#hi fi fight club

[remnants]

why would i buy only 3 out of 5 of the tales of suspense hawkeye and winter soldier series. highschool me what was going through your head??? :-(((

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like��I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

[bettysupremacy]

omg I have an idea (you don’t have to write it if you don’t want to) and I have to put it somewhere.

so rafe is this like super mean, big guy right? wrong. imagine r touching him and he just freaks out because ??the love of his life is touching him?? and r just giggles bc of the effect they have on him

This is suchhhhh a cute idea!! i ❤️ rafe. I hope you like this!! I don’t know if he did much freaking out, but she does much loving on him.

“I told him forty.” Rafe grumbles, fumbling with a pack of camels. His big hands rip at the new packaging frustratedly. He gives up and uses his teeth.

Topper winces. “That’s what told him.”

“So what’s the fuckin problem.” Rafe looks up, spitting plastic.

His knee bounces under the white country club table. “He wants a discount.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know,” he breathes. “So I told him,”

“You’re not giving him a discount.”

Topper laughs nervously. “If you’d let me finish-“

“He’s gotta perfect amount of his mommy’s money to be spending on drugs.”

“Exactly-“

“You don’t give figure eight kids discounts.”

“Rafe,” Topper starts, frustrated with his lack of sentence.

“Rafe!” Your voice echos outside the private room excitedly at the same time. He sits straighter, smile fighting his face at the shriek of his name. Toppers still here. Rafe’s stoic.

Top sighs exasperatedly, leaning back in his chair. He’s not finishing that sentence.

The door flings open, your hand tight on the fancy handle. “Rafe.” You bounce. He watches greedily over you, this doesn’t deter you. “Guess what.”

“You’ve waited too long to give me my hello kiss?” He taps his pen against his thigh, elbows resting on the chair.

“No, silly,” You laugh, airily walking over to him to plant a kiss on his cheek. He swerves, smiling against your lips instead, reveling in your laugh as you pull away. His arms wrap under your butt. “Sarah’s having a party tonight.”

Tops eyes flit up curiously.

“What?” Rafe’s face drops.

You squeal. “We have to go.”

“It’s my house too, babe, I think I’ll be there against my will.” His eyes flit to Topper.

“Not at your house.” You pout, pushing his hair back. His eyes fight against fluttering closed. “Joint party, Scarlett’s house.”

“Oh, we’re not going.” He decides, squeezing the flesh of the back of your thigh.

“What,” Topper laments, no mind of his own. If Rafe’s not going, obviously he can’t go. You both ignore him.

“Please, Rafe.” You whine, E’s extended longer than Top thinks necessary. You walk behind him to grip his shoulders.

He short circuits. You’re warm behind him, the perfume you spritzed this morning making its way to his nose. You knead your fingers into his back. Digging into the tense muscle he tries so hard to relax around you.

“Baby,” He grumbles, wary of your hands on his shoulder. “That shit’ll be so lame.”

You sigh working deeper into his muscle. “You know I love Sarah.” Then afterthought. “And Scarlett.”

He holds back a noise at your thumbs pressing into his back. Grabbing your wrist, his warm fingers press into the tender skin they find.

“Can’t see you.” He murmurs.

You round the chair, sitting on his lap. His arms wrap around you heavily and securely. He bounces his knee a couple times as you brush hair out of eyes, both wary of Top three feet away. “Better?”

He grunts a nod, smiling at you brilliantly. “So much.”

Your hands card through his hair, raking gently against his scalp. His hair is soft, clean, the smell of his shampoo hitting you easily. You tug, gently, his hair back, till he’s looking up at you lazily.

“You know you have hazel in your eyes?”

His demeanor changes. “Stop.”

“Im serious,” You laugh, head tilting to the side to eye Topper. “Someone’s cranky.”

“I am not cranky.” Rafe scoffs, unable to bring your hands from his hair.

“Then play nice.” You whisper, cool air fanning Rafe’s face. “Let’s go to the party.”

He frowns, overly aware of your dancing fingers. “You know what you’re doing.”

“If loving on my sweet boyfriend was a crime-“ you start.

“Then you’d be in jail by now.” He finishes.

“Exactly!” You grin, leaning down to kiss his jaw. His eye twinkles. “Let me love on you in public.”

He scoffs softly, bouncing the knee you sit on. You squeak at the sudden movement, turning to laugh prettily in Toppers direction. He can’t help but to smile through his annoyance.

“What d’you think, Top?” Rafe sniffs at the way you’ve worked him.

“Well,” He starts in the shifty tone of his. “Uh, I think it’d be good-“

“He wants to see your sister.” You laugh.

“Y/N.” The younger boy glares pointedly across the table. “Seriously?”

“I don’t give a shit who Sarah’s doing this week.” He gruffs out. You push his shoulder.

“Be nice.” You whisper.

Rafe rolls his eyes, big hand splaying over your face and pushing away from him.

“Hey!” You muffle as he smiles.

“You wanna go?” He looks at Top.

“I guess.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

Rafe snorts at him. “Cool.” He lets up on your face. “We’ll go.”

“Yay!” You jump, wrapping your arms around him. He leans into the touch, uncaring of the company.

What a simp, Rafe sulks.

[oshikiri-toru]

Thinking about the 141's music taste

I know deep in my soul that Soap is into classic dad rock, classic metal (nothing too heavy), and some hype hip hop (only the songs you'd hear on a school bus full of high schoolers going to an away game type shit) and has no clue about anything else

Gaz strikes me as a 90s/00s R&B lover first and foremost. He'll dabble in anything on the Hot 100, too, and loves a good female pop star (think Gaga, Beyonce, Charlie XCX). I also think he'd be into EDM, but really only listens to it at club's/raves

Price is one of those freaks that don't really listen to music. He's big on sports radio, podcasts, and silence. When he does listen to music, though, it's probably the Beatles or some other classic British band because that's what his dad listened to

Ghost is more complicated because I want to go obvious and say anything alternative (goth, punk, emo), but I also think it'd be funny as hell for him to get the aux and it's just pure pop (think Britney Spears, Kesha, Katy Perry). I like to think he listens to everything and just picks whatever is funniest at the moment. Someone wants hype gym music? Bam. Classical. Looking for something soft and moody? Fuck you. He's putting on speedcore.

Laswell likes soft background noise. White noises (brown, green, etc), rain recordings with some piano, maybe some smooth jazz or lo-fi if she's feeling crazy. Sometimes audiobooks. When she's drunk though, she'll bring out the 90s hip hop and go absolutely nuts, rapping the entirety of wu-tang clans discography without a sweat.

They all absolutely hate each other's music taste and will fight to the death over the aux cord. It caused enough fights that they are all required to wear headphones unless they are driving.

[konigbabe]

PEACH

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader Word count: 1.7k Tags/warnings: no y/n; domestic Satoru Gojo; Gojo being a menace of a boyfriend in public; eventual smut (part V only) Summary: Gojo's an ass man. Part of my JJKS2 writing week; also written after being inspired by @greycaelum's ask.

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

I.

It starts off innocently enough.

Even before you’ve got together, Satoru makes it a habit of his own to give your ass an amicable pat for "good luck" or "to bless him". Make it obvious that the young teacher’s rather fond of his fellow teacher’s backside, going as far as openly making up compliments. Spreading heat through your cheeks when his little game of teasing starts.

("Nice derriere, that skirt’s doin’ you wonders," he says, grinning from ear to ear while watching you walking down the hallway with Ijichi, discussing recent curse spirit’s activities.

Your companion’s breath hitches, a blush spreading over his cheeks when you turn around, "what does that mean?")

But you know Satoru too well, and his quirky sense of humor never fails to amuse you; even when you try to keep your face blank whenever he starts talking. Satoru's compliments are akin to a playful serenade. He isn’t holding back; not even in front of his own students.

("Y’know," forearm resting on your shoulder, he leans closer to you, "your tush deserves its own fan club and I'm officially the first member."

You don’t even look at him, rather starring blanky at the fighting students on the field, "Tush?")

II.

As your relationship with Satoru turns intimate and romantic, his playful teasing takes on a new dimension; it becomes a form of worship.

Lying sprawled on the couch, your head cradled by a pillow nestled beneath your chin, you watch the flickering TV screen with a mind adrift, sometimes diverting your gaze to scroll through your phone. Days off are a rarity amongst jujutsu sorcerers. The teachers especially. So you use the day to relax, unwind and let your body mend and rejuvenate after the latest mission.

The tranquil ambiance, however, is fleeting when Satoru returns. Discarding his shoes and jacket with a careless thud, he drops a small paper bag onto the nearest drawer before making a beeline for your relaxed form.

