on… the imminent.”

Viktor’s irksome choice of words had you springing backwards in glossy-eyed delirium. Staring in disbelief as if he’d requested something inexorable: which he did, inherently so.

He curses when tears slice your face again—tends to them with the softness of a man most contrite of his omission, shaky hands already catching holds of your waist, using your temporary pliancy to swiftly nudge you into his cot. Curling up close enough to have your weeps reverberate in his sternum.

“I’m sorry,” he repents with a deep rasp. “Please, don’t cry.”

He held you in reticence again: this time horizontally. Offered you every solace his body could provide: your fingers in his hair, fumbling mindlessly (he put them there himself). Tangled legs. Apologetic neck-kisses. His head heavy on your shoulder, its weight a welcome tranquility. And only when your last tear soaks his pillow does he commence with his explanation.

“I don’t want to spend what little time I have left miserable,” he tells you, drawing a breath. “Yes, the treatment might win me a year—a year I would spend bedridden, nauseous, and weary. A travesty of life. An illusive salvation. I’ve had enough of those.”

Your hand stills in his hair, nestled within unkempt strands. You’ve run out of tears, so this bitter truth is met with nothing but a piteous sigh—the only thing you can still master after crying your heart out into his skin. Now you can only stare at the ceiling, chewing on your cheek in cruel denial.

He’s right. He always is.

Viktor sees the shift in your face—knits his eyebrows together in tender pity, tucking himself firmly against your face. Wincing, when he feels the aching tension in your temple.

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. Too much, even.” He’s sincere when he says that, and you can sense the gratitude in his voice—for even allowing him to utter this excruciating of a thing, for attempting to understand.

You simply nod. Yes. It is a lot. But you want to hear everything he has to say.

So Viktor continues.

“I would hate for your last memories of me to be tainted with despair and hospitals only for all the struggle to go to waste when I inevitably pass away. I have no desire to postpone this torture at the expense of growing indifferent towards everything that makes me feel alive.”

“But what if we manage to cure you?!”

“That’s too much of a ‘what if’ to risk dying a grim death for. I want to die…content. I want to enjoy myself before I do. Please. Don’t take that choice away from me.”

His eyes brim at you with every ounce of guilt he possesses, big tears wallowing in his eyes like an earnest plea—tacit, weary, earnest. Yes, it’s not like you have a word in his terrific decision, but Viktor wants your blessing. It’s only right that he includes you. Even if he’s intending to refuse the treatment regardless. As absurd a bid as that is.

You clasp his face like it’s about to vanish. Like you won’t be able to make it out when he’s gone if you fail to remember it right this instant, your gaze frantically jumping from one feature to another, seeking to embroider the image into your very eyeballs. Roaming over the artifically-white hospital light hallowing every streak of his hair. Indulging in a bittersweet smile when you note how prettily it spills over the pillow. Lingering on the patterns in his ochre irises—almost fully swallowed by his void-like pupils. Observing how they match the insomniac, mauve shades under his bottom lashes. Tracing every convex little thing—two lovely moles, thick eyebrows, the pointy mouth. Everything you’ve grown to love so dearly. Everything his illness keeps taking away from you.

You wince, cradling his cheeks, your thumbs dipping into the hollows of them gently. Urging him to scoot closer—eye to eye, lips on lips. Breath over shuddering breath.

“Are you sure?” You mouth the question on his skin, barely even uttering it. Hot pressure meanders into your head like a prickly impulse. It’s timid like motion sickness—borderline nauseating, too—all murky splashes of trippy lights under your closed eyelids. And the unease is diluted only when he finally kisses you—an approbatory, guilt-ridden thing.

He’s certain. And for that, he’s so, so sorry.

You try not to think of it, focusing on the feeling. No tongue, no teeth: just sheer tremor and so much rawness. A soft, soothing exhalation straight into your mouth like the gentlest of placebos—and yet, it works for you, slaps your pulse out of its frantic antics, and the stiffness slowly leaves your limbs under his touch.

When it’s over, he winces at you in that sleepy, adoring way of his. Attempts a wry, sad smile. The cold light besieges his head into an even clearer halo—a foreshadowing of what is to come, an inconspicuous little thing. But everything about him is conspicuous to you. Loving Viktor has made you wary, and you wanted to hold onto that attention to the detail before it eventually slips away alongside him.

“Are you sure?” You repeat, tightening the inadvertent chokehold around his neck. The grip weakens only when he pulls away to clumsily clear his throat.

“Yes.” And you know he means it when his face turns just as solemn as when he confesses his love to you.

“I’ve had a nice life with you,” he adds, hoarsely. “I want it to feel nice when my time comes, too—whenever that might be. Sooner than later, I presume.”

The figurative knife in your stomach twists anticlockwise.

“Will you stay with me?” He dares to inquire. Meek, shaky hope tingling in his throat. “For however many months I have left?”

And when you look up at him with a hurt frown, he’s reminded not to ask you rhetorical questions.

—

A few days later, Viktor is discharged from the hospital and insists that you both go back to normal. Well, to the new, tainted definition of it—where one spoiled napkin less is considered an ephemeral improvement and grief is a fixed variable by your side.

Your slow-paced, quiet life that keeps turning even more timid in a frail attempt to savor what’s left of it. Faux preservation, but he allows it—savors it just as earnestly as you do, and your weeks weave into a darling, familiar routine. With some minor, necessary changes, no less: rest comes before the lab now, all deadlines fashionably late to accommodate this newfound tempo. Mandatory hourly breaks. Weekly check-ups. Four days off for every three he spends bent over the parchment. But this time, he doesn’t protest. His body demands it, inconveniently so.

You don’t tell anyone about your horrific arrangement—not yet, at the very least. It’s all you can think about, and the words threaten to slide out every time you speak—but you’re forced to swallow them with a smile so lopsided that everyone around you can only suspect the worst. A mantra of countless ‘What’s wrong’s irritating your ears with pure sincerity.

What is wrong with you, indeed? You’re a spectator to death—not just any death, but the one you dreaded most. And not only are you witnessing it in the making, but this decision was never forced—you handed Viktor the choice and accepted whatever he went with so obediently that it felt absurd, and it had your skin crawling every time someone vaguely mentioned anything even remotely related to his condition.

But they—whoever that refers to—could never get it. They wouldn’t know what it’s like: to be stripped of your selfishness for the sake of Viktor’s peace. Defying your needs. Forcing yourself to find relief in demise. You might’ve failed to intimidate her into allowing you to keep him, but you could still accompany him into her arms and make it glorious. Here it is. Your new, appalling reason. It’s all that you want now.

Or is it?

There’s plenty of nobility in being his chaperone—welcoming him into bed every night, painfully aware that it can become his death one. Treating every new invention of his like a soon-to-be postmortem legacy. Mourning the living. Anticipating the inexplicable. Marking every shared kiss the last, just in case.

But then it came—unabashed and sudden. That blurry line where mourning merges into something dubious, a confusing paradox that leaves you full of filthy carry-over somewhere within your gut. The scorch his lips engrave into the column of your neck. The way it ignites a swell you can almost convince yourself is actually tangible, running your fingers over it recursively like a tactile little prayer. The gaze he throws at you across the lab ever so sneakily—a figurative punch that feels surprisingly close to a kiss. And you never resist turning it into one. Escalating. Claiming. Indulging those ambiguous, yet-to-be-defined things and having them wash over the remnants of your decorum.

You try to fight it when it first happens, but it doesn’t last. There’s no place for restraint in grief—not when it turns into a beautiful desire to be all over him, to take everything life has to offer before he runs out of it. And Viktor doesn’t judge you. He encourages it. He craves it, just as bad—if not more—than you do. How many more undoings can he claim before the final one absorbs him? You’ve already lost that count. So much for having your love bleed on every inch of his skin.

Tonight you let it bleed mouth to mouth—a sweaty, heartfelt thing that commemorates your hunger for him in a kiss so dizzying that he has to lean back with a silent, breathless plea for brief interlude—foggy eyes staring up at you so devotedly. Shuddering, when your arms wander over his chest to feel the rasp, pointed lips bruised full of spit-slick swell. He’s a beauty—exquisite, albeit worn-down, his lines and angles blurring together into one eager, contourless essence, and you cage him in a firm straddle—your bare thighs over his clothed ones—grinding in a whiny attempt to reach him through his pants.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, leaning back to let him breathe. He’s sprawled out beneath you, tortuous hands already busy with tugging his tie off—impatient, clumsily nervous. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” you say at last, averting your gaze almost shyly. His fingers lurch to your hip, locking it in a gentle cradle, stilling above your backside in hesitation—asking for a laze caress, pushing your flimsy limits. As if forgetting that you never set those for him. Or, perhaps, he simply likes hearing your excited ‘yes’ every time. You can’t quite figure out which it is.

He grabs a handful of you with reverence, and yet there’s something resilient about that grip—like he dreads that you might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on possessively enough, staring up at you with his head thrown back in a curious, admiring droop. Aiming to dispose of your shirt in a nimble pull. Plotting a sequence of kisses from neck to collarbone.

You expect it when he rises on his elbows, then grips the bedframe to shift beneath you in a silly leap. Inelegant, but he couldn’t care less, releasing his hips from the hedge of your legs to make you slide up his crotch instead—a most welcome, brusque change that you adapt to in a squealing instant. Your moaning mouth agape under his grin. His hips thrusting through restraining fabric. Shaky. Erotic. With your arms tumbling astride his shoulders.

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor insists in a lulling whisper, switching to a cautionary nip on your ear. “I’ve missed you, too,” he confesses somewhere into your hair, brushing through it with a tip of his nose—breathing you in through a tender whiff.

Your words get lost in a deep fluster, rolling back into your throat and lingering there in a suffocating lump. They have you stiffening, heavy eyelids squeezing shut—a voluntarily blindfold to help you explore him through touch only. An invitation to feel you where he pleases. And, well—it just so happens that your whims align with his—a cohesive, welcome collateral.

Viktor starts at the slope of your shoulder. Pulls the shirt down and traces that lovely curve—fingers first. Throws a brief, askance glance at your face to make sure that your eyes are closed, and, when met with the flutter of your lashes, gets back to his lovely tease. Tender, warm lips taste your skin with delicious, savoring sounds. Getting wetter when his tongue makes a fickle appearance—leaves a slick, capricious lick in the dip of your collarbone, fluffy hair tickling your face when he bends to tend to your chest, too—and you shiver as he sucks a plum love-stain that you’ll proudly wear under your shirts.

“See,” he cooes. “Whatever gets into you must be contagious.”

You give in to a half-lidded peek and find him begging for your assistance—a sweet request that you understand in half-nod. Arms up in the air and over your clouded head when he unleashes your skin from the thin garment—throws it on the floor for you to find later in the morning.

“But it feels wrong.” You sigh. “Ever since we found out…”

“I’d rather you quit talking about that in bed, please,” Viktor reproaches, eyes heady with want. His fingers slide into your underwear, contemplating its fate—should he make it join your shirt or pull it to the side in hasty fashion? Either approach had him shivering at the thought.

But the sudden sorrow stops the rush, rendering your urge for consolation. It wraps you around him all over again, legs locking in a tangle around his waist, drooping hands combing through his hair in a brusque, fervent tug. Seeking succor. Heart to heart and thumping an anxious march.

“I’m afraid,” you admit, but it’s not a revelation. All shuddering shoulders under his idolatrous caress, and you pang with guilt at that, too—it’s you who should be fondling him this delicately, warm reassurance seeping into his ears—not yours. But Viktor wants to be your comfort. If anything, it’s the only thing on his mind.

“What are you afraid of, beloved?” A little shiver at the unforeign endearment—a rare occasion. His thick brows still drawn together in a concerned arc. They relax only when you rake your fingers down his body—counting ribs, toying anxiously. The hurry is gone, there’s only caution now: his enamored eyes, waiting for you to find your slippery words.

“Of losing you before I get to show you how much I love you.” You whisper, suddenly tasting teary salt in your mouth. His thumb comes to the rescue, swiftly flicking the wet trails. So you chuckle at the affection in a silly stagger to bump sweaty foreheads together.

“Nonsense,” he insists. “You’re showing me right now.”

“Indeed.” You shrug. “But… Is this the right way?”

And when he puts your palm over his eager heartbeat, you’re reminded not to ask him rhetorical questions.

—

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @nausicaaandhermouth @thehistoriangirl @vyshnevska

#viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #arcane season 2 #viktor x reader #arcane season two spoilers #viktor angst #viktor smut #viktor x reader smut #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x f!reader #viktor x m!reader #viktor x any reader really #not specified AT ALL #wrote this in severe writers block so please be nice to me #im serious ill cry #arcane fanfic #arcane angst #viktor arcane angst

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ptergwen · 3 months ago

Note

im not sure if you’ll see this😭 but can i have reader being like maddy from euphoria, confident, bad bitch, short skirts and she’s dating peter and they have this secret relationship cuz shes popular and hes not so they both go to a party and makes out in the restroom and comes out together and then flash is making fun of them and then she just kisses peter right in front of everyone (im so srry this is long but i hope u see this

out of sight, on his mind ‎♡‧₊˚

ask box | taglist | blurb masterlist | main masterlist

w/c: ?

warnings: making out, suggestiveness, drinking, like one swear

a/n: oh i looooved this idea thank you very much for your service babes :D also don't forget to join my new taglist y'all i only got a couple of you so far & happy reading!

you down a shooter, gagging at the bitter taste of the alcohol. you giggle and stick the tiny bottle in your bra. you're dancing with a group of your friends. one of them takes your hand, the two of you moving to the beat of the music. peter watches you from across the room with the hint of a smile.

he wouldn't typically spend his friday night in the corner of a packed houseparty nursing a cup of jungle juice, but ned insisted they go. his best friend is determined they both up their social statuses this year. they're not too popular at midtown, with the exception of the academic decathlon team.

if people only knew peter was dating one of the most popular girls in school; you.

it was peter's idea to keep your relationship secret. you'd wanted to show him off, but he's too shy. you're always the center of attention, and peter parker doesn't do well with attention. he'd much rather admire you with everyone else in public and be yours in private.

"come on, peter! it's a party! shouldn't we be, like, dancing or something?"

"i don't know, ned. just... drink your juice."

ned takes a generous swig of his drink and cringes. peter chuckles, sipping from his cup.

"what's in jungle juice anyway?"

"um, everything i think. you might blackout if you have too much."

"dude, that's the goal."

you catch peter's eye again. you're holding your friend's arm that's wrapped around your shoulders, hips swaying. you shout along to the music with the rest of the girls in your group. you look so carefree, and so damn good.

the pink, strapless dress you're wearing is hugging your body in all the right places. your hair is styled to perfection, tiny gems dotted along your eyelids. your look is complete with a pair of knee high boots. peter loves your style. there's no way to describe it other than that it's you, who peter adores an insane amount. he wishes he could be as bold as you are.

peter's phone vibrates in his pocket; it's a text from you.

are u watching me?

before he even answers, you send another.

come to the bathroom

peter briefly locks eyes with you. you give him a mischievous smile before slipping away, making some excuse to your friends. he bites his lip to suppress his own grin.

"hey, ned? how about i go get us some refills?"

"bet! i’m gonna dance."

ned hands peter his cup and claps him on the shoulder, disappearing into the crowd. instead of refilling their drinks, peter makes his way to the bathroom. there's a few people waiting in line. knowing you, you've already claimed it from them. he knocks at the door. a hand reaches out and grabs at peter's flannel, pulling him inside.

"hi, baby."

your glossy lips capture peter's in a kiss. he instantly leans into it, but you pull back much to his dismay. his big brown eyes go even bigger.

"woah... hi."

you laugh softly.

"miss me?"

"seems like you missed me too."

"maybe."

you run a hand through peter's hair. his hands settle on your hips.

"sorry for watching you, couldn't help it. you look so pretty tonight."

"i always look pretty."

your tone is playful, but peter knows you mean it, and he couldn't agree more.

"whatcha been up to? you having fun?"

your manicured nails scratch lightly at peter's scalp. he practically purrs at the feeling.