With a wordless playfulness, he plops the full weight of his body onto your back—or more accurately, the back of his head lands snugly on the supple, rounded globes of your butt.

"Satoru," you whine, neck straining as you try to turn around, "you’re way too heavy."

His arm restrains you, slithering around your lower abdomen like a sinuous serpent, fingers kneading the squeezable flesh of your hip. The other hand lands right at the apex of your back thigh, kneading the subtle build before moving upwards on the lower part of your butt.

"Mmh," he huffs, engrossed in massaging your body, too preoccupied to offer a proper response.

You can’t complain either; Satoru is skillful with his fingers, always knowing which spots to apply the right pressure and leaving you in a state of pure relaxation.

"You want me to stop," he asks after a second to which you promptly deny; letting out a contented sigh, prompting a small chuckle from Satoru. "Then I'm glad you're enjoyin’ it," he says, voice carrying a warm sincerity.

III.

The plates clash with each other, sound loud enough to make you think he broke it instead of washing it. A soft, gentle hum swirls around the air as Satoru moves the sponge in circles.

You watch from the arched doorway. Tall, lean frame covering your view of his task, yet the clanking confirms your initial suspicions. Satoru, focused on the chore, wears a well-worn apron over a simple, black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms that move with practiced precision.

Staying in place, you shamelessly marvel at the sight; watching him set another plate in the drying rack. Eyes gliding over the broadness of his shoulder to the contour of his waist, they land on their target.

Simple grey sweatpants, a black ribbon belt holding them in place, hide your target from your eyes. But you know where to aim when you start taking cautious, quiet steps toward Satoru.

The attack is quick. Calculated. The impact of your palm sends a loud slapping sound throughout the kitchen. A lively laugh escapes your lips at the same time Satoru’s head turns to the side, eyes locking yours in a frozen stance.

You take off.

He doesn’t rush. Calmly continuing to hum the song, he finishes the last dish and puts it on the rack. One hand turning the faucet off with a dangerous nonchalance, the other reaches for the washing cloth. Drying his hands and taking the apron off, he turns to where you ran off.

You make it to the stairs before you feel Satoru’s grip on your wrist, firm but playful. Tugs you backward; gentle force turning you around, bending you at the waist. Arm deftly sneaking around your shoulders, locking your arms by your sides as he stands tall by your side.

"You really thought you could get away with this, peach?"

His fingers, long and slender, dance over the small of your back. Barely grazing the surface of your skin over the material of your shirt; tracing a tantalizing path down your body.

As you squirm within his firm however gentle grasp, a soft and brief laugh escapes your lips, a mix of nervousness and delight. "I didn't mean it," you admit jovially, the words imbued with a tinge of mischief, "I didn't know it would lend so perfectly."

"You didn’t know," Satoru chortles, leisurely placing his palm flat upon the rounded curve of your pants-covered butt, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh, exerting a measured pressure as if savoring the feeling, "Think you can win this?"

With that, his hand leaves your body–

"Wait, Satoru," you try to swat him away but his hold over your upper body remains unyielding, steadfast, allowing him to orchestrate the next move, "Gojo!"

–and he delivers the first slap; earning a surprised yelp from you, body jolting forward. The sound of the impact reverberates throughout the open space, accompanied by Satoru’s contagious laughter as he lets you go. Hand supporting your weight, making sure you don’t fall flat on your face, you still end up on the ground.

The skin of your butt stings as you palm the flesh.

"You’re in for it now, Satoru Gojo," with a daring grin, you prepare yourself to retaliate. Not now. But the time will come.

The man in question throws his hands in the air, smiling brightly as he takes a step back, "Oh, I’m scared."

IV.

"We just need some edamame, more pickled ginger, and white miso," you list the items from your phone, taking the lead as you and Satoru both stroll through the aisles. He holds the basket, staying a good step behind you with his gaze focused on your back, a smile playing at the corner of his lips–eliciting a suspicious feeling out of you.

Even with the obsidian-tinted glasses covering his eyes, the glimmer of amusement in his gaze hasn't escaped your perceptive senses. A whisper of suspicion trails through your mind; you know he's scheming something.

As you approach the edamame section, you start searching for the perfect bag, seeking the one with the right plumpness and vibrancy.

But before you can grab one, Satoru unexpectedly announces “butt-five” before springing forward with playful exuberance, the resounding clap of his hand meeting your butt reverberating through the store like a percussion note, commanding the attention of nearby shoppers.

Involuntarily, you release a startled, high-pitched yelp—a symphony of surprise and embarrassment entwined. But before any further fallout can unfold, Satoru suppresses the escalating situation, covering your mouth with his warm, large hand, and steering you behind an aisle. Out of sight from curious onlookers.

Holding back his laughter, you feel his chest pressed tightly against your back, vibrating as he silently laughs, palm flat against the lower part of your face, muffling the remnants of your outburst.

"Sorry ‘bout that," he manages to stifle his laughter, an undercurrent of amusement still evident in his voice. "Couldn't resist, y’know?"

Through the slight crack between his fingers and your lips, you muster a muffled threat, "I’m gonna kill you.”

He releases his hand, feigning innocence, his eyes wide with mock surprise.

"What?" he questions you, knowing full well the extent of his antics.

"You’re a dead man walking, Satoru Gojo."

V.

Satoru has you in a vice grip; arms encircling the fat of your thighs with unrelenting strength, fingernails making deep crescent moons into your sensitive skin, setting your whole body aflame. Every inch of your being screams for more as you sink into the mattress, burying your face into the pillows to muffle all sounds of pleasure his mouth is drawing out of you.

He’s merciless. Relentless. Ruthless.

Tongue teasing your soaked slit, lapping hungrily at you like a man starved. The tip of his nose gleaming with your juices as he expertly fucks his tongue inside of you.

In and out. Going as deep as the position allows him.

Pulling your body more into him, burying his face into you; so close that it seems as if he wishes to be swallowed by your cunt whole.

You can barely concentrate before he pulls away; especially when another wave of pleasure washes over you. Wet lips worshipping your hungry bud, thin strands of wetness glistening around it, something he greedily laps up before moving upwards. His wet tongue leaves trails of fire along the fleshy swell of your ass, teeth soon following suit as they bite lightly into the plump globes.

Satoru nibbles at the flesh, one hand sneaking back between your legs to cup your sex, tease the entrance with his fingertip, collecting the wetness before pushing in two fingers. He fills you up, soon adds another finger as his mouth continues its sweet assault on your ass.

"Could eat this ass any day–"

He drives his fingers in and out of you. Fast and unrelenting; massaging your walls while making you gasp as he moves his mouth down, licking and biting at your back thighs before concentrating back on your asscheeks.

[kenobers]

✨Jason Todd's Bookshelf✨

i think it's so interesting to see what books Jason Todd would read/own, so here's my own contribution! some of these are canon* (hence the *), some are popular headcanons and some are my own speculation. i'll probably continue to add to this.

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas*

Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen*

1984 by George (Wh)Orwell*

The Prince by Machiavelli*

The Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle*

The Art of War by Sun Tzu*

Hamlet*

An additional complete works of William Shakespeare

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez

Notes on an Execution by Danya Kukafka

Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion

Catcher in the Rye by J.D Salinger

i think Holden Caulfield secretly reminds him of Bruce

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Beloved by Toni Morrison

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The Metamorphosis and The Trial by Franz Kafka

specifically owns a copy that has both of them in there

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

this may be a bit on the nose, but Jason would love a good satire

The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison

Dream of the Red Chamber by Cao Xueqin

Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid

Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh

Starling House by Alix E. Harrow

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Hayy ibn Yaqdhan by Ibu Tufail

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

but lowkey he hates it

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

The Stranger by Albert Camus

The Iliad by Homer

The Outsiders by S.E Hinton

i don't see Jason as being a big fantasy/sci-fi guy unless it falls under the magical realism or gothic categories (i.e, Beloved, Frankenstein), however i do think he would jive with Ray Bradbury, Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett and (unfortunately) Harlan Ellison

i can also see him jiving with R.F Kuang and i think The Poppy War specifically would be an exception to his usual disinterest in fantasy

i think he maybe also has a stash of paperback Star Wars novels stashed away somewhere

if jason is a theatre kid into adulthood, i think he would be the kind that reads solely straight plays

Fat Ham by James Ijames

Complete Works of Arthur Miller

Everybody by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins

he typically avoids stuff that’s so directly about mortality, but this play would really resonate with him and honestly be a healing read

being the hater that he is, he's also hate read at least one Collen Hoover book (and promptly left it in the Batcave to frame Bruce for the crime)

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Four Crow Investigation II: Lovebirds' Outfox" - Kaz Brekker x Reader

[Four Crow Investigation]

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

SUMMARY: Nina and the rest of "crow-vestigators" are not as inconspicuous as they think. Being a little too spiteful for your own good, Kaz and you string them along. What the amateur detectives consider "evidence" of an affair is actually a well-thought-out scenario.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<

You stare with amusement as Wylan, Jesper, Inej and Nina are sitting around the table in a hardly inconspicuous manner. They’re leaning so close to each other, their bodies are covering their faces but you don’t need to read their lips or expressions to know exactly what they’re talking about. Meaningful glances, small nudges, animated whispering - none of that escaped your attention.