"mm, just been hanging with ned. i don't really know anybody else."

"you know me."

"but you're with your friends."

"so?"

"so... you know i’m shy, princess."

you giggle.

"it's just 'cause you're not drunk enough, baby."

"oh yeah?"

peter's thumbs run up and down your sides, face only inches from yours. you retrieve the shooter from your bra. there's still at least half a shot left.

"open."

peter does as you say and opens his mouth. you take his chin between your fingers and tilt his head back, pouring the rest of the strong, sweet liquid down his throat. he swallows. you toss the bottle aside. peter gives you a look, one that says kiss me. you shake your head, smirking.

you want him to kiss you.

peter's lips smash into yours. his eagerness makes you giggle into the kiss. you grip the collar of his shirt in both hands, lips moving slowly against each other's. peter backs you against the door.

"did i already tell you how pretty you look?"

"mhm, but not enough."

"you're right. you're so pretty."

peter kisses down your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume. you guide his lips back up to yours.

"you are too, y'know."

you peck peter's lips softly, letting your lips linger over his after, eyes searching his. they twinkle. you mesmerize him, truly mesmerize him. you kiss an awe-struck peter properly this time. he holds your waist, head tilted to deepen the kiss.

your make out session is rudely interrupted by someone knocking on the door.

"yeah, one second!" you answer. "let's get out of here."

peter groans and buries his face in your neck.

"but i don't want to. wanna keep kissing you."

"not here, baby."

"why not?"

he leaves more kisses on your neck. you coax peter away, laughing, his arms still wrapped tight around you.

"the line. wanna find somewhere else?"

peter perks up at that.

"okay, let's go."

you lead peter out of the bathroom. he follows, hand in yours. even though no one seems to pay any mind to the fact that you were in the bathroom together, peter can't help but blush. he doesn't make it out unscathed, though; none other than flash thompson notices him.

"penis parker, is that you?"

you stop walking, eyeing flash over your shoulder. peter lets out an exasperated sigh.

"what's up, flash?"

"you are."

peter looks down to see an obvious bulge in his jeans. his cheeks burn hotter, hand leaving yours to readjust himself. a few people turn around to look.

"y/n's a big step up from your imaginary girlfriend. where'd you say she was from again, canada?"

you narrow your eyes at flash, a hand wrapping around peter's bicep.

"do you know him?"

"yeah, we're... friends. sort of. we do academic decathlon together."

your gaze shifts to peter.

"friends?"

"oh yeah, we go way back. any friend of parker's is a friend of mine."

flash smirks at you. you look him up and down, face scrunched in disgust.

"ew."

more people are starting to watch the exchange. you glare at flash, who holds your gaze knowingly. peter can tell you're about to go into protective girlfriend mode. he squeezes your hand that's on his arm.

"anyways, just wanted to congratulate you on your first baddie," flash tells him. "try not to fumble."

before peter can process what's happening, your lips are on his, hands cupping his cheeks to keep him in place. maybe it's just because he's tipsy, but peter actually finds himself having the courage to kiss you back in front of everyone. you smile at this. he holds you by your waist, letting himself enjoy the kiss for a while longer.

peter's lips are puffy and covered in your gloss when you two pull apart. he draws you in closer to himself, giving you one more short kiss, then another. the two of you earn whistles and chatter from everyone watching. you giggle, thumbs caressing peter's cheeks and gaze meeting his.

there's something in his eyes that you haven't seen before; confidence. he might be shy, but not when it comes to you. not anymore.

you look over at flash smugly, his mouth dropped open.

"he won't."

tags (join my new taglist!)

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee

#peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker writing #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction

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militaryapple · 27 days ago

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nsfw drabble — caleb who’s in a band and he can’t help but stare at you and that pretty little outfit you put on for his concert his hands strumming his electric guitar, listening to the beat of the song while he wished he was listening to the beat of your moans.

not being able to take his eyes off you, how you cheered extra loudly for him. he knows he shouldn’t take his fans seriously relationship wise or anything — let alone sleep with them but you looked pretty, you seemed sweet and fuck your body was divine.

he couldn’t help moving closer to you onstage, looking down. enough to make you know he was looking at you but enough to make the other fangirls not raise suspicions. god you looked better upfront.

he wondered if you begged, or if you were the shy type. maybe you’d wrap your pretty little hands over his throbbing cock, your eyes looking up at him glossy. your lips pretty and plump — maybe you’d take him slow or maybe you’d let him grab your head and slam his hips right in your little mouth, choking on it almost.

fuck, would you look so pretty taking him. your whines probably sound so fucking sweet, saying how much you love him, how sexy he looked on stage, or how you wished for this as much as he did. you’d probably let him cum inside, oh how he wish you would. he’d fill you up real nice, stuffing you whole.

snapping back, he looked right at you, and there you were batting your pretty little eyelids at him. fuck, he was hard and it was all your fault. how were you going to make this go away?

well, it was fine. he’d just have to have a little meet-and-greet session with you after the concert.

#�� militaryapple #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x you #lads caleb #caleb #lnds caleb #lads x reader #caleb x reader smut #caleb i miss u #he’d be such a sexy guitarist #caleb love and deepspace smut #lnds caleb smut #lads drabble #caleb drabbles #gonna make a fic outta this icl

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gloomunson · 1 month ago

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The Set Up

Yeah, took me 11 months to post again, mind your business.

Smut bc of course it is. You and Eddie get set up on a blind date.

Word Count: 9847

You’d only really been told a few minor details about your date this evening.

He’s tall.

He’s loyal.

He’s easy-going.

He’s a lead singer in a band.

He’s tall.

Unsurprisingly, you were desperate enough to accept the date regardless of the brief description. He’d certainly matched some of it this far. He was tall all right. Towered over you in the brief moment he walked over to the table you’d already been seated at near the bar. He was pretty too. He was prettier than a bride on her wedding day. His lashes long and fluttering, lips full and glossy, eyelids glimmering with what looked like the remnants of eyeshadow that he must have second guessed and wiped off before he arrived. He had the hair of a rockstar, long, dirty, curly, windswept and effortlessly styled, though it must have taken him years of practice in his bathroom mirror to achieve that look, you were thankful he’d taken the time.

A few decent looking guys rolled through the bar during your wait. Some tall, some short, some certainly rockstar adjacent, none of them would quite have made the same impact as he had. But at least they’d arrived more closely to the meeting time set. He arrived 36 minutes late. You tend to be pedantic like that when you’re anxious. You thought about going home. You thought about drinking alone. You thought about chatting to one of the other guys lingering around too, but then he arrived.

He arrived strolling in like he owned the place, and you’d forgiven him at first. The leather jacket and the ring clad fingers taking away some of the pain of both his lateness and then the initial first date awkwardness. The apology wasn’t half bad either, he looked genuinely embarrassed and he looked at you with those wet brown eyes if his, the slightest glimmer of glitter at his lash line and you’d somewhat succumb to his efforts. But 30 more minutes into it with a maximum of 8 sentences said between the two of you, you couldn’t fucking fathom how this man had lead a band or gotten anywhere so far in life. He had nothing to say. He had the personality of a plank of wood. If the cocktails didn’t kick in soon, it was a wasted journey. You were rooting for him too.

You’d been trying. Small talk was exhausting but you’d at least attempted to cover the bases. You knew he was late because he got the train tonight. That he’d somehow at 28 years old never gotten one before. That he didn’t quite understand the correct platforms, scrambling and missing the first train of his. That he should have looked it up beforehand. The only reason tonight was the night he lost his public transport virginity was because his friends had warned him to leave his ‘shitty’ van at home. You guessed that meant he either had poor taste in vehicles or poor hygiene in the maintenance of one. Perhaps even both which was also pretty dire and preventative of things escalating between you.

You also knew that he’d admittedly not been on a ‘real date’ for quite some time. Probably because in peak musician fashion, he’d tended to have more flings and hook ups either before, after or hell, maybe even during a show. You’d also spotted the giant hickey on his neck to further assist that theory, not so much the location but confirmation that he’d not been one to shy away from casual sex, neither should he. But it was quite amusing that he’d attempted to conceal it for the sake of this date. Unfortunately for him, the shade was warmer than his skin tone, you’d spotted it pretty early on. He’d also nervously rubbed off a large portion of it. It’s a wonder he’d bothered to hide it and go on a date at all, he clearly didn’t need the set up.

The only saving grace during the awkward silences was the tapping of his fingers against the sticky high table. His hands were pretty. Fingers long and slender, precisely beating a rhythm into the wood that had so thoroughly not been deserving of it. His pale skin almost translucent enough that the bluey green veins pumping and pulsing beneath his skin were practically begging for your attention and they’d caught it. If there was nothing else coming from tonight, you at least needed to consider the attention those digits could provide in the backseat of your car that you actually had bought with you. Shit. Maybe that was the rockstars effect right there. Those damn fingers.

Suddenly the motion had ceased, his fingers retreating from the table, instead wiggling around in the air in a peculiar manor. He’d caught you. “My eyes are up here sweetheart.” You followed his fingers all the way up to the upturned smirk on his lips. He gestured to it so helpfully with his index finger too. “So, they are.” You remain calm, cold even. As if you’d not been caught drooling over him. “Must have gotten lost searching for a reason to continue this date.” He gulps, his Adam’s apple fighting for its life. He withdraws his hands, sinking them under the table to rub the nervous sweat off his palms onto his jeans instead. “That bad?”

He’s not surprised that you thought it. It was abysmal. Through no fault of your own, it was all on him. But the fact you’d had the balls to say it out loud. Though truth be told, you weren’t actually intending to. He was both aroused and mortified and it wasn’t an entirely new sensation to him. You were so far out of his league you may as well have been on another continent, planet even. He was painfully aware he had nothing about him to keep a woman like you interested. You were bubbly and smart. You were pretty. The kind of pretty that makes him want to throw himself over a puddle in the street so that you might walk all over him instead of dirtying your shoes on the ground, fuck a jacket, like in the old movies, you deserved better than a jacket. He’d tried to come up with compliments, stories, anything about his life that could be considered interesting or mildly intelligent, he came up with nothing.

He started tapping the second he broke into the library of previous conversations with his friends, hoping to steal an anecdote of theirs that he could pass as his own instead. He’d set the bar for himself so low that literally anything would have done, would have filled the gap in conversation. Like that one time his friend Jeff fell right off the stage during a set. Or that other time when the same friend Jeff got hit with pyrotechnics accidentally. He was far too slow, and you were far too lovely for him to look at. There was no chance of him successfully escaping into his own head to pluck that material out in a timely fashion when he could get lost in your glare instead. He just wanted to be in the moment with you, romantic in his head but was the romance in the room with them at the dingy bar they’d somehow both found themselves in? No, he didn’t suppose it was. He was completely fucking this up.

“It’s not great.” You admitted. You probably could have been kinder. Okay, you definitely could have been kinder, but you were so fed up with dates heading south, may as well speed up the process. He suddenly perks up. “Do you smoke?” You furrowed your brow for a moment before responding. “Like cigarettes?” You cringed that you’d even asked, of course that was what he’d meant. “Like weed.” He deadpanned. Finally, you found yourself cracking a smile for the first time that night. He finally felt he did something right for the first time that week. His friends had also warned him not to mention his affliction for pot. It’s not like the date could have gotten any worse, it seemed like the opportune time to pull that one out. “I wouldn’t say no.” You may as well get something out of this. Free weed with a hot guy was not something you were strong willed enough to pass up. If it lead to the inevitable make out session with them knee deep in the passenger seat afterwards then so be it.

“This is gonna sound really fucking presumptuous of me and I promise it’s not like that but uh, ha, I uh I have a room at the motel across the street.” You waited for him to stop mentally cursing himself for mentioning it, but it didn’t seem likely to stop soon. “You wanna smoke there?” You complete the suggestion for him. He nodded. “Figured it’d save us stinking out your car, know how hard it is to get rid of that smell.” Speaking from a literal decade of experience. “Very considerate of you.” You were already hopping from the stool you’d been sat on; he finally got a look at you in full as you made your way to the exit in front of him. He literally pinched himself.

You were unbelievable. It was a sick joke that his friends thought he’d ever have a chance with you. The only information they’d given him about you was;

She’s hot.

She’s a little blunt and direct.

She’s really funny.

She’s sweet once you get to know her.

She’s hot.

Hot didn’t even come close. The skirt cut way above the knee, your thighs thick, juicy and jiggling as you walked. Your tights an opaque black you’d assumed boring but still doing unspeakable things to him with the way they hugged you. He was about to get on his knees and crawl after you if only to get a better look at them. The fact you’d paired it off with a corset top was insane to him. A sheer black top was layered beneath it, sure, but it did nothing to hide your cleavage squished together and pushed up to the heavens as god intended. It was the kind of outfit to make a man do shameful, disgusting things to himself alone at night. That paired with the makeup, flawless and yet so minimal he’d only really picked up on it because of the neat little flicks above your eyelids. The accentuation of your lashes mixed with your waterlines coated in a cool white liner was actively destroying him. He had absolutely no idea what he’d done to deserve a shot with a woman like you and from that moment on, he couldn’t afford to let his nerves get the better of him anymore.

He chased out after you with a new found energy, similarly to a puppy chasing its owner. You arched your brow as he caught up with you, bouncing on the balls of his doc marten covered feet. “You’re kinda cold you know that?” You wondered if there was anything else he wanted to add to that or if he was done offending you there. “It’s really fucking intimidating actually.” A breeze blows over them, his curls combing back in the wind, his side portrait revealing itself along with the baby pink blush coating his cheeks. The street lights glowing behind him made him look pretty fucking angelic from your perspective. You felt yourself soften. “I’m sorry for that.” You looked down at your shoes, platform trainers you never went without, with a genuine remorse. “I know I must be hard to talk to.” You did feel embarrassed about the way you’d acted. You’d never really given him a chance. You tended to throw up a wall pretty effortlessly around new people. From the second he was late, your preconceptions plummeted into the earth. Perhaps you were too hasty after all.

“Hey it’s okay. I’m a big boy I can handle it.” He gestured to his chest as they walked more in unison. “We all have our shit.” He continues, suddenly bubblier than ever. “I for one, am fucking terrified of pretty girls.” He grinned, big and cheesy when you laugh, finally feeling like he’s accomplishing some level of charm. You even went as far as to tucking some hair behind your ear before the wind pulled it back away again. He wanted so desperately to reach out and fix it for you, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he had some serious impressing to do before he could reach that level of intimacy.

“No, I’m serious. Hard to believe I know.” You rolled your eyes. “Even harder when they’re a little mean.” He nudges your arm playfully, and boldly really, considering he was really pushing himself out of his comfort zone now. “I am pretty mean aren’t I?” You cringed. You didn’t want to be. You were just closed off and with good reason too, though he’d never question it, he could see it was there and something you were working through. “I reckon I can get you out of that shell.” You couldn’t stop smiling now, it was infuriating. “Like you suddenly came out of yours.” You elbowed him this time. He checked off a mental tally of things you did that made him think he stood a chance, so far he had two, which wasn’t a lot, but certainly enough.

“Sweetheart I’m gonna be honest.” He paused walking, you too, stopping in front of him, short and sweet and giving him your undivided attention and he wanted to kiss you, but it was so far from the moment for it. “You get set up on a date by your friends you expect it to be a failure right? Like you’re a fucking mess so naturally whoever they choose for you is going to be just as bad right? Half the time someone you’d never look twice at. As shallow as that is to say. But then I walk in and see, well you.” He gestures to you with both hands excitedly. “Shit I couldn’t believe it.” You shook your head. “You know you’re hot right? You act like it’s me who’s the hot one here.” He literally dropped his jaw, your confession wasn’t a complete blinder, he’d known he wasn’t ugly. There were some questionable attributes and insecurities of his, but he wasn’t ugly. He just hadn’t expected you to see that too. “Are you serious? I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.” They start walking again, mostly because you feel so embarrassed and hot under the collar at the confession that you needed to put some space between the two of you again.