Then, you feel Kaz squeezing your hand in an attempt to shift your focus from the gossiping friends back to him. His eyebrows are slightly raised in a silent question.

"Do you think they know that we know that they know?" you ask, cringing at the word salad filled with repetitions.

"No," Kaz answers without hesitation. "Considering how long it took them to notice something so obvious, their observation skills are more underwhelming than I had originally thought."

The two of you glance towards your friends once more, left to only guess what tall tales they were making up. Observation skills, Kaz’s voice resounds in your head. Yes, they are good at noticing things they are desperately looking for, so, maybe, if they are looking for crumbs…

"Actually, I have an idea,” you begin in a hushed tone.  Kaz turns to look at you, his expression hardens the moment he notices your mischievous grin. “Up for a bit of roleplay?"

It’s been a wild week for the four Crows. They sat down at a corner table, across the club from you and Kaz talking about something by the bar counter. Absorbed by the conversation, you’re pouring a drink in a record-long time. Your hand hovers above the rum bottle as you’re closely listening to Kaz saying something. Then, to the surprise of the gossip club, you erupt in laughter.

Jesper frowns. “I’m telling you, there’s two of them. She gets the nice Kaz, we get the mean one.”

“No, the mean Kaz is still inside,” Inej refutes. “The nice one is making an effort to bury him but he’s definitely in there. Saw it myself.”

He turns back towards the group. Jesper puts his finger up in a warning gesture and speaks slowly: “Do not tell me Kaz Brekker is a knight in shining armour because there is no way I’m treating that as anything but a bad joke. I’m barely believing the stuff I’ve seen with my own two eyes.”

“N-no, there is some truth to that,” Wylan interjects. “I didn’t see him get angry,” he quickly adds, ”just… strangely protective.”

“So we can agree,” Nina says with expected giddiness, “there is passion in the perpetually grim Kaz Brekker.”

Jesper squints his eyes with suspicion. “I hate the fact that you used passion and Kaz in the same sentence but at the same time I’m curious why.”

“Oh, you’re going to love it!” She taps the table excitedly. “I’ll go first.”

╚ Nina’s Evidence ╝

You’re pacing around the office, jumping from one leg to another, shaking and fidgeting as much as you can without making much noise. While preparing to fool the Heartrender’s power, you’re ensuring that you look the part:

“Is this obscene enough?” you ask unbuttoning your shirt further. Tugging at your clothing, you’re making yourself look even more disheveled. Even the smallest sound outside the office door makes you jump as you’re impatiently waiting for a certain creek of one of the steps.

Kaz doesn’t answer. His watchful eyes are following your movements as he’s focusing on keeping his attention on the task at hand. That bright mind of his, however, fights relentlessly to memorize your unkempt look instead.

Not hearing him respond to your question, you turn around to look at Kaz. Leaning against the desk, he’s just staring at you with a quite inexplicable intensity. His unspoken passion is only making the voice in the back of your head louder: what if it was Him undoing my shirt?

But you stifle this thought. It’s not the time for this. Searching for distraction, you look at Kaz’s collar - the first two buttons are undone but they make him appear more sleepy rather than caught red handed at a moment of weakness.

“May I?” you ask, gesturing towards his garment.

“Go ahead,” he quietly answers. There’s a lot of trust in his lack of movement and calmness about your closeness.

Carefully, you grab the hem of his collar and open his shirt further, while making sure your fingers do not even graze the bare skin underneath, despite the urge sitting deep inside your abdomen. Then, you take a step back, examining his general state and whether it sets a believable scene. A proud smile creeps onto your face.

“You’re really enjoying this,” Kaz states.

“Actually,” you say as you lean against the table, fairly unaware that because of your disheveled clothing your cleavage is significantly more visible, “I’d be enjoying this little scheme a lot more if we were in fact being scandalous.”

Whether that was your objective or not, Kaz’s heartbeat picks up noticeably, his rogue mind flashing explicit images before his eyes.

A creek of stairs.

You and Kaz give each other a meaningful glance and you push the paperweight off the desk, knowing that Nina can hear it. The door swings open and you’re immediately in character, looking away with the most embarrassed expression you could muster.

Kaz clears his throat. “Is there a reason why you’re barging in?”

Nina looks a bit lost, still piecing together what she might have just interrupted. “I… uhm… I talked with Lizzie Hardy. She’s in, we can count on her.”

“Understood,” he says in a low, firm voice. “Now go. And learn to knock.”

A half-grin enters her face as she gets rid of any doubts as to what the two of you had been presumably occupied with before she entered. With a skip to her step, Nina throws a “You bet I will!” before leaving the office. She’s quite sure no one will have a better gossip than her.

╚ Wylan’s Evidence ╝

Wylan is startled by your yelp of pain, almost dropping the delicate vial in his hands. His focus immediately shifts to you, who is now frowning with your hand raised slightly above your head. A string of curses leaves your mouth as you check the wound again - yes, still there and still bleeding.

Right, bleeding.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a worried tone. Part of you feels guilty for fooling Wylan because of the sheepiness he wears most of the time but, on the other hand, he is part of the gossip girl club. This little scheme is just a consequence of his choice.

“Yeah, no problem. I’m a big girl, I’ll just wrap this and I’ll be fine,” you answer casually.

Pretending to look for something that can work as a bandage, you’re praying that Wylan can’t smell the cranberry preserve slowly dripping down your forearm. There’s an urge deep inside you to lick the jam, almost tasting the sweet and sour fruit in your imagination.

Kaz, who was waiting for the well-played-out yelp, rushes into the room with a grim expression. The moment he’s supposed to notice your injury, he makes a show of dropping his shoulders. He’s not saying anything, only giving short sighs and annoyed grunts as he reaches for a random rag laying around. 

“I’d advise against cutting off your fingers,” he says loud enough for Wylan to hear as he’s tightening the wrapped rag around your palm. "You need to be more ca-" Kaz cuts himself off, suddenly realizing he was about to use an off-limits word. "You need to pay attention to what you're doing."

Looking over Kaz’s shoulder, you see Wylan nervously glancing at the two of you out of the corner of his eyes. Jesper is going to hear world-shattering news in the next hour - on that you can safely bet any number of limbs.

╚ Jesper’s Evidence ╝

Too busy retelling what he had learned while following Lizzie Hardy, Jesper doesn’t notice the tiny signal you give Kaz while the three of you are walking through the streets of Ketterdam.

Air, cobblestone, a lost dog - it doesn’t matter. You stumble over something but ever watchful Kaz manages to grab you by the waist, preventing you from falling. To be honest, until this moment you weren’t completely sure this is going to work out because you never practiced this with Kaz. Well, you did, once, but the two of you got significantly distracted early on. So the plan to outfox Nosy Jesper was a leap of faith - literally and figuratively.

Jesper, the man in question, halted his story as he’s watching the unbelievable occurrence of Kaz having a caring reflex. For a moment he considers whether this wasn’t some kind of miraculous coincidence but on the other hand, the movement looked so natural and purposeful that it simply had to be deliberate.

Standing on your own, you look towards Jesper, who’s still staring at you and Kaz with furrowed eyebrows and his mouth slightly agape. “You were saying?” you coax him to continue as though nothing happened.

“Yes, right, the thing,” he stutters out as he’s trying to remember what he was talking about before seeing something so strange he’s questioning his own sanity.

╚ Inej’s Evidence ╝

Due to the late hour, or rather an hour so late it can be considered early, the club is deserted except for you and Kaz sitting by the bar. He’s silently watching your profile as you’re applying another layer of theatrical paint and makeup.

“Does it look realistic?” you ask for the hundredth time while examining the bruise in a small hand-held mirror.

“It’s good enough.”

You set down the mirror and look at him. To a degree, you know he won’t agree to your proposition but you try anyway, just to make sure:

“Maybe you could hit me?” you suggest. His expression grows colder. “Just for good measure. To really sell this,” you add in your own defense, as though there is a possibility of him retaliating for such a ridiculous proposition. Even when furious beyond imagination, you’ve heard him yell exactly once out of anger.