“The hickey on your neck says you know I’m right.” Of course you’d seen it. He instinctively reached to cover it, as if to say ‘oh that’s what that is.’ “Would you believe me if I said I was attacked by an octopus or something?” You looked at him seriously. “Yeah, no fair enough.” He snorted. He cursed himself for it. You thought it was fucking adorable. “We all have our shit.” You repeat his earlier statement. He genuinely beamed at you. “That we do.” They finally reached the motel, he leads you to his room, hands shaking like crazy, it could be the cold, it could be the nerves, either way, he struggled to slot the key in the lock. You cover his hand with yours, taking the keys, unlocking the door yourself. You were so fucking cute. He was losing his mind.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” You waltzed in. Letting the warmth of the room engulf you in a hug. It’s not as bad as you’d pictured. It’s actually pretty clean. The walls freshly coated in off white paint. The carpet outdated but hoovered and surprisingly unstained. The sheets also outdated but again, cleaner than you’d expect from a joint like this. Suddenly fooling around in your car didn’t seem as appealing. Not when the bed looked so inviting. But that was planning too far ahead for you. Not far enough for him. He was picturing marriage and kids by now.

“Shut the fuck up.” He reached into his bag, bringing out a pre-rolled joint. “My, my, you do come prepared.” Unfortunately, he failed to notice the tiny lube packets thrown on the desk right beside the bag. “Safety first.” He wanted shooting. You’d happily shoot him. Though the thought that he might be the slightest bit interested in fucking you was making all your insides gooey. It was also real hard not to squeeze your thighs together. “Where to?” He scrambles, placing the joint between his lips, heading to the back of the room, another door, leading out to a shitty pool area, probably one of the most depressing scenes. Even the bright fuck off blue tint of the chlorine overdosed pool couldn’t brighten up the grey paving and metal fencing around it. The deckchairs missing half their legs, material spliced with a knife weren’t much helping it either. “Absolutely not.” He agreed, closing the door, locking it, throwing the chain on the latch firmly for good measure. He didn’t feel like dying there tonight.

They instead decide to smoke in the room, the windows open wide, the lights dimmed, some music playing lowly and gravelly from the clock radio at his bedside. He’s laid with his head to the foot of the bed, knees bent up, socks digging under his pillows on his designated side. You opted for propping yourself up at the headboard, pillows supporting your back, legs lay out flat, thighs pushed together. He’d so badly wanted to lay on them.

They pass the joint between them till it was half way through, the motel room hazy, the air thick, he damns it for hiding you from him. He just wants to get closer. “Whatcha thinking there?” You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “So many dangerous thoughts.” He lets slip with a smirk. “Care to share with the class.” He groans, but he doesn’t mean it. “I share my weed, my time, my beautiful room, and you still want more?” He tsked at you. “If you’re thinking about me, don’t I have the right to know?” You offered back. “You have ownership over thoughts now?” You nodded. “I do. Better get them out in the open before you get into trouble.” You giggle at your own bullshit and that’s exactly what it was, complete and utter, couldn’t handle your weed bullshit. “What if,” he sits up, leaning back on his elbows. “The thoughts themselves get me into trouble.” You ponder it for a moment. “Then I really, really wanna know.” Your eyes lit up with a genuine excitement. “You’re so high aren’t ya little one?” You fought the urge to whimper at the pet name. “Tell me.”

He sighed. This time he sat up fully. You shuffled around yourself, crossing your legs. Your skirt so short you were well aware you weren’t covered by anything but tights right now but at least they were opaque, ish. He begged himself not to look. “Well, I was just thinking maybe we could uh…” he leaned in closer, his nerves started eating away at him when you leaned too, “we could shot gun. Maybe.” You chuckled. “If that’s as dark as it gets in that little mind of yours then your little fling,” you reached out, prodding the fading hickey on his neck, “must have been pretty abysmal.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, you certainly got me there huh.”

He leans up on his knees, lighting up before instructing you, “open up.” You were practically gawping at him as he inhaled, mouth propping open while he inhaled enough for him to feel his lungs aching. He reached for your face, thumb on one side of your mouth the rest of his fingers on the other, stretching your mouth wider, pushing the smoke right out of his own and into yours. Your eyes were open, just barely, eyelids heavy, pretty lashes fluttering, you had the audacity to moan when his lips pulled away without even kissing you. He was already fisting the sheets. It was over way too fast.

“You are way too fucking hot right now.” He stubs out the joint momentarily, placing it in the ash tray he’d now deposited on the desk. “Then why aren’t you kissing me?” He breathed a shaky breath, running his fingers down his face frustratedly. “That’s, that’s a good fucking question actually.” He practically bounced back onto the bed, you giggling away so fucking sweet, finally relaxing around him. His friends were right, you were a real sweetie deep down. He liked you at your bitchiest, any other version of you was a blessing on top.

Your hands stroke his cheek, startling him, you begin to pull them away, maybe a step too far but he’s pulling you back in by the wrists, depositing your arms lazily around his neck instead. “Just caught me off guard is all.” He lets his forehead lean against yours, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest. You smelled so good. He’d never forget it. Bury himself in it. You were more intoxicating than any drug and he’d sampled his fair share. “Don’t want you to regret this sweetheart.” He says it honestly, vulnerably. “You need to stay out of your head.” You’re calmer than he is. It didn’t take much. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be.” He rubs his nose against yours, so close yet so far. “But do you even like me? Cause I swear, you were so out, now you’re all in I…” Usually it’s the guy who kisses the girl when they’re rambling on, but you threw the outdated stereotype right in the trash. You kissed him. The second you did, he cupped your cheeks, grateful you had.

It wasn’t the best kiss either of them had ever shared. It wasn’t electric or life changing or even passionate, despite the chemistry they clearly shared now. It was messy and miscalculated, and they clashed their teeth with a clanging sensation at least twice. “Okay stop, stop.” You pulled back, not too far but far enough for him to miss you. “What the fuck was that?” You were deadly serious. He was mortified. “I can do so much fucking better I swear to god.” He would beg on his knees for another shot immediately. “Just take it easy.” Your voice is so soothing, reassuring and encouraging, he leaned in again. “I really wanna kiss you too, Eddie.” His eyes pinged with tiny hearts. “You do?” He was so struck dumb by the sound of you saying his name. “Stay with me here.” He nods like a lovesick puppy. “Kiss me again.” You nudge him, this time he eased into it. It started as steady, gentle closed mouth kissing, before prying your lips open with his tongue kissing, which lead to him pulling you into his lap kissing. Then it was him raking his fingers through your hair kissing, elevating to softly whining into your mouth kissing and well, you can gather the rest, you were fucking kissing.

“That’s more like it.” You praised, tugging at his hair, his breath hot against your lips, a smirk befalling you when he pushed his hips right up into yours, forgetting the thin layer of fabric between them, hitting right at your core, a moan pouring from your mouth into his. You even felt his dick kick in his jeans. “Fuck baby.” He whimpered at you calling him that. “You gonna whimper and whine whenever I talk honey.” You stroked his chin, his lips chasing after yours, power going straight to your head. He was so far gone, be it the weed, be it you, he didn’t know and he sure as hell didn’t care.

“Can’t help myself princess.” Your turn to swoon. “Drive me fuckin crazy.” His hands run up your thighs. “This fucking outfit. Can’t believe I nearly bored you to death at the start. I deserve a world of suffering.” You just hummed and nodded, letting him mumble and mutter away. “Dressed so pretty for me. Shortest fucking skirt. Knew what you were doing.” He starts sucking on your neck, moving your hair out of the way to better bruise you. “Made so much fun of my neck, let’s see how much you like some marks of your own.” He teased. “You wouldn’t dare.” You fought back. “Already fucking there.” He bit down into the soft, warm flesh of your neck, soothing the toothmarks with a swipe of his tongue. You hissed at the sensation, all sorts of thoughts flickering through the space of your mind right now. Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s fucking tongue.

His heart was fucking hammering in his chest, all senses heightened, craving you. Yours were just as bad, if not worse. You were notorious for becoming insatiable under the influence, so it was no surprise to you how quickly the pace had increased. His apparent and fairly large need for you too was enough to mean that he was swimming in a similar ocean. “Can we please take some clothes off, I feel like I’m scorching.” You pulled at your corset like it were made of flames. “Never gonna say no to that.” He leans in kissing you again. Hands reaching up your back to feel around the corset, trying to find the tie. It had to be there somewhere. You guide his wrists down to the bow which he carefully undoes. He tries to tug it off you, not understanding how exactly it worked, pulled at it, yanked it, unthreaded it, fiddling some more. He pulls from your lips, maximum concentration, head resting against your chest, muttering into it. “Why are you doing this to me?”

You stroke his head, flattening some of his untamed mane, soothingly kissing his crown. “An A for effort. Poor baby.” He hugged you tight, needy and clingy and so, so into you. “Definitely the least practical top for a hook up but they make my tits look great.” You offered as a consolation. He pulled back, not looking at you, but directly at your breasts, grinning like a fool. That was enough of an encouragement boost to keep him going. “They sure do.” By the time he rests back against them, you’ve unthreaded the corset enough to slip it off over your head, which he gladly jumps to help you do, chucking the wretched thing across the room once it was off.

“Holy shit, look at these fucking things.” You bit into your lip as he grabbed them, no gentle caress, just taking them in each of his massive hands, squeezing them, tugging them, bunching them together, pinching each nipple till you pushed your chest further into his grip. “Unbelievable.” He lifted the sheer top you’d had on beneath the corset. Watching them fall out bare, they were beautiful. They were big, not perfectly round, not in the least bit symmetrical, but full and hot and heavy in his hands. Your nipples hard and prodding at him with an unfamiliar shaped lump adoring them both. Metal. You’d pierced not one but both nipples. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He stares at them, no really, mouth open, gold fish popping, gawping at them. “You can still suck on them.” It was as if you’d read his mind, he was wondering it too and, thankful you’d said it. He feared he might never have left that moment otherwise.

The feeling was different. Nothing like he’d experienced before. Boobs were boobs to an extent sure but the metal bar adorning them both was so erotic, so delicious to him. He sucked them gently at first, too afraid to do too much in unfamiliar territory. Once you sighed softly in approval, encouraging his movements, he finally began to explore, licking, sucking gently pulling with his teeth, your breath hitching, sounds increasing, soft little moans that coursed right through his blood stream. His tongue tangling around the piercings were enough to alert you to any other skills he might have had in that department. You made a bold assumption that he’d knew his way around with few complaints.

“I need more Eddie.” You pushed your chest into him. “Fuck I need more.” You were so high, aching with need, bursting with lust. He managed to pull himself away, only to catch your eyes. “Need more what?” You scowled, less than impressed with his agender to torture you further. “Or should I ask where you need me, hmm?” You shuddered. “Where do you fucking think?” You snapped, agitated and unafraid to hide it. He lapped it up. This might be his one and only opportunity to have a woman of your calibre begging for his cock, you could bet your ass he was going to milk it.

“Where I’m fucking soaking you already.” You pouted, your thighs squeezing his, sweet little centre rubbing down onto the zipper of his jeans, catching just right. An entirely new tactic to get yourself what you wanted. He moved his hand down between them as if he didn’t already feel the dampness, low and behold, his jeans were fucking ruined. “Gonna do anything about it?” You urged him, pushing him further, you’d cross every line you had to if it made him act.

Finally, he grabbed your hips, ready to roll you both over throwing your back down into the mattress, his body lowering, slotting between your spread thighs. The weight of him pinning you down. “Yeah I’m gonna do several fucking things about it.” Your cunt fluttered around nothing, the tremors rising all the way up into the pit of your stomach. It was a flaming sensation, making you fidget and puff short little sighs of frustration into the room. You were pained by the lack of his touch even more so by the emptiness.

“That was hot.” You sighed; he smirked. “You’re hot.” His eyes rake over your body. “Look at you.” He ran his hands down your sides, he couldn’t decide what to play with first. So much choice, so much to devour. He was stalling. So nervous he couldn’t quite push himself to do anything at all. Just leaning back on his legs, not believing the sight before him. You reached out for his hand, not to bring it to touch you, even though you weren’t opposed to the idea. Instead, you just wanted to bring him back down to earth, offer him some solace. “You still with me?” You traced your thumb across the back of his hand. “We can hit pause.” He shakes his head, taking your other hand in his. “No fucking way princess.” He gulps. “I just needed to look at you, take it all in.” He pulls your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I might not get the chance again.” You sure hoped he would, as did he. “You have about 2 seconds to take a mental picture.” You mouthed “one, two,” before he leaned down, kissing you delicately on the mouth.

You tug at his hair, pulling his weight on top of you, wanting it actually. He grunts. “Please, take some damn clothes off.” He pauses for a moment. Shit. He couldn’t just keep his clothes on. He sits up, practically flying off the bed like an erratic little bat, flinging his jacket off, his shirt, struggling with his jeans too. “Shit, fuck, shit.” You’re leant up, arms behind you, watching him hop on one leg, trying to get his boots off whilst his jeans are halfway down his legs. You decide to show mercy, putting him out of his misery, slipping onto your knees, halting him.

He gulps, swallowing hard as he takes in the view of you there, topless, blushing, hair thrown over your shoulder, on your fucking knees. You unlace his boot, slipping it off his foot, one after the other, before tugging down his jeans, letting him step out of them. While you’re down there, you can’t help but peak, his sizeable bulge straining against his boxers, leaking. A sweet little wet patch calling to you. You move your face towards it, but he stops you. “Nuhuh sweetheart, no can do.” You pout, brows furrowing sweetly. He tilts your chin up toward him. “Want me to bust in 2 seconds flat? One more pout and I’m there sweetheart. Don’t test me on this one.” You roll your eyes before admitting defeat, effortlessly standing up again, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed.

“What do you suggest instead then?” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself as he approaches you slowly. "Why don't you lie back for me, princess?" His voice is low and husky, dripping with barely restrained desire. He wasn’t fooling anyone. You shift higher up the bed, leaning into the pillows while his hands already work at tugging your skirt down your plump thighs.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging gently as he looks you dead in the eye. “Lift,” he commands, his voice firm yet gentle. It makes your stomach summersault. You comply, arching your back slightly as he slowly drags the short little thing down your legs, tossing it aside along with your tights, your panties left on.

Just as you ponder why he left them on at all, he pulls them up, between your lips, “for me?” You roll your eyes, mostly in hopes he doesn’t see the effect he’s having on you, “which part?” He takes a swipe, “the lace and the dampness.” You groan. He moves them to the side and pulls you apart, admiring you, sucking in a deep breath. “Stop staring.” You squirm. He ignores you, “I’m serious stop,” he looks at you, “shut the fuck up, I’m working here.” You face palm in embarrassment, he takes the win. He leans in, sucking at you, licking you, in all the wrong places almost as if he’s doing it on purpose. He cannot be serious. First the kiss now this.

You lean up on your elbows, watching him, as soon as your eyes meet his, he finds your clit, “oh there it is.” He smirks into it, you mumble, you’re not sure what. He hums. His breath is hot against you, you already felt like you were on fire and all he was doing was adding oxygen to it. But his tongue is so gorgeous and long, darting inside you. You forgive him. He’s fucking perfect and direct around your clit, plus his plump, pretty lips latched onto you, sending you to heaven. Felt so empty though, clenching down on nothing, needing more than what he was giving you. Maybe you were greedy, maybe you just wanted this man like no other. Maybe that was the same thing.

“More.” You sigh. He ignores you, purposely or accidentally you’re unsure. “Fuck more.” You repeat. He mumbles around you, lifting a hand to wave you off, nothing was stopping him now, “please.” His brow quirks up at that. “Pleaseee.” You say again. He rotates his finger as if to say, “keep going,” head still buried between your legs. “Please, babe, I need more, please, please.” The gesture continues. You groan, hips wiggling, his spare hand pins them. “Fuck, I need more, please, please more. Eddieeee.” He lifted his hand to gesture a chef’s kiss, and you wanted to crush his head with your thighs like a damn watermelon. He pissed you off even more when his mouth hesitated, leaving you with nothing for far too long, before he finally sucked on those same sarcastic fingers, pushing them inside you. He didn’t stop there; his lips were back at your clit. Your head was thrown back into the pillows beneath you, your back arching, hips bucking into him. “Fuck.”

Despite his theatrics, it was good, it was more than good. Everything increased by the weed of course but credit where credit is due and all that. You were drenched, whining, pushing your tits into your own hands. You were floating on a cloud. He was touching you so well. So, fucking well. You almost felt that band snap, stomach summersaulting with the realisation. Cumming, you were close to cumming. Fuck what if you sounded stupid? What if you made too much noise or fuss? What if he didn’t like the way you tasted? You psyched yourself out of it when you got too close, he furrows his brows, pulling away when you groan and mutter frustratedly. He came up for air like a diver who’d been underwater, hair pushed back, gasping for a breath. “What happened? Weren’t you there? Felt like you were there.” He’s not angry, not annoyed he’d failed, really he had only the look of concern.

“I was there.” You confirm. “What happened?” He still touches you, not to make you cum, just cause he wanted to, really wanted to, if you did though, that was a bonus. “I got in my head.” He nodded, understandingly. “Well, it’s a very nice head, I’d wanna be in there too.” He says it so comfortingly poking you. “But it’s kinda cruel to deny yourself, don’t ya think?” His fingers slip inside you again briefly, pulling out, seeing if you had any objection. “Think I think too much.” He laughs. “That’s what the weed was for.” You cover your face. “I don’t wanna force it, but I do want to try again, would you be okay with that?” The way he looks at you makes you want to trust him with your life. Eyes big and beautiful, soft for you. You agreed, the fact he wasn’t put off entirely was unfortunately a shock to you. “Okay.” You breathe, relaxing.

He builds you up again, much the same, consistency being key. “Close your eyes.” He talks you through it. You do so. He mumbles. “Just focus on how I feel, can you do that?” You nod but he doesn’t see, too busy, so you speak up. “Ye- yeah.” He continues. You focus, eyes closed, he feels good, wet, warm, “hmm,” his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, torturously not dipping inside. “Oh.” Then his tongue licks at your clit, short, quick flickers, not overly exaggerated. “Shit.” His lips kiss and suck and hold the bundle with care, his finger pushes into you, slow and deliberate, gently hooking, as if tugging at that very string preventing you from getting there. “Fuck, baby.” He repeats, patiently drawing you near. Feeling you shuffle, feeling you tighten, hearing you whine as you near the edge, he tugs that string like it’s his fucking lifeline, and he needs it back in his possession, you crumble, back arching, moans loudening, he doesn’t let up until your thighs are shaking, breath laboured. “Fuck, fuck.” Your hips drop, body feeling like it’s plummeting from great heights, orgasm crashing over you in waves. He pulls away from you, he doesn’t grin like you thought he would, just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at you like you hung the fucking moon.

He climbs up your body, peppering kisses along your stomach, your chest, your neck, your jaw. His face comes into view over you, and he smiles softly. His eyes are glazed, and his pupils are huge. He looks high and sated, happy. And its infectious. He leans in to kiss you but stops himself. “Do you… I mean… can I…” You try to finish for him. “Kiss me?” He flashes his teeth a little, before biting his bottom lip. “Yeah.” He says breathlessly. Your nod is the only permission he needs before he takes your mouth again, cupping your jaw. You kiss him passionately, enjoying the taste of yourself mixed with his sweet mouth as his tongue glides along your bottom lip, dipping inside to tangle with your own. You can feel his erection pressing against your hip, aching, no, throbbing. You hum against his tongue, face moving, moulded perfectly against his, body rocking too, grinding against him. Both of you getting carried away, feeling free now. Comfortable.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he slots between your legs, hands reaching down to grip the fat of your ass in his hands, groaning, hips bucking into you when he takes hold. “Fuck.” You gasp. He continues kissing you, sucking hard onto your lips, biting a little, licking a little, tongue deep inside your mouth. He tries to be quiet but you can feel him panting a little against your mouth, hips pushing at you in desperation.

It’s now just a case of who breaks first. Neither of you willing to pull away for even a second. Despite knowing how badly you needed each other. His hips start moving more intentionally, grinding against you, making his own frustrated sounds which get smothered against your lips. You can literally feel his struggle between wanting to maintain control and losing it completely. His hands squeeze your ass tighter, spreading you, pulling you closer. Slotting you directly against his clothed cock. Your fingers dig into his chest, scraping gently at his tattoos there. He sighs at the catch of your nails. You test him again, firmer. Scratching him as he shudders. You do it again, there’s a whimper against your lips this time but he’s pulling away, he’d reached boiling point.

"Fucking hell.” He pulls back, panting hard. His eyes are dark with lust, his hair tousled from your fingers running through it. He looks down at your breasts, rising and falling with each breath, then back up to your eyes. “I wanna… god I wanna fuck you baby, can I fuck you?” His hands stroke over your shoulder, up and down, a gentle, tickling touch. “God I wanna fuck you.” You lean up, nose brushing against his, his eyes flutter closed, you feel them long bambi lashes fan at your cheeks. You chase his lips. Kissing him harshly. Dragging him back down against your body.

He cups your cheeks, kissing you back, tongue slipping into your mouth, but he still tries to speak. “That a yes?” You groan against his mouth. “Tell me it’s a yes.” He’s kissing across to your jaw. You crane your neck to give him full access. He nips at you, teeth grazing then squeezing, a punishment for leaving him hanging. “Shit, yes, yes you can fuck me. Want you to fuck me, stop being a fuckin vampire.” He chuckles against your neck, his body relaxing. He bites again but softly this time, before sucking where your shoulder meets your neck soothing any injury. His hips push against you. His length sliding against your slick, throbbing cunt. He’s so hard it hurts, you, not him, though maybe him too. “Shit. Condom?” He pulls back to look at you.

“You don’t have any? Mr wears a hickey on the first date.” You look at him in absolute awe. “How do you have lube and not condoms?” You dip in for another kiss. You couldn’t help it. “I uhh don’t have one on me no. And no comment on the uh other thing.” He mumbles against your lips. His heart pounding, stomach plummeting. He’d ruined everything. But your legs wrap around his waist. Sending him humming when your pussy grinds against him. His own hips matching yours. “You have any? Little miss perfect?” He asks quietly, sucking your bottom lip again. Your legs tighten around him. He whimpers. “Maybe.” His eyebrows arch. Fuck if you grind against him anymore you’re in for one hell of a sticky situation.

“Maybe?” He groans, face scrunching. “You wanna use me as a toy baby, just fuckin tease and never let me have you?” He doesn’t even hate the idea. There’s a sick part of him that wants it like that, but he pins it for a later date. He instead, kisses down your neck, sucking hard onto the same spot as before, in case you missed his warning. You hiss. “I’m on the pill if you even care.” His eyes widen. His pupils blowing out like that of a cat. Big, black, and impossible to ignore. He stops kissing you for a second, staring at your face in utter disbelief and perhaps even a hint of excitement, his Christmas coming early. Him too, potentially. “You’re on the pill? As in, I can come inside you? As in, I can fill you up? As in…”

“Offer expiring as we speak.” You rock your hips up against him, for something, anything. “No, nope, nuhuh, fuck no, no expiring, gonna just fuck you baby.” He kisses you back, practically tearing your panties just to get to you. His hands roaming over your body roughly. You part your legs wider like an invitation and he takes it. Breaking the kiss only to shuck off his boxers with ease before spreading your legs wide. You gawp at his cock, half sitting up just to get a better view. “Great, now you’re staring.” It twitches as he speaks, shy maybe. “Can’t help it.” You absentmindedly lick over your bottom lip, but he notices it, eyes locked on your face for any kind of negative reaction. “Big huh.” He huffs. “I’m serious.” You insist. “And the way you.. curve a little.” Your hands reach out to stroke him, but you pull your hand back as if you’d been bitten. No, you wouldn’t touch him yet.

He watches your hand pull back with amusement, frustration too. His own hand reaches for you, grabbing yours and guiding it to wrap firmly around him. “Go on, get a proper feel. Ain't gonna bite baby." His hips flex slightly, pushing his cock into your palm encouragingly. Smearing his precum against your palm. His voice was strained. “Spits though.” You swipe through the beading white droplets leaking from his slit. “Looks pretty dangerous to me.” He growls, his hips bucking into your hand, his own still over yours. “Woman," his face scrunches up, how he hadn’t cum, was a fucking miracle to him. “Want me to put it in?”

His hips jerk, he’s embarrassed by the whimper that leaves him when your wrist twists, experimentally touching him, torturing him. “Lie back, lie back and fucking move your hands.” He sounded pained. He was fucking pained. Your cheeks flush crimson. “Please.” He adds politely. Just in case he snapped a little too hard. But you liked it. You only blushed because the thought of squishing him inside you was enough to make you drip.

He watches you with barely restrained urgency as you lay back. The moment you do, he pounces, crawling over you like some kind of predator. Settling between your thighs with a relieved groan at the welcoming heat awaiting him. His cock jumps against you, and he can't help the frustrated grunt that escapes him. You rut your hips against him, and he just can’t get over it. Every fucking thing you do. Every little thing. You were so sexy. So incredibly hot without even trying. He takes himself in his hand, rubbing his thick, hot head against your pussy, swiping through, coating himself in your arousal and you both shudder. You grasp for his forearm, stopping him before he even has the chance to dip his needy tip into you. You were killing him.

“Let me in. Please baby you fuckin have to let me in.” He leaks some more precum against you, you like the way its feels, sticky and warm against your skin. “I will, I promise, just not like this.” He groans exasperated. “Then what? Like what baby?” He’s trying so hard to keep level headed here but you were testing him. He takes a new approach, pinching your lips around his length, fucking through them, head catching your clit, a sweet whine tumbles from your lips. He didn’t even need to be inside you to turn you to mush with his cock. “Just wanna wrap myself around you, you fucking idiot, want to touch you, hold you and fucking feel you properly not just lie here complicit in missionary.” It’s a wonder you manage to get it out at all, through laboured breath, his dick pulsing against you.

“He smirks down at you, his eyes glimmering, amused. “Then don't.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, his hands sliding up your sides, around to your back then up to tangle in your hair. “Touch me.” He breathes, his voice low and husky. “Hold me. Wrap your fucking body around me.” He lifts you slightly. You wrap your arms tight around his neck, your legs hug around his waist, body clinging to his with all your strength. He lays you both on your side, the two of you sinking into the mattress, into each other, his cock lining up with you and you doing nothing to prevent him from slipping in, just letting his tongue catch yours as you moan for him, and he does too, the loudest you’d ever heard him, overwhelmed from plunging into your hot, wet little pussy. His hands rake over your ass, grabbing at it, pulling you further onto him, with no protest from you, just acceptance, just taking him and taking him so god damn perfectly.

His breath hitches as he feels you take every inch of him, your body moulding around his like some sort of fucked up puzzle piece. He groans, hands gripping your ass tighter, grinding you against him, him rocking his hips into your cunt, meeting you there. “Fuck," he gasps, his hips moving in a slow, deep grind as he slides in and out of you in this new position. "Feel so damn good around me baby." He mumbles against your neck. “So, fucking wet.” He ruts into you smiling against your neck. “Yes baby.” He moans softly; his voice muffled against your skin. “Like that.” He encourages, his hips snapping forward as he grips your thighs and pulls you closer. “Touch me.” He gasps, his breath hot against your neck. “Hold me.”

“Yes,” you tangled your fingers in his hair, he grunts as you tug. “I know, I know you like it baby.” You coo. "You god damn know it." He hisses, bucking his hips harder. "You pull my hair like that again." He warns darkly. "And I'll breed you." Your breath hitches, he feels you squirm, like you’re trying to get away from him. He curses himself mentally. “Too much? Way too fucking much?” He panics. “First fuckin date remember.” He rolls his eyes. “Already balls deep baby, too late for etiquette.” You huff. “Just maybe keep the whole breeding thing to a minimum.” He nods in agreement although he doesn’t miss the way you clenched around him as you said it, he took a mental note, not that it’d take, you had him scrambled.

Despite him nodding, he doesn’t really mean it. He’s already picturing you stuffed full of his cum. “Mmm.” He pushes those thoughts aside. “I won’t mention it again.” He promises, pushing his hips forward. “Pinky promise sweetheart.” Your hands lock in the promise, his forehead against yours, breath hot against your lips. “God can you… fuck can you move back a little, gimme some room.” He rolls his eyes but complies, shifting back slightly with a soft grunt, giving you a little more space between your bodies. His cock slips out partway, the new position allowing him to look down between you both, admiring the sight of himself disappearing inside you. "Better?" He huffs. Barely keeping it together. Feeling it was one thing, seeing it was another. The grip you had on him as he pulled back, far enough the tip caught your lips before pushing all the way back in, hugged tight by you, your hips bucking, back arching. You slip a hand down between your torsos, feeling your way down to rub at your clit, his eyes nearly bulge out of his skull, watching you rub yourself, fucking yourself on his cock, desperately humping at him. “Fuck, so much better, so much fucking better.”

"Jesus Christ." He curses under his breath. The sight of you touching yourself, fucking yourself on him, god it was enough to make him see heaven. He reaches down, his hand covering yours, pressing down harder as his hips begin to move, matching your rhythm. "So fucking pretty for me. Look at you go. Look at you taking it.” Your mouth parts, sweet little sounds coming out needy and desperate. Pathetic really. “Can I cum Eddie? Can I?” If you’d have told him at the beginning of the night that he’d end up here, with you begging to cum on his cock without him even pushing you to, he’d tell you to fuck off. Because there was no way in hell you’d ever stoop so low. But hell, was he glad you did.

He laughs in disbelief, his breath coming in short pants as he watches you writhe beneath him, utterly lost in pleasure, begging for it, for him. “Are you seriously asking permission right now?" He teases, hips never stopping their relentless grind against yours. "Fuck yes, cum for me. Never need my permission baby, you cum whenever you fucking want, however many times you want.” You sigh with relief, hand speeding up against your clit, his mouth comes crashing down against yours, hands squeezing at your hips. He kisses you till you can’t kiss back anymore. Till you can only moan and yell, and cum loudly, pussy squeezing him half to death. And when he spills, he spills hard, so hard he’s seeing white spots, head hazy, body engulfed in your flames.

You’re breathless, both run ragged. Trying hard to calm the racing beating of your hearts but to no avail. He collapses into you and you only hold him tighter, face buried in his neck, his hair drifting over you like a curtain and you don’t even care, too wrecked to give a damn but he does. He moves it away. He strokes your cheek, kissing it, soft, sweet, gentle blessings dotted across your face as he comes to. “Baby girl.” His hips shift a little, stirring his finish inside you, just checking it really happened, it really was in there, and it was. “You okay?” He pulls back to catch your eyes. Your makeup is a fucking state. mascara smudged, eyeliner gone entirely. “Define okay.” He smirks at your response, running his fingers through your hair to push it away from your face, better to see the mess he made of you. "I think I can answer that." He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Breathing, cracking jokes, looking at me like you wanna kiss me.” He pecks your lips again. “All signs of life are there.”

“Think I need the opinion of an actual medical professional.” Worry flickers over his face. “You serious?" He laughs softly, pulling back to look at you better, taking in your swollen lips, messy hair, red cheeks. "You feeling sick?" He asks seriously now. "Actual nausea? Headache?" He throws himself off the bed, ready to find his boxers and t-shirt. You whine at the loss of him inside you far too soon. “No, Jesus, come back. I was kidding.”

"Don't joke about shit like that." He crawls back on top of you, pressing his body against yours. "You're okay, right? Nothing hurts?" Your lips twitch into a smile. “Nothing hurts. You gave it your best go though.” He snorts, rubbing his face, his eye in particular. “Yeah well, gifted.” You shove him, playfully. “Where were you gonna go in boxers and a t-shirt hmm? Who were you tracking down like that without a car Ed?” Despite you making fun of him the only part he really focuses on is “Ed.” Sounds so pretty from your mouth.