He leans closer towards you. Paradoxically, it’s you who is uncomfortable with the sudden intimacy but maybe the uneasiness is not due to the proximity but the chilling tension that has sprouted between the two of you. Kaz studies your expression for a moment, his jaw relaxes and clenches over and over again as he’s clearly pondering the earthiest way he can put his thoughts into words.

“I will never raise my hand against you,” his voice is quiet and wavering with emotions, “even if my life depends on it. So don’t ask again. Ever.”

Suddenly, you feel strangely small next to him as though Kaz is but a shadow that quickly grows larger as candlelight dims. “Right, sorry,” you answer awkwardly.

The door to the club opens with a creek and the nervous conversation has to be cut short. You cover your face with hands, having rubbed some chili seeds into your palms earlier. As the capsaicin reaches your nostrils and eyes, forcing yourself to cry is easier than ever. Pretending to be agonizing over something, you keep reminding yourself not to actually touch your eyes or nose.

You can’t see her face but you’re sure Inej is wearing a worried or confused expression and you’re quite correct in your guess - she walks towards you and Kaz with apprehension as though she’s still wondering whether she wants to intrude. Inej momentarily grows anxious, noticing the vibrant bruise on the side of your face.

Then, in a truly dramatic fashion, Kaz gets up from the bar stool and storms out of the club as you had agreed beforehand. While he’s passing Inej, she calls out to him:

“Kaz-”

But he’s quick to cut her off in a harsh voice:

“Not now, Inej.”

The door closes behind him with a slam and considering the state of the two of you, she prefers not to ask questions. It will be easier to sleep at night.

“They’re staring,” you inform Kaz while pouring him a drink.

“As far as I know, they have a reason to,” he answers, taking a sip of the beverage. His eyes are boring into you like his trying to look past your skin and bones, into your mind if not your very soul.

A wide smile brightens your face. You lean on the counter, face close to Kaz’s. Although it’s been some time, it still makes your heart flutter that he doesn’t move away. Perhaps it’s just his unreadable expression or maybe he really is unbothered by the proximity.

“To be honest, I enjoyed our little theatrics.” Smiling at him, your teeth glisten in the dim light inside the club.

“You make an impressive con artist, I have to admit.”

“Ah, forget the con part,” you wave your hand in dismissal. “It was entertaining, alright, but the best part was just spending time with you.”

Kaz almost chokes on his drink.

____ @moonstruckpoet @shara-ne @queenkalico

[thejollywriter]

IT'S TIME TO LAUNCH THE BOOK

WELCOME FRIENDS, TO THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE! Allow me to introduce to you, DELILAH JONES; free-lance Robin Hood and bad-ass extraordinaire.

In the cyberpunk future of The Redwood Files, Delilah Jones is half film-noire private detective, and half western-gunslinger, who rides into a lawless town and fights the bullies and the bastards that hurt innocent folks.

This anthology contains SIX, count 'em SIX short stories and novellas detailing Delilah's Adventures.

Through a Dream, Lethally; When tech CEO Michael Lense decides to hijack the soft-RAM in his employees heads in order to make people do his bidding, things can get awful, FAST. Being forced, without your consent, to be an assassin or a thief or a sex worker, and more. But Lense also has the city under-thumb. Only Delilah's got the brute force to break Lense's control, and free the city from his cruel influence.

Happy Endings, Guaranteed; Delilah has a partner, and after a long day of nonsense, is looking forward to visiting them at work to unwind. Only to get to the club where her partner works, and discover that they've been KIDNAPPED! Delilah races around the city, squaring up with every underworld hard-ass she comes across following every lead to find her partner. Except nothing is what it seems, and a simple (but tragic) kidnapping turns out to be way more nefarious than Delilah expected. . .

Delilah's Heart; recovering from the last adventure weeks later, Delilah meets a handsome butch at a dive bar. Things between the two show promise, but the butch gets called back to work by an abusive bastard who violates and exploits his employees. The butch asks Delilah for help, and as she digs into it, discovers a deeply connected mafia bookmaker who uses that underground protection to kill and exploit people without fear of consequences. Delilah's the only one who can bring justice down on this bastard, but it threatens a gang war if she does. . .

Gutter Medicine; a gang of outta-town skinheads robs an impoverished clinic in a rough neighborhood. Delilah digs into the theft, and promises to recover the medicine, only to discover that the outta-towners are stirring up trouble to pave the way for an invasion from the South. A Kingpin from Los Angeles is hungry for expansion, and Redwood is fertile ground. Unless Delilah can stop the gang, and convince the Kingpin it'd be too expensive to expand beyond the safe borders of LA.

Restitution; Delilah's robbing a rich billionaire's museum-like mansion one night when she's caught by an unlikely sentry, a very old man who'd had plans of trying to embarrass the billionaire for reneging on a deal, and leaving the old man destitute. Delilah invites him to tell his story, and she volunteers to see justice done, according to Delilah's exacting standards.

In a Name?; every trans person's name comes from a personal place and an intimate choice. This story is about a young thief, with big dreams and a hard head, how she picked her name, and the day she was reborn into Delilah-fucking-Jones.

These stories have literally been years in the making. Some of them are personal, all of them are personal favorites, and this anthology is a collection I've worked very hard on.

Genre fiction is deeply important to me, and I love bringing queer characters to this space. Every story published in this book appeared first, both as ideas and in rough-and-final drafts on my patreon.

HERE'S HOW TO BUY AND SUPPORT THE QUEER NOVELIST IN QUESTION!

my ko-fi store: this is the most direct way to support me (a disabled queer novelist) and I get the biggest cut if you buy the e-book from this source

AMAZON! you want a paperback, YOU GOT A PAPERBACK

and lastly, if you want to see my writing in advance, get your name in the credits, or get special copies in advance, my patreon

thank you for your support, and happy reading <3

[ifeelloveeverymillionmiles]

Before Six years, five months, two days

Can we talk about how obsessed they are with each other before they even go on the subway?

At the Keepers meeting, as soon as they start talking they are touching elbows and arms, super close. SO much eye contact in the conversation and Lila is like TEXTBOOK flirting - her lips slightly parted through their whole convo, sexy face on, and so many mischievous glances at Five. Nonchalantly placing her hand on his chest to put on his nametag and like ???lingering??? Oh yeah Nancy, make sure that nametag isn't coming off, very thorough name tag application.

Then the cafe, obviously more touching of the face, more eye contact, and smiles. Am I imagining it or does Lila's façade drop a little and she looks kinda guilty about wiping the powdered sugar off Five's face when Diego sees them through the window? She's then laughing right after, but a part of me wonders if she wanted to touch Five, did, liked it, felt bad, then bounced back and started laughing before the scene was over.

Then we have two scenes with Diego in the van, one with Five and then one with Lila.

When Diego confides in Five his concerns about Lila and the "little Greek guy" it's a VERY clever bit of writing that is TEEMING with doublespeak, Five states:

"Whatever this is (him and Lila), it's nothing. You guys have a family, kids, a home, only an idiot gives that up. Lila is no idiot" Five looks almost remorseful as he says she's not a idiot. IMO by calling it "this" Five acknowledges that there is something between them, but seems disappointed since he believes nothing could or would happen between them, but only due to her current circumstances.

Then Five states to Diego "Bury it. Deep. Cover that shit in concrete." which in this context makes way more sense for his own feelings (his growing affection for Lila) vs. advice you would give your sibling about concerns over their partner's potential infidelity.

Diego then states "You're a good brother." and the shot lingers on Five's face as he looks painfully guilty. We follow up with a long shot of Lila, peering at them secretly, which adds to the perception that this exchange may be more significant than what the surface-level conversation appears to be.

Also, at the beginning of this whole conversation, Five lies for Lila by saying "Well she has that book club" to Diego. I think it's interesting that Five's first instinct here is to be loyal to Lila and keep up her lie rather than coming clean to Diego. His loyalty is already to her over him.

At the New Grumpson Christmas festival, when Diego throws axes to impress her, she looks at him (very annoyed) for a whole 2 seconds then immediately starts scanning the crowd, super distracted, not caring what Diego is doing or saying (this is a little sad). What is she looking for?? Five of course. She quickly excuses herself from Diego and seeks him out, finding him trying to blink. Then there is all this cutsie talk about kegels. They keep their heads down in a little tet-a-tet, and look annoyed when Diego joins them and starts asking questions. I melt a little when Five says "Mulled wine for myself, egg nog for the Lady". They are already on the same page. They already consider themselves a team of two within this larger team.