He strokes his thumb over your bottom lip. He ignores the question, "say it again." He murmurs, leaning in closer. "Say my name." He whispers, his nose nudging yours. "Please?" He asks softly. “Not even listening to me are you?” You trace messy little patterns across his shoulder blades. “No ma’am. Not really." He admits. "You called me 'Ed' and fucked me up." He confesses, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. "I like it." He mumbles. "I really like it." He pecks your neck. “Kinda pathetic Ed.” He squeezes you, smiling, lips catching your neck. “I can live with pathetic. Try besotted even.” He pulls from you to catch your eyes. “Besotted already? Should I be worried?”

"Maybe." He grins mischievously, his hips shifting slightly, making you suck in a breath. "Answer a question honestly." He speaks softly. His fingers carding through your hair again and again. "No bullshit." He adds. "No snark." He smirks. “No promises.” You respond, his face falls. “Fine, whatever. Go on.” He rolls his eyes, trying to hide the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Really fucking helpful." He mutters but presses on anyway. “Truth time. You think I'm annoying as hell, right? Like, offensively annoying?" You nod. “Incredibly so yeah.” He laughs softly, his body relaxing. "Honest answers. God bless." He hesitates. “Would you get to the point?” He nods, plodding on. “Too annoying for a second date?”

Your lips quirk up into a smile. “You wanna see me again?” He blinks at you like you were speaking a different language. "Duh." He says, his face deadpan for all of a second before he's grinning again, his lips pressing against yours. "Gimme your number." He commands softly, breath fanning across your mouth. "Let me take you out. Do this shit right. Maybe not turn up late this time.” You pretend to ponder it for a moment. You pretty much decided you liked him from the second he kissed you, even if it was one of the worst first kisses you’d ever had. Because when the second one came around, stealing your breath like it was nothing, yeah, you knew alright. “I’m so down for that.”

He grins widely, a playful glint in his eye as he leans in, his lips barely brushing yours. “Well, well, well, looks like I finally managed to impress a girl without fucking it up royally." He teases, his hands sliding down to grasp your hips gently. “Congratulations.” You whisper against his mouth; it does funny little things to him. His heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice so close, so soft and sweet for him. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and before he can stop himself, he's smiling against your lips, a sweet, lazy smile that speaks volumes of the affection he's beginning to feel. “Think I’m in trouble here.” You kiss him gently. “Think I’m right there with you.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things smut #eddie munson stranger things

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rhyrhy · 1 month ago

Text

Full Throttle

“I hope I was worth your time”

꒰ Warnings:꒱ Sexual content, Name-calling & language , oral in a bar bathroom (so classy, I know), Reader is bitchy, Mentioned height difference, Vi has a tongue piercing, Pet names. Angsty-ish.

꒰ A/n: ꒱ HAPPY 400!! (Someone grab the confetti!) Rockstar!Vi oneshot since she won the poll. Aka: a run-in with a face you don’t recognize… until the next morning. Around 5k words

“There she is,” the familiar warm tone said the moment you stepped into the building. she sat, gold eyeshadow reflecting over her eyelids as they opened a bit more to take you in. Growing up together, and still stuck like glue, Mel waved you over to her booth.

The fresh scent of espresso and warm pastries wafted through the air of the café as your shoes clicked across the floor. You couldn’t help but think how much more comfortable these were than last night’s.

“Here I am,” you confirmed, leaning down to hug her side before sitting across from her. “God, I’m starving. Can I?” You reached for the croissant on her small plate.

She pushed it toward you, laughing. “Besides the hair, you look suspiciously well-rested for somebody who said they had a ‘crazy night’ and promised details.” She mused, tapping her finger on the table.

You leaned back on the red-cushioned booth. “Oh, trust me. It was crazy.” You nodded, still chewing, covering your mouth as you spoke. Not missing the anticipation in her tone.

Outside the large windows, the city continued to spring to life. The occasional beep of a yellow taxi horn and incessant chatter seemed to fade into the background as you began to describe your night, with the occasional interruption from Mel trying to get way too many details. You jokingly told her you’d record it for her next time, and she seemed way too intrigued by the idea. But her burst of laughter after reassured you she was joking as always, insisting that you needed to loosen up.

Then, suddenly, you noticed her brown eyes flicker to something past your shoulder. It didn’t catch your attention at first; she was always nosy and hyper-aware of her surroundings. But when her eyes narrowed and her head tilted slowly back to you, your eyebrow raised, and you nodded for her to speak, stopping your previous conversation.

“Now, this might be a longshot,” she squinted slightly, lips pressing together in thought. “But what color did you say her hair was again?”

“Black with, like, highlights. Why?” You blinked. “And who are—” You tilted your head in curiosity, following her gaze to the decorative wall behind you.

A tour poster was plastered across the bulletin board near the café entrance, glossy and bold, listing cities and dates beneath an unmistakable face. Messy undercut. Sharp jawline. A cocky expression even in still laminated print.

Vi. Your hometown was listed for the 22nd to the 26th. Today was the last day. “Holy shit.” You let out a breathy laugh, half in disbelief, half in realization.

Mel’s eyes widened as she studied your reaction. No way. That’s not—”

“Yeah…” You exhaled, shaking your head as a ridiculous, almost nervous laugh bubbled out. “That is her.”

“Details. Now. Right. Now,” Mel demanded, her eyes gleaming as she set her tea down with a clink. Hands clasped.

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk on your lips gave you away. “Oh, settle down.”

“Don’t tell me to settle down, tell me what happened!” She shook her head and leaned forward.

“Okay , okay!” You sighed, as you drummed your fingers against the table. “Well, You had just called me about being late when…”

── ── ☆ That night, ☆ ── ──

The moonlight cast shadows behind you, cool air drifting over your arms as the clacking of your heels echoed down the sidewalk. As the clock ticked and the moon rose, you realized you were definitely going to be later than intended. Not that you wanted to go anyway—loud music, your friends dragging you around the reserved VIP section, and way too many pictures to pose for. You knew you were being a negative Nancy about it—at least, that’s what Mel had said over the phone.

“Where are you? Everyone is already here.”

Mel’s voice was almost drowned out by the bass on the other line, the party clearly in full swing. You held the phone up to your ear, your clutch in your other hand. You knew you should’ve gotten up earlier, but those extra minutes of sleep had been way too tempting. It was a mutual friend’s 21st, so naturally, everyone wanted to dress up and go out. In your defense, though, this was all last minute.

“I’m a few blocks away. There was absolutely no parking.” You replied.

One truth and a lie. Whoops. There wasn’t any parking, but you were definitely farther than just a few blocks. Pushing a few strands of hair out of your face, you glanced down at the blue lettering of the GPS on your dim phone screen—still a few minutes until you arrived. Downtown was always like this, even while the city slept.

Mel kept talking, trying to explain something about a potential shortcut, but you could barely make out a word she was saying. You jerked the phone away from your ear every time she yelled when you asked her to repeat herself. As much as you loved her, she was definitely the time police between the two of you—sometimes helpful, other times just plain annoying.

The neon glow of different bars, shops, even that overpriced café Mel had been begging you to go to, cast vibrant hues against the pavement behind you as you clicked your way around another corner.

The light on the crosswalk was just barely counting down before you’d have to wait for God knows how long. You quickly hung up on Mel, telling her you’d call her back later.

Glancing around, you saw only distant cars on the opposite street, the environment eerily quiet.

The point of your red heel rested flat as you stepped past the traffic light pole, walking onto the rigid, faded lines of the crosswalk. Not to be snobby, but the city could definitely use a small revamp. Potholes, cracked sidewalks, and worn street lines seemed to go unnoticed in a place like this.

You glanced down at your phone, momentarily blinded by a strand of hair falling into your face, causing you to involuntarily pause for a moment. Just a few more minutes on the GPS. But before you could continue down—A rumbling sound. Fast. Way too close for comfort. Your breath caught as the gleam of a shiny dark vehicle reflected your figure in the middle of the crosswalk.

A muffled shout bled out from underneath the helmet of the individual guiding it down the street. Panic shot through you as you jerked back onto the sidewalk, just in time.

“What the hell!?” you shouted, your bag slipping from your hands and your phone clattering flat against the pavement.

The sound of skidding tires, the slam of brakes. The figure, clad in leather, barely stopped short of colliding with you. The bike skidded to a stop just a few feet away, the scent of burnt rubber lingering as the rider kicked down the stand. as she swung a leg over and straightened up, pulling off her helmet with a huff.

“Yeah, what the hell is right,” she shot back, tucking the helmet under her arm. “You got a death wish?”

“Excuse me?” Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

“You heard me,” she said, rolling her shoulders back like she was shaking off the near miss. “Crosswalks exist for a reason.”

You scoffed, dusting off your bag. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I inconvenience your little joyride?” Frowning at the scratches.

She huffed a dry laugh, finally giving you a once-over. one that started irritated but lingered just a second too long. “Yeah. And people cross the road when they see the walking man on the sign.” She pointed at the sign across from you, the little white figure glowing mockingly. “Not randomly whenever the hell they feel like it.”

“Are you serious right now?—” you deadpanned, exasperated. Then, with a saccharine smile, you added, “Thanks, officer. I’ll keep note of that.” You nodded, dripping with sarcasm.

Her eyes rolled, patience growing thinner as your fake smile made her blood boil. Her free hand gripped the leather of her jacket, resisting the urge to grab you by the collar and—

“Oh, ha-ha. You’re really a comedian, sweet cheeks.” She scoffed, stepping forward. Only a foot or two of space separated you now. God, you were prissy. Slightly taller, dressed in expensive, clean-knit clothing. Your eyes barely brushed over hers, dismissive. Plus the way you smelled—how could she even notice that at a time like this?

“Mm You liked that? Thanks, I’ll be here all night. Just gotta stay clear of idiots on death traps,” you jabbed, rolling your eyes like it was a competition—who could do it the most? Then, with a huff, you turned back to dust yourself off.

“Aww, you’re all worked up.” She remarked nonchalantly, watching your expression as you turned away from her. Prissy as hell, sure. But damn if you weren’t kinda (extremely) … cute. “And those ‘death traps’ are a hell of a lot more convenient than walking.”

“The conversation was over like five minutes ago,” you brushed her off, barely paying attention as you glanced at the WAIT sign. Sighing, already knowing you’d have to wait to cross again. “Have fun with that, though.”

“Conversation’s over?” She smirked, shifting her weight on her boots, clearly amused by your obvious desire to be done with her. “You just walkin’ around town for fun or something?” Her gaze flickered downward, taking in your jewelry, your makeup, your hair—all of it. She was obviously sizing you up, and you could tell.

“Stranger danger. Mind yours, lady.” You chuckled, waving her off with a well-polished nail.

“Oh, I’m definitely minding mine, sweetheart.” She shot back, ignoring the smirk threatening her poker face. Her gaze dropped to your nails, interest slipping through her snarky demeanor. “Got a hot date tonight or something?”

You sighed deeply, the heels on your feet turning to face her fully. “Unless you wanna cough up an apology, all this—” you gestured toward her mouth, referring to her talking “—needs to stop. Like, now. Thanks.”

Her smirk faltered, almost turning into a frown. You were bitchy, sure, and definitely stubborn. But now you weren’t backing down? She had to give you credit for that. “Apologize?” She mocked, tilting her head with an amused glint in her eyes. “Relax,, you survived. Besides, technically, you were in the way.”

“I looked before I crossed. You came out of thin air.” You huffed, eyes flickering over her jacket, her piercings, her tattoos—all in contrast to yourself. Then, catching yourself, you quickly looked back at her face. “Whatever. It’s fine.”

She noticed your gaze linger, noting how your eyes moved over her. She didn’t need a mirror to know how drastically different you two looked. But there you were, still talking to her. Leaning forward slightly, she wasn’t even sure why she was keeping this conversation going. “Then we’re done here.”

“Fantastic.” You sighed, arms crossed, waiting for the light to change. The “wait” sign glowing, taunting you.

This felt like a standoff—closed mouths but wandering minds. Raging thoughts that you pushed down, catching the way she kept glancing at your exposed legs just below the hem of your dress. Your usual defenses weren’t working on her. She’s … still here? Her attention had turned back to her phone, her lock screen flashing. Herself. Of course. It looked like she was… singing? Or maybe at some kind of concert—you couldn’t quite make it out before looking back across the street.

The crosswalk glowed: walk. Your eyes scanned the sign, feeling almost… disappointed? You shifted your weight, glancing at it, but didn’t move right away. Your feet felt molded to the pavement below your René Caovilla’s—shoes Mel had gifted you, seeming useless now. This wasn’t a game of freeze tag, but you were definitely stilled.

“Took long enough,” you muttered, trying to act like you hadn’t just hesitated to leave her side. You didn’t even know her, but the flutter in your gut made you not care in the moment.

You had to go through with it, of course you did. You promised to show your face tonight, got dressed, did your makeup. Your leg shifted, about to take that step—threatening to break the bubble that had built between you. The whole situation was bizarre. You were supposed to go to the party, look your best, do your thing. But something had kept you here. You shifted your weight, ready to take that step, only to be stopped by a familiar waft of perfume. The scent was stronger now. lingering in the air like a trail behind you. She was still there.

You glanced down at your phone, a full 30 minutes late now. Mel was going to murder you, but that concern seemed to fade when you looked back at Vi. She was on the phone, sighing as she hung up, seemingly about to leave. Something in you snapped, and you blurted out the words before you could stop them.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

She stopped, her leg coming back down from the curb. “About…?”

“I do want an apology. For you almost flattening me.” You added.

She rolled her eyes, about to shoot back with some sarcastic remark, but you interrupted her before she could.

“Not like that,” you said, cutting her off with a wave of your hand. You pointed across the street to the bar, “I want you to walk over there, and buy me a drink. That’s the apology I’m accepting.”

Vi blinked for a beat, caught off guard. Then, after a long pause, her voice returned, though this time it was softer.

“What?..I…” she opened her mouth to say more, then her gaze drifted over you and that outfit. “You always this prissy and bossy?” A slow smile curled on her lips.

“Maybe I enjoy it part-time,” you shot back, chin tilted just slightly upwards.

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she stubbed out her cigarette with the heel of her boot. “Charming,” she muttered, pushing off her bike. Then, with a heavy sigh, like she was pretending this was some great inconvenience. she finally gave in.

“Fine. One drink.”

One drink turned into three maybe four, this part is still fuzzy even when recounting to Mel. then Maybe it was the way you kept seeing her glance at your frame, maybe it was you tracing your fingers on the ends of her jacket sleeve, but Somehow, between biting comments and lingering glances, you’d both ended up here—pressed against the cool tile of the bar’s single-stall bathroom, Vi’s leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, your own clothes disheveled from her rushed hands. The smell of her was intoxicating, something woody, yet sweet. You couldn’t place it.

Her lips finding home along your collarbones.You let out a breathy laugh, fingers grazing over her exposed tattooed back. “Oh, so you do have an apology in you.” your eyes found hers, as they searched yours. Beyond just the color.

Vi smirked, lips just barely brushing yours. “Eh, I just wanted to shut you up.” her teeth tugging at it slightly as she’d mind wondered, wanting to feel those killer legs around her waist.

Your head leaned back further. “Oh really? I’m that bad?” Eyes fluttering closed when she nuzzled closer.

“Mmhm.” She grinned against your jaw, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there. “Just insufferable, really. Extremely bitchy” She was mocking you, clear as day.

You hummed, nails dragging lightly down her back. “Huh. Seemed like you liked it a second ago.” you challenged.

Vi let out a low chuckle, hands slipping under the hem of your top. “I have bad taste.”

“Oh yeah?” Your grin widened. “Is that why you almost ran me over?”

She laughed, fingers pressing into your waist as she pulled you. “You gonna bring that up forever?”

“Maybe,” you teased, tilting your head as she kissed along your throat. “What, you can dish it but you can’t take it?”

Vi exhaled against your skin, then pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes gleaming with amusement” “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice dripping with mischief. “I can take a hell of a lot more than this.”