Then the van conversation with Lila and Diego, we get a shot of Five's face as the convo is starting, which makes sense because they do speak about him in their fight/conversation. But what stands out to me is that once Lila confesses that she has been working undercover, Diego gets upset Lila states

"You're acting as if I had an affair"

to which Diego responds "This is even worse!"

and they cut to Five's face and he looks SO annoyed. To me, he's thinking "Wait, you're with Lila, you've gotten to settle down, be normal, have kids and you think Lila going undercover tangentially with the CIA is worse than her having an affair and losing all that?" which I think is crazy to Five because Diego has the normalcy Five craves, with the person Five has the most chemistry with.

And this is BEFORE all the subway stuff. I honestly think they left us so many breadcrumbs before episode 5 and I'm having a delightful and delicious time finding them!

[astraaa3]

please please please can you do valentino and male reader please i really like your writing

👉👈

anything sfw and/or nsfw is fine :3

A/N: You want it, you got it, Anon. Thanks for the request toots. Had a blast writing this one. >.<

Feedback is much appreciated (also, if you would like to proofread the degenerate shit I write please send a dm).

Valentino x Male!Reader

Note: You can imagine the reader to have whatever body type you prefer. While in this request Reader has a bodyguard position that doesn't mean that he was chosen for his physique. (Valentino is an asshole so he most likely hired Reader for shits and giggles) Now off we go.

=========˚ʚ♡ɞ˚=========

Headcanons:

Valentino likes teasing you. A LOT. Grabbing your hips, hugging you from behind, patting your head, rubbing your cheeks whenever you forgot to shave, linking his arm with yours, he always found an excuse to touch you.

Why was Valentino so tactile? Well, his love language was physical touch. Of course, he would take any chance he could to indulge. That said, the biggest reason was how you always blushed or laughed embarrassed at the public displays of affection.

Valentino loved teasing you. From changing in front of you to other…. explicit acts, he adored flustering you. And he wasn't quiet about it either. "Aww, what's wrong baby? I'm just helping you accomodate~" or "Oh come on papi, don't tell me you don't like what you see." (at one point you started keeping a catalog of the pet names he used for you)

After you decided to ask Valentino out for a date (you hyped yourself up while looking in a mirror for days before actually being able to get the words out), you found out that there was more to your boss than you had come to know. You learned that Valentino ADORED fast food, that he was shit at taking care of pets (Queef reference whom), and that he loved dancing and laughing at romcoms.

You asked him out initially out of some pathetic crush, but after the first few dates, you fell. And you fell hard. Following him around like some love-sick puppy, pouting when he was hooking up with girls at the club.

Valentino thought that it was fucking cute. So he did what he always does with things he finds interesting. He took you to bed. He didn't expect you to cuddle him the moment you were done. Much less for you to praise him. HIM. He had a minor mental breakdown while you fell asleep.

After Valentino came to terms with the fact that he started caring for you more than he planned to initially, he immediately claimed you as his. Taking you out in public and overplaying how lovey-dovey the two of you were, dressing you up in tuxes, and dining at high-end restaurants. Getting 'accidentally' caught fondling you inside of one of the clubs he owned, Valentino did everything to make sure there was not a single soul in Hell who didn't know that you were his.

A fun fact that Valentino learned about you when you officially started dating was that you would melt after being praised. And oh boy did he take advantage of that. Flattery fell out of Valentino's mouth like a waterfall whenever he saw the opportunity. "You are so handsome sweetheart, turning heads wherever you go. But those worms better keep their hands to themselves or I will FUCKING END THEM." (cue aggressive moth clicking noises)

You did get into fights with Valentino. Particularly about his short temper. While you were rarely on the receiving end of his rages, you did witness them quite often. Thankfully, Valentino agreed to try to be less rash and aggressive when he got mad. But it was still a work in progress. And there was a LOT of progress to be had.

=========˚ʚ♡ɞ˚=========

Small prompt: How it started

You had just gotten used to your new job when your life took a new turn yet again. It seemed like a normal day at first, you were just helping with putting the props in their places when the door slammed open, Valentino angrily stopping in his moth wings unfurled hanging behind him like a cape. It was the first time you saw Valentino without his signature coat…wings….whatever on. You blushed and started dumbly at him as your brain tried to process… heart…. nipples….(homerotic panic ensue). Valentino being Valentino of course noticed this. And making a mental note of your admittedly cute reaction he made a decision.

The next day you were called to his penthouse at the top of the V tower. You once again found yourself staring dumbly at the pictures of Valentino hanging up on the walls, your whole face turning red. Hearing a chuckle behind you, you immediately turned around embarrassed, fiddling a bit with your pants to hide the reaction caused by the pictures. (if Valentino noticed it, you were thankful that he said nothing about it or you would have died on the spot from embarrassment).

"Is this the first time you see any of my photoshoots, amorcito?" Valentino said with a smirk staring at your flushing face.

"U-uh. Yeah. I didn't know you also work in front of the camera and not just behind it." you said trying to sound more professional than you actually felt at the moment, it helped calm down the flush on your cheeks a bit.

Valentino nodded heading to the plush couch in the room sitting and crossing his fishnet-clad legs. Staring at you for a second, he took a drag of his cigarette.

"To keep matters short, you're getting promoted. From now on you will act as my bodyguard."

You stared at him confused for a second. He was an Overlord and well, you were just some random sinner who barely knew how to defend himself.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I... I'm a bit confused. You are an Overlord and well, I think you could protect yourself better than I would be able to. Respectfully."

You could see his eyebrow twitching in what you could tell was annoyance. Smiling a few too many teeth at you, some pink liquid dripping from his lips, Valentino snarled out.

"Do I need to explain myself to you? Don't forget who's your boss bitch. You're working as my bodyguard from now on because I say so, bitch."

His fury seemed to disappear in an instant afterward, getting up and sliding his hand across the back of your shoulders in an overly sweet manner.

"You're going to do great amorcito. Now, off you go, enjoy your last day of setting up props."

With that, he sent you off. Sighing nervously, you couldn't help but think: 'Well, this is going to be interesting. That's for sure' (You had no idea how true those thoughts would prove to be) =========˚ʚ♡ɞ˚========= Send requests ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[honeycloudz]

let me be Anonymous since im going to ask-No beg for the cringest one🙏

(p1:who's she?

p2:Haitani's

p1: which one? the youngest's?

p2: nhh both of them)

I means Just image being the wife of Haitani brothers's/their precious and only treasure ofc their personal c*mdump tooTvT.

alr this's kinda weird but Writing this or not is your choice

anywayy Loves you and please takecare of yourself

-s🍁

Stargirl Interlude (☆)

Content Warnings: DARK CONTENT, MDNI, Porn with Plot, Toxic!Dom!Ran & Toxic!Dom!Rindou x Fem!Sub!Reader, Alcohol mentions, Stalking, Forced into Contract, Dub! Consent, Degradation theyre so mean :(,  Possessiveness, Dumbification, Unprotected Sex, Oral (Female to Male Receiving), Throat Fucking, Rough Sex, Hair pulling, Spit Play, Choking, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, and finally Squirting

Playlist: Belonging to the Haitani's

My apology for disappearing again, not proof read

You should know better, you tell yourself as you walk down the busy streets of Roppongi’s nightlife. You should know better than to play with the infamous Haitani brothers. Truthfully, you were just trying to get your life together, and money is money, so you took a chance on that sketchy ad from a week ago, unknowing that it would lead you here.

Squirming, you pull your mini skirt down, in a failed attempt to cover yourself from prying eyes as you walk your way down to the club. Even from a distance your eyes catch the glimmering signs, and you can feel the bass of the speakers beneath your high heeled feet. You get closer, to the club, noticing all the intoxicated people staggering in and out of the Haitani’s club in varying levels of inebriation. 

It was too late to have second thoughts, so you mentally prepare yourself as you take a step into the very lively club. Loud music blares in your ears as you squint and try to walk around the sea of bodies that are dancing. You don't necessarily like the thought of sweaty drunk bodies bumping and grinding up on you, so you choose to find an easier route. Looking around, you almost give up before sharp lavender eyes meet your own. Your breath hitches but you don't look away, you try to ignore the chill working its way up your spine at his menacing gaze. 

Seconds that feel like hours pass as you hold eye contact with the dual-dyed short purple haired man. You were intimidated but intrigued. 

And Ran saw that in you- he noticed you right when you walked in, all panicked and cute. He immediately knew that it was you from the ad you signed up for, he laughed under his breath a bit, you had no idea what you were getting into. 

He breaks eye contact with you momentarily to look at his brother in the booth. They make eye contact and Ran points at you with his chin, nodding off to his brother, to alert him of your presence. When Rindou follows Rans line of sight his eyes meet you and immediately Rindou stands, stalking his way towards you.