“Plus, That was your fault,” she muttered, her lips curving into a smirk. Her hands roamed, fingers gently tracing the dip of your hip, her thumb lightly tugging the ends of your dress. Every touch was like electricity, the tension building between you. “Should’ve paid more attention.” Her head dipped down, mouth slowly trailing along the column of your neck. She paused every now and again to bite, nibble, kiss, suck—trying to draw out that whimper she so desperately wanted to hear.

You hummed in approval, a laugh slipping out at her sudden movement. Her hands found the back of your thighs, pulling your legs around her waist. Your back pressed against the stall, hips now flush against hers as you held onto her. “Look at you, short stuff,” you teased, resting your forehead against hers. She let out a soft huff at your words, her hands gripping you tighter as she brought your body closer. Feeling you pressed against her like this, the weight of you, it was almost too much. That damn laugh, your breath against her face—she knew you were teasing her about the height difference.

“Yeah? Keep talkin’, see what happens.” Her voice was low, a quiet challenge that sent a shiver down your spine. Her hands roamed, leaving small chills in their wake.

“Ooo, you gonna get mad, huh?” you teased, pulling her face closer, needing to kiss her again. Your lips found hers, claiming them.

She let out a low moan at the way you took control, your words barely processing as her lips crashed back into yours. The kiss was rough, hungry. She wanted you. Needed you. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter, fingers digging into the flesh as she pushed you back against the stall wall, the sudden shift pressing her body even more against yours.

You gasped slightly, feeling the press of her pelvis against you, heat jolting through your core at the sound of her small moan. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, your tongue finding hers, the warm muscle pressing and teasing. Her tongue immediately met yours, her soft whimpers filling the small space as her body shivered. She pulled you flush against her, wanting to be as close as possible. She’d always been impatient, but right now, she was downright desperate for you. One hand stayed on your thigh, anchoring you, while the other skimmed along your hip, gripping hard as she ground herself against you.

She let out an amused hum at the sound of your moan. Hearing you like this, knowing she had this effect on you, was almost too much. It drove her wild. The feeling of your hand on her undercut, the way you teased her, it was almost enough to make her knees buckle. Her lips grazed your skin as they traveled down your neck, pausing to nip at your collarbone, leaving more marks in their wake. When a groan of disapproval came from her throat, you pulled back from her.

“Wait—” “What… what was your name?” You asked.

Ragged breathing, your vision coming back to you as you scanned over her features, your mind still foggy from the intensity of the moment. You both paused momentarily. Feet hitting the ground once more, The woman’s icy eyes widened. Then, she spoke up, not even knowing how you two had gotten this far without something as simple as a first name.

She grinned, running a hand through her dark hair. “It’s Vi.”

You arched a brow. “Vi…” you repeated. “That short for something? Veronica? Vanessa? Vivian?” You listed off name options, trying to match one to her face. It didn’t matter but you couldn’t help but tease her further.

Her smirk deepened, a single brow lifting as if to challenge you. “Violet,” she corrected, shaking her head with a quiet chuckle. “But honestly? I thought we were past names at this point.” Gesturing between you two.

You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Okay, smartass. Just figured I’d ask before we—”

She didn’t let you finish. Your words were practically swallowed as Vi’s lips crashed back into yours, her hands gripping your waist as she tugged you down slightly. The cold metal of her lip piercing pressed against your lips, the last remnants of your gloss transferring onto hers.

Your hands found the sides of her face, melting back into the moment.

“All those little noises for me?” she murmured, her voice barely audible. Her hands roamed, fingers tracing along the hem of your dress, teasing the soft skin beneath. She wanted to hear you moan again. To be the cause of it. To know that she was the one making you feel this way, the one who had you coming undone beneath her touch.

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “Yes. For you.”

Just that simple confirmation sent a rush of possessive desire through her. Every moan, every shudder, every whimper—she wanted it all. Her lips attached to your neck again, marking and biting as they traveled across the sensitive skin. She found that spot again, nipping and sucking, drawing out more of those beautiful noises she craved. A soft moan escaped you as your body leaned into her, hands moving to tug her jacket off the rest of the way. A muffled chuckle spilled from her lips as she felt you push the leather from her shoulders. She let it drop down her arms, the fabric hitting the floor with a dull thud. She didn’t care where it landed—her focus was solely on you. Fingers curled beneath the hem of your dress, tugging it upwards. She needed more. Needed to feel more of your skin against hers.

Your arms lifted, inviting her to remove it. Her blue eyes darkened as she slowly pulled the fabric up, baring more of you. The dress joined the growing pile on the floor, leaving you more exposed, her hands tracing slow patterns along your sides.

She caught the motion of your fingers reaching for your shoes. “No, leave those,” she said, her voice laced with something thick

You paused before nodding, leaving the red heels on, and turned to tug at the hem of her black shirt instead.

“Mm, need this off, then.” Her breath hitched as your fingers gripped the fabric. She was more than happy to. Lifting her arms, she let you pull it over her head, her tank top soon joining the mess on the floor. A simple black sports bra covered her chest, the only thing she had on top now. trailing a hand down her toned torso. Tracing the lines of her skin. “Damn, you always this easy?”

her muscles tensing slightly beneath your touch. You could feel the outline of her abs, firm and defined. “Easy?” she chuckled, her hands sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against her.

“I’m anything but easy,” she murmured, lips finding yours in a kiss that was hungry. She smirked against your mouth before pulling back just enough to say, “Now, you gonna let me have you, or are you just here to run your mouth?”

You grinned, fingers toying with her spiked belt. “Mmm, got this far. Might as well.”

A low chuckle rumbled from her chest, her head tilting slightly as she watched you. The way you played with her belt sent heat pooling in her stomach.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured before her lips were back on your skin, nipping at your throat as one hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head to expose more of your neck to her. The other hand dipped lower, fingers teasing at the fabric of your underwear. A small sound escaped your throat at the tug in your hair, your skin already littered with purples and reds from her mouth. Your fingers flexed as you lifted the belt from its clasp, undoing it. Her teeth grazed your skin as she smiled against your throat. at the way your hands fidgeted slightly, just as eager. She made no move to stop you, only pressing you further against the wall, her tattooed arms keeping you caged in place.

The pile on the floor was beginning to build, the heel of Vi’s boots pressing the fabrics into the flooring. Too focused on how your body felt against hers.

A bar bathroom. Of all places. The kind of place that would usually make your nose scrunch, your skin crawl. The lighting was too harsh, the walls too cold, the bass from the speakers outside rattling against the door. And yet… you didn’t care. Not with the way Vi was looking at you. Not with the way she touched you—like she didn’t give a damn about the setting either, like she’d have you anywhere if it meant having you at all.

It only grew especially more difficult when her mouth began to trail lower, each kiss leaving a burning imprint on your skin. Heavy-lidded eyes followed her movements, watching as her lips dragged a slow, heated path down your sternum. Your breath hitched, fingers threading into the messy strands of her black-and-red hair, nails grazing her scalp.

She made her way down your body, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in her wake. she kissed down your sternum, her hands firm on your waist. She was all-consuming, her presence overwhelming in the best way. Your hands continued to thread into her short locs, nails grazing her scalp as she moved. as she felt the way your fingers flexed, your grip tightening when her nose grazed your hip bone. Her lips continued their path downward.

Her jeans-covered knees found themselves Kneeling in front of you, still caught between your legs, her eyes lifted to yours, Her hands recurled in the waistband of your underwear, fingers teasing the fabric.

“Let’s take these off,” black-painted fingernails, tugging the elastic slightly. Needing your approval before continuing.

You nodded, breathless. “Please.” Releasing the grip on her hair.

Widened eyes, as the thin damped fabric of your underwear dragged down the soft flesh of your thighs. her eyes roaming over your newly exposed skin. Not missing the way you were practically soaked. The shine only exposed further when her finger

Her middle and index moved to the undeniable pooling slick to act as lube as she glides over your now uncovered clit.

“Look at that…Tell me again how you’re ‘not into the whole edgy thing’?” She asked. Pierced Tounge darting out to kitten lick over your glistening folds.

“Shut up— mmng!” a small whine ripping out when her wet muscle was buried to taste bit of your growing arousal.

With a to bite your bottom to suppress a sudden moan. The space between your shoes only widens are you spread your legs for her further. the pads of her fingers creating circles sending jolts of pressure upward through your body. Eyes fluttering shut once more.

The bathroom echoed with the sounds of soft moans, whispered encouragements, and the wet, slick sounds of her finger pushing inside of your velvety walls. until her knuckle is practically coated. arching your back, off the cold graffitied wall.

“Mmfuuk Violet!” Your fingers knitted right back into her soft stands. Tugging at them. Eyes squeezed shut, at her gentle laps to your cunt. Mewing like a virgin, not remembering the last time you had time to even have a causal hookup like well—this.

Her frim hands grabbing the mound of your thigh to keep you still. Her nose brushing into your cunt. Once you are (somewhat) steady she slides index out then right back into you, bottoming out. Earning another wail from you when she curls it exactly where you can’t reach alone.

“S’good, huh? Yeah, I can tell.”

Just as Vi’s hands started to roam again, the sound of a toilet flushing from one of the stalls cut through the heated haze.

Both of you froze. Then slush of the water draining out made your eyes snap open. Oh my god, neither one of you checked if anyone else was in here. With a tilt of your head Your eyes slowly met hers, wide with realization. Vi blinked once. Then twice. The unmistakable creak of a stall door opening followed.

Vi exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face “so…That just ruined it, right?”

You swallowed hard, face burning of embarrassment “..Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence. A shuffling noise from the stall. You really didn’t want to turn around. The bathroom now extremely quiet, faint music from the bar, seeping under the door.

“My place?” you offered, already reaching for your dress.

Vi’s lips twitched. “Yeah. Think we kinda have to now.”

“ Hope you’re okay with a little backseat action.” She smirked, stepping back slightly as she grabbed her belt from the floor. “Because Ya know, you’ll have to get on my bike for that.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Oh, so fun. Not dangerous at all.”heels clicking as you stepped closer. “I’m calling a car.”

Vi grinned, looping the belt back through her jeans. “Says the girl who was just half-naked in a bar bathroom.” She whispered.

You groaned, swatting at her shoulder as she laughed, slinging her jacket over her arm before leading you toward the exit.

You groaned, swatting at her shoulder, but she just laughed, reaching for your wrist and tugging you toward the exit. “C’mon, princess, let’s get outta here before we scar someone else for life.”

Behind you, the poor soul from the stall finally cleared their throat.

“Yeah,” a voice muttered. “Good call.” Vi snorted. You just buried your face in your hands as she dragged you toward the door.

The sun warmed your closed eyelids, pulling you from sleep. You shot up from your bed, hand instinctively drifting to the space next to you—only to be met with sheets.

Cold.

Of course she left. What were you thinking? That she’d stay? You didn’t even ask for her name until you were both half-undressed. With a disappointed sigh and slumped shoulders, you sat up, pushing your hair out of your face. Glancing over at the space next to you once more to confirm.

Yeah. Still empty.

Until you caught your reflection in something small, shiny. Silver rings, hers. When you finally got out of bed to toss them into your jewelry box, you figured at least you had a souvenir to remember her by. But as you approached your vanity, confusion twisted on your features. The cabinet was slightly open. And then you saw it. A number, written in red by one of your lipsticks on the corner of your mirror.

“Had to run, didn’t wanna wake Sleeping Beauty.

Figured I’d give you a reason to find me.

Call me, XXX-XX —Vi”

#x reader #vi x fem reader #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi fanfic #vi smut #vi angst #violet arcane #arcane smut #rhysoneshots #lesbian #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #violet x reader #pit fighter vi #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi x female reader #vi arcane smut

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paulyenvol6 · 4 days ago

Text

Something To Cry Over

Dark!Joel x female reader

This is very very dark and very dirty so PLEASE be cautious. There are very triggering things in this story so only read it if you're sure you can handle it.

You're horny and can't sleep, so you beg Joel to make it better. At some point he gives in and offers to guide you while you pleasure yourself, but you demand more and more and eventually he snaps, making you take far more than you want and can handle.

Contains: non-con and dub-con elements, rape, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, forced creampie, dark!Joel, fingering (f receiving), mentions of deepthroats, degredation, humiliation, dirty talk, Joel being a creep, dacryphilia, angst, description of fear and pain, Joel getting off on reader's suffering, very dark and heavy themes, reader has blue eyes, pet names (kiddo, babygirl, sweetheart), daddy issues (and Joel referring to himself as daddy), age gap (reader calling Joel old)

Wordcount: 8,093

Masterlist

You sighed and it was much louder than you had wanted it to be.

"What," was the sharp answer out of Joel's mouth and all you could do was shut your eyes and chew on the inside of your cheek.

"Nothing," you said although it didn't sound very convincing.

But apparently that was all the reassurance he needed, because he rolled back onto his other side staring ahead of him at the wall of the tent, arms crossed. You kept quiet for a moment, weighing whether to speak up or not and perhaps even hoping that he might ask you again but when that didn't happen your eyes searched for his frame in the dark.

"Joel," you whispered and at first, there was no reaction. Should you say his name again or was he already asleep? Should you poke him in the side?

"What," he hissed, the anger clearly showing in his tone but you were used to that by now. This was Joel Miller and he seemed to have a good day considering he hadn't just ignored you.

"M'not feeling so well," you spoke, fingers intertwined to somehow magically get rid of the accumulated tension in your body.

"What?" he said again and you wondered if you would be able to get any other word out of him tonight.

"M'feeling weird," you whined, legs pressed together as you shifted in your sleeping bag to create some friction, anything to defeat the biting, throbbing heat between your thighs.

Joel on the other hand drew his eyebrows together, not at all aware of what was bothering you. You had seemed fine all day, jumping around, asking all of these usual annoying questions and now you were suddenly complaining about feeling sick? He just prayed you weren't infected.

Feeling concerned all of a sudden, Joel turned around again, eyes narrowed as he took in your face. Your cheeks were flushed, that much he could see in the darkness, and your eyes looked a little glossy.

"What is it?" he hissed, frowning at the way you chewed on your bottom lip.

"Just feelin' weird, s'all," you mumbled which evoked an annoyed sigh in him.

"You already fuckin' said that. What's wrong? You sick?"

You seemed to think about it for a few seconds before crawling to lay on your stomach, your cheek pressed to the ground so you could meet his gaze.

"No. I don't think so."

He exhaled loudly, the ends of his nerves prickling with tension because why did you have to speak so cryptically instead of just saying what was stressing you? He was exhausted, eyelids heavy and limbs aching so all he wished for was a good night of sleep that you were stealing from him right now.

"Then what the fuck is wrong with you? You're tryna play a joke on me or somethin'?"

"No," the answer came quickly before Joel could roll on his back and he suspiciously glared at you blinking a couple of times as he felt the drowsiness creeping up on him again.

"S'just… it's aching, Joel."

He had to scoff because he couldn't believe he was actually lying here at 11pm listening to your riddles and wasting his precious time with you, who seemed to be producing your words at a rate of one per minute.

"You're gonna tell me right now what's goin' on with you like a fuckin' grown-up or m'gonna ignore you for the rest of the night. You think I like wastin' my fuckin' time with some stupid teenager like you, huh?"

When he saw the glistening in your eyes he felt bad for a brief moment. But a second later that changed because when there was a familiar pout forming on your lips he was reminded of all the times that you'd start to sulk because things weren't going your way and you'd believed that if you let Joel know how bad and serious it was he would take care of everything. You were behaving like a princess and he really wanted to finally set an end to it.

He watched you expressionlessly, not budging to your will just because of that sweet little pout and instead waited for you to open your mouth. Once you realised that he was uncompromising tonight you actually complied, swallowing and then clearing your throat.

"S'aching… right here…," you whispered carefully darting down to your sleeping bag and this time Joel's brain started to race. You weren't actually…

"Between my legs. It's really uncomfortable, Joel. I can't sleep."

"Jesus fuckin' christ," he moaned and turned on his back while rubbing with his hand over his face. "You're fuckin' kiddin' me, kiddo, aren't you?"