You didn't notice Rindou until you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you jump as you turned around and tilt your head up to meet the tall man. “Y/n…?” He questioned even though he knew the answer. “Y-Yes?” Rindou leans into you and your face heats up for a moment as you feel his breath on your cheek before he whispers “follow me”. You almost didn't hear because of the music but he made sure you followed when he grabbed you by the hand and dragged you to the private room only he and his brother had access to. 

Making your way in, you look around in awe. A spacious room with a glimmering chandelier above you was the scene before your excited eyes. You take in more of your surroundings and you realize just how out of place you seem. Twiddling with your fingers, you look up at Rindou unknowing what to do next. He peers down at you, before placing a hand on your lower back and guiding you to the couch, “Sit here please”. He says giving you a smile that seemed sinister rather than kind and you take a seat trying to fight off the bad feeling you were having.

“Its nice to finally meet you Y/n” Rindou knew he was lying, but he had to remain calm and calculated, watching your every move, eyeing your nervousness as you once again try to flatten the short skirt that's hardly covering your thighs. You gulp, “Yeah, Nice to meet you too Mr. Haitani.” your voice drips like honey in his ears. ‘Mr. Haitani’ huh? He’ll make sure to keep that in mind when he’s training you to be his good obedient slut. “No need for formalities, pretty girl, you can use them.. Later.” It almost sounded threatening, which didnt help your nerves. You didnt have much time to think about it when you heard the door creak open, revealing the tall short haired man that was eyeing you earlier. Rindou stood, striding over to his older brother before whispering a few things back and fourth to one another. 

Quickly looking away, you make eye contact with the floor as you play with the hem of your skirt. You look up when you feel a dip in the couch next to you. “Hey” he sighs out dreamily, laying back one arm wrapped around the couch near your shoulder, the other sitting on his man spreaded lap, far too comfortable, far too soon. “I see you like the outfit I sent you to come here in '' Ran isn't ashamed when he's taking in your figure, wrapped in the tightest, shortest, skimpiest clothes he could find for you.

“H-hello, Im Y/n '' you shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to hide from his unwavering stare. The staring had increased your anxiety, it's not everyday that a person meets someone like the Haitanis. “I know who you are sweetheart, Infact, I know all about you” he looks at your shaken form and continues, “Im Ran by the way, Rindou and I are gonna take care of you, financially and in any way you want, isnt that what you need sweetheart?” You blink and nod slowly at him. “In turn, we want you to ourselves. Do you understand?” He lifts his hand that's near your shoulders and begins twirling your hair in between his fingers. After a few seconds of thinking it over, you ask, “What did you mean you know all about me?” you hesitantly and softly ask your question. Ran looks at his brother, almost ignoring your question, as if they weren't the ones that have been watching you for months now. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. Be ours.” You notice the dangerous flash in their eyes, they were not asking you, they were demanding. You stand quickly, “Um, I think I should g-” Rindou cuts you off by standing at the door and crossing his arms. “Sit down. Now. I wont ask you twice.” At his tone you shuffle back to your seat, sitting opposite from Ran in an attempt to back away from the men. “Love.. Don't look so scared, we would never hurt you” Ran cups your face gently, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger that were adorned by shiny rings. He rubs his thumb over your cheek while holding eye contact, “We just need you to sign a little paper for us, then you can have anything you've ever dreamed of, isn't that what you want sweetheart?” Ran questions, leaning in closer, holding your gaze. “I- I don't kn-” “Sign the paper.” Ran’s fingers grow tighter around your face. “I need to think about th-” “Now.”

Rindou grabs your hand and puts a pen in it, continuing to hold onto it as it inches near the signature mark. “Right here, pretty girl.” And against your will, with a hand holding yours to sign a signature, you sealed your fate, selling your soul away to the devils in the room.

Ran had called his chauffeur to drive you home, upon the arrival of his expensive car, you weren't expecting them to hop in the back with you. Sandwiched in between the two muscular men, you tried to comprehend and digest what just happened to you. “What are you gonna have me do?” You apprehensively ask the men next to you, getting more anxious when you hear deep chuckles next to you. “You'll see” Rindou hums under his breath and traces feather light shapes with his fingertips on your knee, working his way up your thigh causing your inhale to get caught in your throat.  You’re very grateful when the car screeches to a halt. Quickly rising from your seat, you avoid Ran’s lap and open the door to hop out. Not waiting for the men in the car, you turn your heel and walk to the direction of your door, hearing their footsteps behind you. You go to shut your door quickly but Ran catches it and forces it open. “Its not very polite to slam a door in someone's face princess, but we will work on your manners soon enough.” Ran barked out at you, causing his brother to laugh much to your dismay, feeling the hotness creep its way up your face. “Oh before we forget, we will be texting you tomorrow on your first command”. Rindou added after catching his breath. You went to sleep that night, questioning everything that happened to lead you to this moment of your life. Because of those two, this is gonna be the beginning of your new everything, whether you like it or not. 

The brothers were patient with you, after all, you had been weary of them the first few weeks of being around them. At this point, youve been ‘working’ for them for about 7 months, feeling much more comfortable around them. Taking things slow, they only recently started asking you for kisses, cuddles and comfort after a long day of working. You obliged of course, it wasn't much you had to do for them in the first place. 

Theyve been paying you well, enough to make a living and be able to quit your shitty job. After really getting to know the Haitani’s and their past, they decided to take the next big step in your companionship together, and ask you to move in with them. Hesitant but ready, you move all your belongings into their penthouse and after a few days, you're finally finished. “Phew '', you sigh out, adding the finishing touches on the wall. You back away and look all around you, framed pictures covering the big wall of you and the Haitani brothers and your adventures. You smile contently when you feel an arm wrap around your waist and a few quick kisses on your nape. You giggle at the ticklish feeling and turn around to see Ran looking down at you, in a more intense way than usual. You tilt your head and look at him for a few quiet seconds, “Is everything okay..?” You ask uneasily when his eyes darken. He leans into your ear and lightly laughs, causing shivers to go down your spine, which doesnt go unnoticed by the older Haitani. “Oh its more than okay sweetheart” he rasps out and bites the spot below your ear lightly. His own heart picks up speed when he hears you whimper, blood rushes to his cock at the sound. He needs to hear more. He doesn't give you time to think when you're suddenly being slammed against the wall, a hand gripping your throat and the other grasping onto your waist tightly. He kisses you hard, his teeth clashing against your own and his tongue finding a new home in your mouth. Muffled squeaks and whines are making their way out of your throat while animalistic groans are coming from his. You place your hands against his shoulders and attempt to push him away which in turn tightens his grip on your throat. Heat pools between your thighs as you get light headed from the feeling. He pulls his mouth away from yours, a line of spit connecting you both, to admire the flushed look on your face, and the drool sneaking its way past the side of your lip at his actions. He laughs and lets go of your throat to swipe away the drool, entertained by the way your chest is heaving up and down to catch your breath. Ran pulls away from you completely and you whine at the loss when Rindou enters your vision. “Somethin’ wrong pretty?” He teases taking in your trembling form. The glint in his eye darkens when he sees his pretty angel squeezing her thighs together. The brothers both stare down at you waiting for a response. You look back at them in desperation and embarrassment, they know what you want, they just wanna hear you say it. “I… I want you both” you manage to say between their nearly predatory peering. “Want us how?” Ran questions back. “Tell us exactly what you want pretty girl” 

You whine and through your embarrassment you squeak out “Wan’ to be fucked by you both, p-please.” 

And then it happens. Youre being picked up and whisked away before you even realize whats happening. You squeal when you're tossed in the air and sink into the comfortable couch of the living room.

Rindou’s kissing you now - kissing you in like you were his favorite taste. Drinking in your breathless gasps as Ran begins unbuttoning your top, letting it fall to the floor and- 

“Fuuuck.” he lets out a low whistle, “Come look at this.”

With an almost-annoyed groan, Rindou pulls away from your sweet lips. Eyes widening as he takes in the sight of you - braless, and exposed shamefully in front of both of them, of course. “No bra?” he mutters raspily. “Always knew you were a lil’ slut, pretty.” But you knew by the way his breath hitches that he liked it.

Ran clearly did too as his mouth attached itself to your pebbled nipple, fingers pinching the other lightly. You let out short breathless gasps of air as his tongue swirls around. Rindou throws his head back as he palms his hard on through his pants and groans. He sits between your thighs as Ran lays to your side, continuing his assault on your chest. 