He could see you shake your head, fists clenching around the sleeping back.

"No, Joel. I can't sleep 'cause of it."

"Then go jerk off or somethin'. God… Can't believe you're tellin' me this."

Joel closed his eyes because he feared if he looked at you it would do things to him he didn't want to happen. You and your little attitude that never failed to enrage him and piss him off but at the same time you were just too pretty. Too pretty to be close to and too pretty to keep his eyes on for too long.

He knew how fucked this was. You could be his daughter and Joel seriously had tried to see you that way. Him, as your protector and you as the person to keep safe but then there were these thoughts creeping up on him when your face looked so beautiful in the sunlight or when you reached for something and your shirt lifted a bit or when you wore those goddamn little shorts that showed off your legs –

"Please."

His eyes shot open again at the sound of your thin voice, insides twisting and a familiar warmth floating towards his center.

"Please, Joel. Do something."

An unnatural laugh left his mouth, eyes flashing at you because he was so angry with you and the fact that you couldn't leave him alone for a single night.

"What do you want me to do, huh?"

"Help me. Help me make it go away," you whispered, your voice sounding so whiny that he almost felt pitiful. Almost.

"What, am I supposed to teach you how to fuckin' masturbate? Can't do shit, can ya?" he growled loudly, his face only hardening at your glistening eyes. He wouldn't let you get under his skin just because you happened to have some pretty pair of blue eyes. But then a single tear escaped the corner of your eye, rolling down your cheek in the most cinematic and dramatic way that made Joel believe he was in a movie scene. He sighed and slightly sat up on the hard ground, your eyes following his every move.

"Goddamnit… If it's that bad go outside and I don't know, jerk off and shit."

He was grateful for the thick fabric of the sleeping bag because the image in his head, you burying your slender fingers inside your cunt made his cock that by now was rock hard uncomfortably twitch.

"I don't know how," your airy breath made his head turn and he narrowed his eyes at you, blood throbbing in his veins.

"What."

"I don't know. I don't know how to do it," you repeated and Joel inhaled deeply, his forehead furrowed.

"You're tellin' me you've never…"

Before he could end the sentence you shook your head, your eyes following the movements of your own fingers that fumbled with the sleeping bag.

"Never?" Joel asked again in disbelief of what you had just revealed to him.

"No. When was I supposed to?" you shrugged your shoulders and that was the moment when he snapped back to reality, gulping and then shaking his head as he laid down on the back again.

"Then do whatever feels good. You're gonna figure it out, m'sure."

"No Joel," you cried out and now it was you who sat up straight, your lips curled in a defiant and pleading pout. "Can you… Please, can you show me how?"

Joel would have liked to bury his face in the ground underneath him if he hadn't felt so tired. He couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth, even though they were ringing like bells in his head and sending adrenaline rushing through his veins.

"Hell no," he said, making every effort to appear as calm and cool as possible despite the roaring storm swirling in his chest that seemed to grow the longer he breathed the same cutting air as you.

"Please. I'll be quiet afterwards. Just please help me make the ache go away," you begged, hips shifting under the fabric and once again, sinful pictures appeared in his head.

You rubbing your center against the ground in an attempt to stimulate your pulsating core and then the ground was replaced by his thigh or hand and – Fucking christ.

"I said no. Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? You're not feelin' ashamed or… or bad for asking me this? Jesus."

"It's only us here. Who cares? M'not asking you to touch me, just… need you to guide me."

Joel squeezed his eyes hoping that it might help him clear his head but the longer you talked and the longer your sweet voice filled the air the hotter his skin became and he was suddenly thankful that it was dark in the tent. The skin on his arms was prickling and he could feel a single drop of sweat running down his neck.

"There's nothing to guide. We're talkin' about fuckin' masturbating, right? There's no science behind it, just do what feels good and leave me alone, alright?"

Joel turned on his side, back facing you while letting out an annoyed sigh. And then the tent was still, the only noises drifting in from outside. The occasional chirping of various creatures, the rustling of leaves, and crickets singing for the two of you. Joel had almost prepared himself to drift to sleep (although he only now realised that his hard cock might pose a difficulty) when you spoke up once again.

"Please, Joel," you whispered quietly, as soft and slight as the wind howling through the trees outside.

"Shut up."

"Please."

"I said shut up."

It was a war of words and Joel wondered how you had the energy to keep up this stupid fight for so long instead of just stuffing your fingers inside your weeping hole if you really needed it that badly.

"I won't let you sleep," you then said.

White thick anger made his toes curl and his fingers tingle with the urge to hit something as he clenched his teeth to somehow control his emotions. Fury combined with lust was dangerous and he just couldn't lose control of himself now.

"You're an annoying little brat, you know that?" Joel grunted not moving an inch when he heard the rustling of your sleeping bag.

"Maybe."

You had moved closer to him and before your front could touch his back and perhaps increase his desire for you he moved to lay on his other side again, hand coming up to your shoulder to push you back.

"Stay the fuck away from me. N'lay on your back," he added quietly, a mischievous smile passing over your face as he seemed to finally cooperate with you. You mouthed a silent 'Okay' and then stared up to the ceiling while Joel watched your profile.

"After that you're gonna sleep. N'you'll stop complaining and annoying me, is that clear?"

You nodded, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes. "Yes, Joel."

"Move your hand between your thighs," he whispered with a low voice, the odd mixture of feeling incredibly bad and disgusting for talking to a girl almost 30 years his junior that way and being horny making his stomach painfully twist.

He forced himself to keep his eyes on the ceiling as well because otherwise he believed it would only get worse.

"Push your pants down… and underwear or whatever you're wearin'," he then mumbled, lips in a thin line while he waited for you to follow his command. As if you couldn't do this on your own.

An ugly thought formed inside of his head and he suddenly widened his eyes, nostrils flaring in disgust as he ran his eyes over your soft features.

"This ain't some fucked-up daddy issues shit, right? You searching for approval or somethin'… I don't know."

Your face twisted, nose wrinkling and pure distaste marking your face as you shook your head. "Ew. No. Fuck, Joel, I told you that I just couldn't sleep."

Instead of answering he watched you, not entirely convinced, but what else was he supposed to do, other than take your word for it? All of this was terrible but you had promised him you would leave him alone after you had come.

There was the sound of fabric brushing over your body again and then your glowy face was turned to him, your expression longing and desperate and like an open book to him which was a grave contrast to your unreadable face when he had first met you.

"Slide your finger through your folds. Slowly." He waited a few seconds although he didn't know what for and then closed his eyes as his next words formed in his head.

"Collect your wetness. And then bring it to your clit."

A questioning look lingered on your face as your pretty eyes burned holes in the side of his face, his eyes still refusing to meet your gaze.

"A li'l bundle over your hole. You're gonna find it. S'gonna make you feel very good."

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe steadily and then opened his right one when he heard you gasp quietly and cursed his body for the way his heart fluttered. He wasn't supposed to react to you this way. This was so incredibly wrong and filthy and Joel knew if all the horrible things he had done in the past weren't enough already, this would be the reason for him to be sent to hell - if something like that existed -

"Rub it. In circles. Use your wetness as lubrication," he pressed using all of his strength not to let any of his own desire show although you seemed to be very busy right now anyway.

"Oh," you moaned and Joel couldn't help himself and darted at you just for a brief moment.

Your cheeks were flushed, lips parted and eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tent while your left hand that wasn't occupied tightly grasped the sleeping bag. The imagine alone was enough to fuel his dirtiest cravings and at this point his dick was leaking with precum. His own breathing started to hitch in his throat although he hadn't even touched himself but who would have known that watching you get off was so goddamn hot. A part of him regretted to have agreed to this because now there most certainly was no turning back and he feared that he wouldn't be able to get through this.

"Joel," you moaned and he threw his head back, letting out a quiet "Fuck." Were you even aware of what you were doing to him?

"You needa stop," he hissed through gritted teeth, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the ceiling of the tent but it was so seducing to just let his eyes travel to you for a second. Just enjoy this pretty view for a moment and imagine that it wasn't your hand but his…

"Why?" you asked looking right into his eyes for the first time since you had started to pleasure yourself and Joel felt his heart pound so loud in his chest that he was sure it was the only noise in the tent apart from your panting.

"You need to… You need to stop lookin' at me like that 'n' say my name… Just fuckin' cum and then get to sleep."

His voice was quiet and muffled… and weak. Like he wasn't in control of the things he said and did and Joel had a feeling that was exactly what you wanted.

"C'mon old man," you evily sniggered, hand still snug between your legs but somehow you seemed a lot more at calm and in command of the situation.

"I know you want it too. You wanna touch me, Joel? You wanna see it yourself? How wet and warm I am… it's such a mess down there… who's gonna clean it up?"

"Shut up. M'not gonna say it again," Joel managed to breath out, body stiff and tense as he felt you move closer.

No, that was the wrong direction, Joel thought, panic painting his view white and he was quick to put an end to it by pushing you backwards by your hips. How had this slipped out of his hand? He had promised himself to keep a clear head and be the one to pull the strings but just a blink of your eyes had turned his brain into a mush. Joel felt like a horny teenager who had just seen a boob for the first time, the only difference being that neither had he touched himself nor had he seen anything of you. He was weak, uncontrolled and pathetic.

"Please Joel," you moaned, biting down on your bottom lip while you seemed to rock your pussy against your hand under the blanket.

"You like me that way? You want me to beg for it? Want me all whiny and desperate for you? 'Cause it makes you feel fucking needed?"

Joel felt sweat collect on his forehead, little shivers running down his spine every few seconds but the sensation was now overcast by this burning and throbbing heat in his stomach that made him want to shut you up so badly. How many times did he have to tell you to be silent until you would actually do it? He told you exactly that, voice sharp like a knife but you were unimpressed.

"Please Joel. I just want it to be your hand makin' me feel good. S'not a big deal, just… C'mon, it's not gonna take long. Just this once, please."

"I can't, goddamnit," he snarled, his hands clenching into fists and he used his own fingernails to create a painful sting in his palms. Anything to distract him from his dick that seemed to have a mind of his own.

"Why not? We're hurtin' anyone by doin' it?"

You came closer again and this time Joel didn't have the energy to do something about it.

"No. But… you're so young. I can't do this. S'not good. You deserve something your age."

"Oh come on!" you exclaimed, hand coming to a stop between your legs but that wasn't what distracted Joel. It was your hot breath lingering at his neck and he had to bring up all his will power to move an inch away from you, hand gripping your shoulder to get an appropriate amount of distance between the two of you.

"Don't come at me with the age thing. I'm an adult, I can decide who I wanna touch. And don't put this on me. I want it, don't come up with excuses like you wanna protect me."

Joel grinded his teeth so hard that the both of you heard it, a single muscle twitching in his cheek.

"You're too young for me," he insisted slapping your hand away that you had wanted to move to the back of his head to play with his hair. "S'not appropriate."

You rolled your eyes and propped yourself up on your elbows, forcing him to look at your face hovering right in front of him.

"Joel. This isn't about gettin' married or shit. I just need you right now."

He remained uncompromising, his eyes observing you precisely but not in the kind of way you wanted him to.

"Just finish what you have started, kiddo."

A desperate whine that once again didn't fail to make Joel's stomach clench escaped from your mouth but you didn't move an inch.

"I don't think I can come this way," you claimed and yet another wave of frustration made his body buckle.

"Jesus fucking christ," Joel spitted and ran a hand through his hair. "Stop lying and cum and if you don't, I don't care."

"But I said I would let you sleep after I came."

Joel wanted to die right here and right now. He couldn't believe he seriously had gotten himself in this situation with this stubborn little bitch who wouldn't stop annoying him. Years ago he would have believed himself to be in paradise with a pretty girl like you literally begging him to touch her in any way but not now and not with you. Not with such an innocent fragile thing like you who seriously deserved better.

He was old and marked by the years. He had done terrible things and he knew, even if it was just touching you between your legs, he somehow would… ruin you. He would destroy you and your pretty innocence.

"Just this once, Joel. I promise I'm gonna be good," you whispered close to his ear, seemingly confident that you were about to break him. If only you had been wrong.

"I'm gonna do whatever you tell me to. I just need to feel your hands, s'all. I'll be quiet and I'll listen to you. Please."

"God…," Joel exhaled rubbing over his eyes and realising now that all sleepiness had faded away.

"Please?" you added and then your eyes brightened up as he pushed your left shoulder down so you lay on your back.

Quick and rough hands shoved down the sleeping bag until only your legs were covered by it and he hissed out as he took in your tight t-shirt that couldn't hide your hard nipples and your pubic hair, covering what certainly deliciously clenched for him right now just a few inches further down.

You rocked back and forth in anticipation, your face glowing with pure joy and Joel almost felt annoyed wishing back the pouty and whimpering version of you. But he would surely get you there again.

"Open your legs," he growled not at all caring about his rude tone but you didn't mind. Your eyes were fixed on him, who completely ignored you and just started to finger you like he had a job to do.

He used the pats of two of his fingers to glide through your folds smearing your arousal that was dripping down your thighs over the whole of your pussy. His pants felt so goddamn tight around his cock at the warmth your little pussy radiated and he wished to press any of his body parts inside of you, no matter if it was his fingers, his cock or his tongue. He was so focused on his hand moving between your legs, a deep crease between his brows in concentration, that he didn't even get to enjoy all of your reactions; your little sighs and whimpers, your mouth open and your teeth nibbling at your lower lip.

Joel circled your entrance with two thick fingers and then brought them to your clit that felt swollen beneath his touch. He began rubbing it at a quick pace, his own lips unconsciously parted as well because now he was so close to you that his nose nestled against your shoulder and your scent was all it took for his head to spin.

"Joel," you moaned fully enjoying his treatment but when your hand grasped his wrist he lightly slapped it and pinned it down next to your body.

"No. You told me you'd be good. I want you to shut up and keep your hands to yourself, am I clear?"

The "yes" you whined didn't exactly fulfil the purpose because it made Joel's eyes roll back and he quietly cursed to himself. Although he felt like he had the upper hand now with you falling apart beneath his touch he wasn't quite satisfied because something about this made him feel like the longer he touched you, the more his hunger for you grew and he feared that he might do something he would regret. Apart from the fact that he was already sure he would regret what he was doing right now.

His finger became faster, his only goal being to make you finish as quickly as possible and in addition to the patterns he drew over your clit, Joel eased a single finger inside your quivering hole. You were drenched and therefore your pussy welcomed him kindly but he also hadn't forgotten the fact that you were a virgin so he believed that one finger would be enough for the time being and feeling your center tighten, there was immediate evidence to support his thesis.

He slowly thrusted his finger in you without stopping flicking your clit with his thumb. The intoxicating combination made you cry out, your body so incredibly responsive to him that Joel couldn't hold back pressing a kiss on your shoulderblade.

"There you go…," he hummed. He wanted to rock his aching dick against your thigh so badly, get some stimulation and make you feel the size of him, but he couldn't. He couldn't let go now, not after having betrayed his morales so many times already.

"Fuck," you cursed, hips buckling to meet the movement of his hand and this time Joel allowed it, wanting nothing more than for you to come as soon as possible.

Therefore he added a second finger and although your eyes squeezed, little droplets of sweat pooling on your temple at the stretch, he could see your pupils dilating, more pleasure being added to what already felt like a huge wave of warm, sticky, honey embracing you. Joel touched you right where it was itching and you were at a point where you didn't care about anything but his touch. His thumb sloppily pressed into your clit, his own movement restricted from the pleasure he experienced but when he felt your hand wrapping around his wrist, he frowned, lifting his head to look at you.

"Joel," you exhaled close to him, your hot breath prickling on his skin.

"Come, sweetheart. Let go, alright? You can do it."

But you defiantly shook your head, lips pressed together and face drawn almost as if you were in pain.

"Need more, please," you whined and brought a hand to his shirt to grip the fabric tightly in your small fists.

"What are you talkin' about, c'mon. I'm gonna make you cum on my fingers."