“I bet she’s got such a slutty pussy too Rin” his brother calls out. “Only one way to see” The poor, flimsy fabric of your short shorts didn't stand a chance as Rindou tears it in two. You squeeze your eyes shut from being so exposed, and when you dont feel touches on you at all you open them to see both men staring at your drenched panties in absolute awe. 

“Ah ah” Ran tuts, seeing the way your thighs were trying to close, holding them down he chooses to not let you have even some semblance of dignity. “Youre gonna be a good slut f’us right?”  You nod your head up and down and gasp when you feel a few kisses from between your thighs, inching higher and higher up. “Use your words sweetheart.” Ran tsks from above you. “Y-Yes I will be, please just- please keep going.” You whine, bucking your hips in the air slightly. In another quick rip your panties are discarded off of you, and Rindou taking opportunity of your distraction dives face first into your pussy. He groans at the taste, of course you were so sweet, so good on his tongue. The taste addictive as your fingers quickly pull and tug on his hair. “Shit, shit, shit” you gasp, pulling him harder against you. He moves his tongue easily against your wet cunt, sloppily, uncaring of the sting on his scalp. 

You get lost in the pleasure as Rindou sucks your twitching clit into his mouth to swirl his tongue around it, making your back arch off the sofa. “Hngh- fuck- Feel’s good.” you whine, bucking your hips wildly.

“Yeah? Ya like this?” Rindou attempts to speak, words muffled around your clit. Sucking and rolling his tongue harshly across it. Over and over again.  Your whines and gasps turn into long drawn out moans as Ran unbuckles and unzips his pants. He pulls his cock out and you gawk at his size. Long, with an angry red tip and a pretty vein that runs on the side, you see the precum sliding down the length of it as he grips the base a few times. 

“Open wide f’me pretty” you let your tongue lol out of your mouth as he grips your jaw, lowering his face to meet your own, teary eyed one before he lets a glob of spit fall directly on to your awaiting tongue. “Swallow” He demands as he strokes his shaft a few times and then groans at the sight of you swallowing obediently. He squishes your cheeks and puckers your lips from his tight hold with one hand and holds his cock with his other hand, smacking it against your mouth a few times before he lets go. Having done that, Ran’s stuffing himself into your mouth. A low hiss leaving the back of his throat as you take him so well, lips bulging around his thick cock. Tonguing at the sensitive slit in a way that makes him lose his mind. 

Gags and sputters of your breath are heard as he holds you down, waiting for you to adjust. Big tears prick the corner of your eyes as you breathe harshly through your nose, slowly bobbing your head up and down. “Fuuuuck” Ran lets out a long groan, “You like being our whore doll?” and he swears he almost cums down your throat when he feels you nod against him, continuing to let out muffled whines at Rindou’s unrelenting pace. 

Maybe it was Ran’s filthy words - so filthy even when he was calling to you sweetly. Or maybe it was the way Rindou was grinding his jaw as he plunged his soft tongue deeper into your plushy walls. Probably it was how they both looked at you - like you were their last meal. 

Because you’re cumming, and cumming so messily all over Rindou’s mouth in a long moan that vibrates against Ran’s cock causing him to shudder, and pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he bobs your head up and down.  Rindou pulls away and licks his lips, not bothering to wipe away your cum thats staining his chin and jaw. He pulls down his pants, tugging just enough that his swollen cock springs out, letting his thumb rub against his weeping tip that was dripping all the way down his length. 

And if you thought Ran was being mean then you weren’t prepared for Rindou at all. Not with the way he poked his swollen tip into your snug cunt. Throwing his head back he slowly inches more and more into you, groaning at the heavenly feeling of your tight walls against him. 

“Shit- s’tight, fuck” Rindou lets out a few gasps, jaw clenched, trying his hardest not to just fuck into your overstimulated pussy until you’re drunk on his cock. But damn- its made difficult for him when all he gets in response from you is a choked, wet gurgles. Body bowing into both of theirs as you desperately try to relax both your throat and your cunt.

He tightens his grip on your hips, hard enough that your pretty sure youll bruises tomorrow.

“What do you think, pretty? Want me to fuck this tight lil’ pussy? Ruin you on my cock?” 

Ultimately, the only response he gets is a wet moan.

“Awww, look at her- hah- Cock-drunk little slut can’t even speak.” is the last thing you hear Rindou say as he pushes past your ring of resistance, thrusting in deep and hard into your poor pussy. He pulls back all the way to push back in roughly enjoying the sound of your mangled moans. He hits so deep and angles his cock to hit right against your g-spot. You suck up his cock so fucking sinfully as his heavy balls smack repeatedly your ass, already so wet with your slick and his precum. 

“Fuck, youre so good.” Ran hums, the image of you choking on his cock while you struggle to take Rindou making him dizzy. Rindou continues to reel his hips back, all the way till his tip is just outside of you, before slamming back into your sloppy holes recklessly. Harsh thrusts fueled by the need to make you cum again, this time on his cock. 

Ran taps at your cheek, making you blink your teary eyes up at him, he cant help but want to match Rindou’s pace and pump your mouth full of cum. “Gonna cum all over your pretty face” Ran groans, wrapping his large hand around your throat.

He feels your moans and gasps increase as the sound vibrates around his cock- “Are- fuck- hah- are you close baby?” and all you can do is nod pathetically and cry against him. 

“Fuck, I can feel it too.” Rindou voices from behind, “Squeezin’ me so hah- t-tight” It’s his cue to reach down and start toying with your swollen clit, still so sensitive and sore from before. Drawing little circles on it, pinching with his fingers.

It was hard for them to look at your ruined form, mascara dripping down your face without cumming on the spot, you looked so utterly fucked out that it was almost painful. 

They sped up their pace impossibly fast against you. Rindou’s fingers draw quick circles against your clit, so hard and fast as he hits your g-spot with every thrust he makes. 

“Cmon- fuck- cum for us doll”

This orgasm hits you more intensely than the last. Far more intensely. You tremble in their hold and see stars behind your eyes as you drench Rindou’s pelvis with your cum. You feel them both slam into you, once, twice, before theyre both spilling into you. Ran’s taste is slightly bitter in your mouth, not that you mind when hes pumping thick hot ropes of cum into your mouth, pulling out and watching you drool it out deliriously, smearing some of it on your face with his thumb like the depraved man he is. Rindou is the opposite, keeping his twitching cock stuffed inside of you while he paints your walls white, making sure you dont waste a single drop. 

Eventually they pull out and fall against the sofa with you, catching their breaths and sweating. You're left exhausted against Ran’s arms carrying you as Rindou draws a warm bath for you, falling asleep in their hold as they clean you. You wake up groggy and sore in the morning with a note and a water bottle on your bedside. You didnt feel either brother next to you which wasnt an uncommon occurrence, as they have to wake up at odd hours of the night for club duties. Opening your phone you see a text from Rindou that read, ‘we’re sorry we cant be there when you wake up, but know we have a driver waiting for you outside to bring you here for more fun x’. You giggle at the text and pick out the skimpiest outfit you can muster, one that shows off your bruises, bites and all other marks. 

Arriving at the club you skim your eyes around till they meet Ran’s mischievous ones. You walk over to him and sit on the bar stool next to his, no words are exchanged between you both as you swirl your drink in the glass and tilt your head back to swallow it whole. 

Kakucho and Sanzu watch you closely, admiring the way your skimpy dress hugs against your curves. “Damn.. Who’s she??” The pink haired man wonders out loud. Kakucho looks away, “Haitani’s” Kakucho answers shortly, downing his own shot. Sanzu quirks a brow at him. “Which one? Jellyfish?” Kakucho sighs and looks at Sanzu, “Both of them.”

A/N: I dont think this was stupid or cringe at all, my brother in christ, we shall have a spring wedding, i hope you like this even though i went insane with it <3 luv u 2 ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎, (AND IM SO FUCKING SORRY IM SO LATE)

[adventuringblind]

So Powerful, So Vulnerable

Landoscar x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Mafia AU, more crack than anything with the way I wrote it.

Summary: Lando has a meeting on neutral ground. Oscar has to make the switch. How'd she get caught in a petty crossfire?

Warnings: Attempted r@pe, gun violence, knives, blood,

Notes: This was far more fun to write than I expected. Another request done!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

She sighs, watching Lando hit his head on the steering wheel of the car. She wants to laugh at his dramatics. You'd think he wouldn't be so whiny since he's in charge of the areas strong Mafia, but she knows the truth.

"I Just - they had one job!" He moans and throws in a fake cry for good measure.

Oscar keeps throwing her looks from where he's spread out on the backseat. He and Lando also make it a point to keep her in the passenger seat and switch who drives. "It's an easy fix. Ten minutes tops, in and out, then back to our original plans." The Aussie shrugs.