But just like the hand on his shirt, your hand around his wrist squeezed him, pushing it away from your core.

"Can I touch it, Joel?" you asked eyes round as coins as you submissively looked up to him underneath your lashes.

Fuck. Although he would never admit it, he knew that you were smart. And you had him figured out, read him like a fucking book and knew just what buttons to push to make him bend to your will. Joel couldn't exactly describe what it was and had never bothered to label it, but he had a thing for this submissive bullshit and when you gave him your pretty doll eyes his stomach clenched and his dick swoll to unnatural dimensions.

"No," he barked nevertheless, removing your hand from his shirt and pressing against your fist that prevented him from continuing to rub your pussy.

"You wanna fuckin' come or not?" he said against your temple, finding satisfaction in the way your lashes twitched.

"Yes. But please. Just wanna see your dick. Give me the tip at least. Then you're gonna feel good as well."

Joel twisted his eyes, teeth grinding as he let out an animalistic growl.

"You're fuckin' kiddin' me, aren't you? First you convinced me to guide you, then that wasn't enough for you and you convinced me to rub your l'il clit and now you want more again?"

"Just the tip, Joel. I don't want you to fuck me, just wanna feel you for a moment," you mumbled, fingers lazily picking at the sleeves of his shirt.

"I said no. An' you're gonna learn to take no for an answer," Joel said under his hitched breath, teeth threateningly blaring as you trailed a finger down his chest.

"I bet you wouldn't be able to make me come," you whispered, your hot breath brushing over his chin. "Maybe that's what you're so afraid of, old man. You think you won't satisfy me 'n' you don't want your ego to get hurt. You're scared of this pussy."

"Shut up," Joel pressed, face unreadable, but a crooked smile appeared on your face, your confidence not fading at his harsh tone.

"You think you're dick is too small? Mhm? Or what is it? You think you can't keep up 'cause you're too fuckin' old?"

His nostrils fluttered as he clearly tried to control his heavy breathing, chest and shoulders trembling under accumulated anger.

"I said. Shut up. Or I'll have to make you," he said a lot calmer than he actually was, voice thick with rage.

"Make me then. That's what I have wanted from the start. C'mon, Joel Miller. Gimme something that's gonna shut me up."

You curled your lips into a triumphant smile, an assertiveness glowing in your eyes that drove him insane.

"You're such a greedy little thing, aren't you? Just can't get enough."

With an abrupt movement of his hand he had pinned down both your wrists right next to your head while simultaneously crawling to lay on top of you with one knee between your legs. Your eyes became round, lips curling into a surprised pout but it moved nothing in Joel. His hand clapsed around your chin forcing you to look at him and a satisfied growl left his mouth at the sight of your intimidated face.

"That what you want, mhm?"

"Yes," you breathed, although you looked much less sure of yourself than you had a few of seconds ago.

"You said you want somethin' that's gonna shut you up, mhm… I think m'gonna give you somethin' that's gonna make you scream. Somethin' to cry about."

His face twisted unnaturally, eyes filled with so much rage that his surroundings looked a little blurry for a moment. Joel was driven by an animalistic urge to finally sweep this irritating stupid look off your face and replace it with your pretty little doe eyes that he knew you were able to give him. And first and foremost, he wanted to punish the shit out of you.

Every single minute of this night had cut deeper into the rope keeping him together and now it had snapped and you would pay for it. He would make you pay for each of your little whines and pleas, for your pouts and complaints and your demanding voice keeping him awake. He had done everything, giving you more than you deserved and now it was his turn to take from you whatever he wanted. He wanted to see you break and tremble, beg him but not in the way you had a couple of minutes ago. He wanted to see you beg him to stop and apologise for being so goddamn needy.

A first frightened flickering appeared in your eyes when Joel brought a hand to your breasts, kneading the flesh through your shirt, perhaps because this was more than what you had asked for. Oh and he would give you a lot more than what you had asked for.

"You're so goddamn ungrateful. Such a greedy l'il whore that's always askin' and takin' and wantin' more. An' now m'gonna give you more 'n you're gonna take it. I know you're not a good fuckin' girl but m'gonna turn you into one, don't worry. Now you're gonna lay still and let daddy feast from you."

"Joel," you whispered, helpless eyes glancing up to him and in response he slapped your cheek, not as hard as he would have wanted to but enough to make you tear up.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, pushing hard against his chest but he took hold of your wrists once more, pressing them down over your head and this time he left them trapped there underneath his large hand.

"Now you can scream as loud as you want to," Joel whispered, evily smirking at the way you writhed under his body that caged you so wonderfully. Things weren't going the way you wanted them to and so you naturally began to panic.

"Joel. You're hurtin' me," you complained and tried to move your hands. When you realised that you weren't able to, fear spread through your body, making the blood in your veins freeze and your heart pound.

"Joel?"

"No, babygirl. It's a little bit too late now to get all scared and frightened. It was you who begged me to do this, remember?"

He chuckled darkly and then fiddled with the waistband of his sleeping pants, your eyes darting down at once as if you could keep a grip on the situation like this. Joel pulled his pants down revealing his hard dick that was swollen and wet with precum, the angry red tip practically begging to finally get some relief. You tried to close your legs around him, jolting backwards as a big hand squeezed your hip and then worked you open.

"Ugh uh. You're gonna take it all. You're gonna take it all in your tight little pussy because daddy deserves it. Daddy deserves to fuck this hole after havin' to bear with you all fuckin' day an' night and listening to your dumb questions, and now this? I think you need a l'il lesson in how to behave yourself and that your actions have fuckin' consequences."

Joel growled as he forced you to spread your legs even wider, settling between them and pumping his leaking dick a few times.

"P-Please Joel," your terrified quiet voice stuttered, your eyes relentlessly producing new tears although you hadn't began to cry just yet.

"Please don't. I'm sorry, please. Please don't do it."

"Oh babygirl," he purred, a hand caressing your cheek way too softly for the harshness of his words, but you couldn't focus on it anyway because his tip was touching your entrance now and one thing you knew for sure. He was way too big.

"Joel, please. No, no, no. You can't do it, lemme suck you off or… or I don't know, just please don't fuck me," you stumbled over your own words and if you had hoped to evoke something in Joel, you had been wrong.

It was the opposite; goosebumps rose on his arms at your weak voice and the need to hurt and mark you gripped his heart. He panted heavily while resting his tip against your entrance, completely ignoring the way your body tensed and shivered and started to work his dick inside your clenched virgin hole.

He knew that the pain must be excruciating, especially in view of the fact that your body refused to let him in, and he wasn't going particularly slow, but god, this was what he wanted and perhaps this made him fucked up but he needed it.

He needed to taste and smell the fear off you and hear your quiet cries while taking you. Tears spilled from your eyes, your whole body trembling and jerking as he went deeper, your pussy feeling so incredibly tight around him, he thought his dick was about to be ripped off. He might have helped you by telling you to try to relax and loosen up around him but you had missed your chance when you had behaved like a fucking bitch the whole night. You would have to go through it now.

"You stupid, stupid girl," Joel whispered in your ear, eyes rolling back at your glistening tears along with your impossibly clenched walls.

"You gotten yourself into this position on your own. With your draining, horrible attitude. You thought it's cute? You think it's cute now?"

You looked down, eyes threatening to close as the pain took on new dimensions, Joel now halfway into your cunt.

"Yeah that's right…," he growled with his husky voice and released your hands to rub over your face instead, smearing your tears all over your face.

"Hurts, doesn't it? Hurts so badly and you want me to stop so badly… But I won't. M'gonna continue as long as I want to and you're gonna take it. You might not take it very well... but it's enough for me."

You hiccuped, face tilted to the side as you grinded your teeth, a long heartbreaking sob leaving your mouth.

"S-Stop, p-please… Please. J-Joel…"

Your hips bent as if you were trying to evade his length but Joel had you pinned down beneath him and you didn't stand a chance. A warmth leaked from his heart flooting his body with an animalistic satisfaction. Now you were his, now he had claimed and marked you and you would surely feel him for days.

He would be lying if he said that he didn't get off on this. Your body that looked so helpless beneath his broad shoulders, your hands resting on your face and on top of your chest in turns as if to hide from him and of course your pleas that wouldn't change anything in him but were nice to listen to. Joel got off on your weakness. On your pain and on your demands to make him stop. Because he was stronger and he wouldn't stop. He had full power over you and everything that was happening to you from now on was under his watch.

You were a sobbing mess, hands protecting your face from his thumb that wiped away some of your tears but soon Joel set an end to that as well, not only wanting to have complete control but also humiliate you in every possible way.

"You haven't quite gotten it yet, mhm?" he growled peeling your hands off your face. "You're gonna fuckin' look at me. All you are is a goddamn toy f'me. A stupid l'il hole to make me feel good and I don't fuckin' care about you or what feels good. You understand me? I wanna see you cry, l'il one. I wanna see you fuckin' break for me. Wanna squeeze each of these little cries outta you until you're nothing but a brainless mess. Attagirl…"

He was completely inside of you now feeling your walls thob around him. He could only imagine the amount of pain you were feeling right now and your reactions, your twitching face as well as your bottom lip that you had bitten bloody could only hint at just how bad it was.

Joel waited a couple of seconds before suddenly bottoming out with his entire length and then slamming himself back inside because this time he didn't have to work you open before fitting inside but could just use you for his pleasure.

Your eyes once again opened wide, almost watching him in disbelief of what he was making you feel before new tears leaked out, cheeks and forehead covered with a burning heat as well as a thin layer of sweat.

"N-No…," you mumbled, your hands coming up to push against his stomach as a last desperate attempt to make him stop but Joel was too far gone now anyway. Even if he had wanted to stop he couldn't. Not after having been consumed by your perfect pussy and the way you sucked him in so firmly.

"Mhmm that's some pretty tears right there… C'mon lemme see them."

Joel grabbed your chin adjusting your head to his liking and then brushed with his thumb over your temple, watching the drops of tears fall upon your cheeks in awe.

"Aren't you such a pathetic little slut? Bawling your eyes out over my dick after asking me to stick it inside you a hundred times? Ungrateful bitch. Just look at these little tears. Look at the mess you're makin'… and once again daddy has to clean up everythin' just like you always rely on daddy…"

He fucked you at a steady pace now, paying no attention at all to the way your body rejected him and how your pussy clenched and cramped every time he pulled out but just went on like he was trying to tear every last layer of resistance down. You jolted away from him almost as if your body had a mind on its own but Joel made sure to drag you back every time, his grip on your hip like iron while his other hand now wrapped around your throat.

"That's it…," he drowned your whimpers, pressing you into the hard ground and now setting an even more brutal pace. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the tent, along with the sound of your muffled screams, but there wasn't anyone out here anyway so it was clear that Joel only choked you for his own amusement.

"Good fuckin' girl," he cursed, his teeth sinking down on his bottom lip and his eyes never leaving your face.

"Ugh uh, eyes on me."

You had wanted to escape his piercing gaze but Joel would have none of that, delivering a soft slap to your cheek before his hand came back to use your neck as leverage to fuck into you deeper.

"You're not gonna escape me, babygirl. You're daddy's now. I'm the first to fuck this little pussy and don't worry, she's gonna get used to it. She's gonna get used to likin' it. Next time it's not gonna be you that weeps for me but your pretty cunt. Unless you don't play by my rules of course."

Joel's mouth came down to press a possessive kiss on your brow while his hand cradled your face almost in a protective manner. Then his hand on your hips traveled to your belly and he applied a little bit of pressure that made your red-rimmed eyes anxiously glance at him. Joel soothingly rubbed your skin pressing down harder at the same time as he thrusted deep inside of you, his tip kissing your cervix in a way that made you painfully tense your muscles.

"There she is… Want you to remember that feelin' in every fuckin' moment from now on. 'Cause it's supposed to remind you of what happens to you when you're disrespectful and can't hold that little tongue of yours. Maybe m'gonna punish your mouth the next time you disbehave like this... So that you can't speak for days and I don't have to listen to your goddamn voice every mornin' and night."

Your round eyes were glued to his face and Joel believed that you were at a point where you were incapable of having a straight thought, let alone speak up.

There was silence for the next few minutes and Joel could almost see you trying to adjust to his size, your mouth swallowing desperate gasps but it was still too much for you. He simply demanded too much, giving you no time to relax your cunt as he took and took like you were nothing but a set of holes to get him off. The next time Joel spoke up was when he felt his orgasm approaching and obviously he had to make sure you knew what he was about to do to your poor pussy.

"Gonna cum right into this pretty hole o'yours. Gonna paint your walls with my cum until you've understood that I fuckin' own you."

You seemed to need a few seconds to understand the dimensions of his words, head suddenly turning to him to stare right into his eyes. Jolting to the side your hands buried in his arms while mindless stuttering left your parted lips. As a precaution Joel pressed a finger on your lips shushing you before your doubts could even be expressed.

"Ah ah. Don't fight it, babygirl. There's nothing you can do about it so you better take it unless you want this to be painful. And I think you've had enough pain for tonight, hm?"

You broke down on the spot, a wave of tears crashing upon you at the reminder and this time Joel held you through it. Perhaps it was seeing you all fucked out and helpless that made him soften or it was the fact that he was all satisfied with the world right now but either way, he allowed you to snuggle against his arm and soak his shirt with your tears, all while still pounding your pussy in order to reach his high.

"Jesus fucking christ…," he moaned, adrenaline shooting through his veins and the pleasure blinding him. And then he came with a loud groan, his left hand groping your breasts while his right yanked your head back by your hair to cover your neck with kisses.

"That's right… Take it all like the little slut you are… Goddamnit, babygirl…"

He pushed into you a few more times to be certain that his cum was deep inside your pussy, each thrust evoking a gasp from you, your nails scratching his muscular arms and then moved your sweaty hair back, making you face him once again.

"Look at that… All stuffed with my cum. So fuckin' full of me."

Your face was an absolute mess, your eyes and nose red and swollen while traces of tears made your cheeks look pale and washed-out. Your lip was bloody and tattered from the way you had chewed on it and your brow radiated a burning heat. You wanted to avert his gaze and rather melt with the floor head first but Joel forced you to keep your glossy eyes on him, the heavy weight of his body leaving you no choice but to listen to the breath that was his voice, lingering at your ear.

"You didn't like that, did you?"

You pressed your eyes and lips together but managed to answer him by shaking your head.

"I thought so… An' you definitely don't want this to happen again, do ya?" Another shake of your head and this time you opened your right eye, anxiously winding under his body.

"So you're gonna behave from now on. I could make this very uncomfortable for you, babygirl. I could make you swallow my dick an' make you choke on it. Or I could fuck your tight ass. I'm sure I could come up with a lot of fun stuff that's all gonna be very unpleasant for you. But you could also be a good fuckin' girl f'me, listen to me, do as I say and stop bein' such an ungrateful whore and then I might let your pussy recover for the next few days an' we're all gonna be very happy."

The muscles in your chin twisted, new tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks but nevertheless, you nodded and Joel loosened the grip on your hair.

"I wanna hear your voice."

"Y-Yes. I'll b-be g-good," you stuttered, voice croaked and thin but it was enough for him because he suddenly dropped you like you were a hot potato and pulled his flaccid dick out of you to crawl to his side of the tent.

You immediately collapsed again, rolling onto your side to face the wall of the tent, covering your battered body with the sleeping back and putting as much distance as possible between Joel and you. A cold shiver ran through your numb body. You pussy uncomfortably pulsated with a stinging pain that you had never experienced before tonight and yet was already so familiar to you. You were freezing but at the same time craved a cold shower, but perhaps this need was caused by the urge to clean yourself to wash his cum and sweat off your body and scrub every inch he had touched.

You sniffed a couple of times holding on to the sleeping bag as if it was your shield against Joel and forced yourself not to think about what had just happened. On one hand it was incredibly easy because everything about it was still so surreal and strange but at the same time every time you closed your eyes picture appeared before your eyes. The lust in his eyes. His hand coming down to caress your cheek.

A shockwave went through your body and you would have started crying again had not your exhausted and traumatised mind drifted off to sleep first.

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