"You'll make the switch?"

"Obviously, and if they shoot first, I'll shoot better."

~~~~~

The club rages around her. Not her preferred method of doing business. Dealing with people isn't her strong suit unless it's with a bullet to the head from the top of a building. Knives are fun to when things get messy.

The crowd is safer than the car if this does go south. Not that she's expecting it to, but better safe than sorry.

Oscar is already gone. He drops the money and gets the hostages while Lando goes to meet them on neutral ground. Simple as that.

Her job is to look pretty and watch the door that Lando had disappeared through. Mocktail in hand to make it look like she's part of the normal crowd.

Technically speaking, they'd only been together for the last year. Her and Oscar much longer than that. Though she has a sneaky suspicion Lando kept assigning both of them to the same jobs for a reason. If any jobs came up that required Lando to go out and needed people with him, they were the first he contacted.

If she had to guess, she'd say he orchestrated this relationship. She wouldn't have it any other way. It's not like any of them know how to do anything normally.

She tries not to grimace as a man saunters up to her. His movements unflattering and he smells like cigarettes. Her nose scrunches up in an effort to fight back her gag.

"You here all alone?" Even his voice is grating to her ears! Can this get even worse?

"My boyfriend is busy killing the guy that flirted with me earlier."

"Yeah right, anyone with that kind of attitude must be hard to flirt with." He scoffs. How mad would her partners be if she stabbed this man? No - she can't - they are trying to finish a deal. She'd blow the whole thing if she did that.

Actually - this guy looks familiar... She takes another drink of the non-alcoholic beverage.

"You alright? you look a little flushed."

"Yeah I'm-" Shit, she knows this feeling. More than that, she knows this man.

He's a hitman for the other gang. The one who has Lando's men. The one he's meeting with right now.

Her heart lurches. The fog in her head and heat are too much. Her body is going to give out on her.

She ends up stabbing him. The knife strapped to her thigh finds a home in Mr. Hitman's chest. He cries out in pain but doesn't pull it out. He smiles at her instead.

She tries to bolt, but three other sets of hands pin her. They drag her outside. The ground scraping against her skin in an uncomfortable way.

She sees the hitman fall to the ground; hears the thud as the pull her out the back where he was trying to follow.

Damn, she kind of liked that knife too. She'll have to go back for it later.

They already have Lando outside. Her blurry vision is enough to see him covered in blood, licking his lips. "You trying to take my girl?"

"Shut it, Norris. This is payback for what you did."

They start attempting to remove her clothes. Like she was going to go down without a fight. Her nails dig into the skin of whoever is close by. She pulls as hard as possible, skin from another getting stuck in her nails as she does.

Her body doesn't have the energy for more than that. She misses her knife. This would be easier if she still had it. The stabbing motion isn't difficult, and gravity would help.

"Get your filthy, fucking hands off of her!"

There is another round of fists clashing. "Maybe you shouldn't have killed four of my guys."

"You killed mine first! They made the deal exactly as intended and you still put a bullet through their skulls!"

This was all a setup then. They were planning on them showing up. Though, there is no way they know about Oscar. If they never intended on sending someone to make the switch, then they wouldn't have anyone on the roof.

Hands are everywhere, wrestling with her clothes. They don't get far, their intentions now clear. The shot echoes off the buildings. To close to be from the roof.

The man directly in front of her crumples to the ground. The spray of the blood from the shot sticks to her skin.

"I believe Lando said not to touch her." Oscar stands there holding the smoking gun.

She watches the fight break out around her. It's messy and loud, but her boys come out on top. As per usual with these things. She would've gladly joined in if these stupid drugs would let up.

The boss had scrambled away with his tail between his legs. Serves him right after this stunt. "Did he really not like you that much?" Oscar throws a raised eyebrow at Lando.

"Jealousy, I think." They work in tandem to heave her body upright and support her back to the car. "What happened on the roof?"

"I was waiting for any kind of signal but got nothing. Nobody showed up. So, I came back down and was greeted by six guns pointed at my head."

"They shot first, I presume?"

"But I shot better."

She doesn't need to see the smirk to know it's there.

~~~~~

The hot water of the bath feels exceptional against her skin. They'd scrubbed at blood for far too long. The raw skin finally being soothed is relaxing.

The drugs still haven't worn off. Her motor function is lacking, and her words are slurring together, but it's better than it was.

Lando and Oscar are keeping her upright. Her body resting against theirs. Fingers caress her skin. This is safety.

"Can't believe we've had to cancel our date." Lando plops three rubber ducks inside the bath. Oscar's ducks, mind you.

"Frankly, I think we could consider that a date. We went out, got covered in blood, now we're having a relaxing bath."

"You just don't like going out."

She's going to fall asleep here. Relaxed and at peace with her boys. The possibility of drowning unlikely. "I love you both."

"You're drugged and still got blood on you."

"Sexy."

"I killed someone for you."

"Romantic."

[linkemon]

Scaramouche (selfship)

Selfship with a school AU and rivals to lovers for mandarynkowy-stworek.

You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested. Other selfships can be found here.

↣ You and Scaramouch didn't like each other since the beginning of the school year. His arrogance annoyed you. On top of that, you were neck and neck in everything. Whether it was studies or sports. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose but he denied it when you made accusations.

↣ Your friends didn't like him either. Mona thought he meant nothing but trouble. In fact, even his friends didn't seem to like him very much. You constantly saw Childe, always full of energy, trying to annoy him. La Signora usually just sat off to the side, fixing her makeup. They never acted like friends.

↣ One day you had the idea to join the school astronomy club. When you saw who else had the same idea, you gritted your teeth. In this way, you were kind of condemned to his company because you were the only first-graders.

Your rivalry continued even there. A few days of stargazing? No problem, each of you wants to do it. A paper for a scientific conference? Both of you already have a topic. Anything else that needs to be done? Ready to help your seniors...

↣ One day you had had enough and asked him what you had done to keep him where you were. He looked at you strangely, denied it and walked away. But since then you saw him less often. Like he was trying to stay away from you.

↣ Soon after, rumors started going around school that he was selling drugs. He denied it but everyone minded their own business. Most people in his class started avoiding him like the plague. He would shrug his shoulders when irritated and walk away. After a while, however, his patience ran out. He pinned Diluc to the wall, telling him that if he didn't shut up, he would punch him in the face. The boy was ready to fight but you intervened just in time. You had a feeling that Scaramouche wasn't evil enough to do that.

↣ After separating them, you followed him. He growled: Why did you come here? He didn't try to shoo you away though. You just sat there in silence.

↣ It was a strange but turning point in your relationship. From then on, you started spending more time with him on the peg and later also outside of it. You felt a bit sorry for him. Usually he greeted you with grumbles or complaints but in time, he stopped.

↣ Childe once came up to you and thanked you. Apparently you were the only girl he knew who didn't annoy Scaramouche, which was an unattainable feat until now. He also hinted that if you wanted to, he'd be happy to go out with you. He was perfectly aware that his friend was listening to the entire conversation with half an ear and was angrily turning a page of his notebook.

↣ Scaramouche was about to get up to intervene when you simply thanked Childe and asked if he thought you had a chance with his friend. You did it mainly to make the boy's ego smaller.

So you were very surprised when, a week later, Scaramouche proposed a bet. If he won the next competition against the Fatui team, you would fulfill his wish. You agreed, because in exchange you could get his not-so-old telescope.

It was a game he really tried. You could see it because there were a few fouls. But the surprise of the day came when he said he wanted to go to the park with you. The cherry blossoms were beautiful in the spring. When you asked if it was a date, he denied it. But those "not dates" started to appear more and more.

↣ You finally decided that things couldn't go on like this. You wanted to know where you stood. That's why you hinted that you were considering a date with Childe. Soon after, the guy broke down and admitted that this time he was inviting you for a romantic walk.

↣ There hasn't been a confession as such yet. You're afraid you'll have to start because Scaramouche won't admit that he's in love.

↣ He is very overprotective. He is always on the lookout for any dangers. He sometimes pulls strings behind your back. For example, if someone talks badly about you or makes your school life difficult.

↣ Scaramouche has trouble talking about feelings and emotions. He also tends to be inconsiderate of how others feel. You have to constantly remind him of that.

↣ Your friends have taken the fact that you're hanging out with him very hard. They warn you regularly every now and then.

But you have some new, unusual friends. You would never have thought you would get along with La Signora. You paint your nails together on the school bench. Scaramouche, on your insistence, agreed to black nails.

↣ The boy wears many hats. One summer you gave him a straw hat and he liked it so much that he didn't part with it the entire vacation.

↣ If someone asked if you were a couple, he would deny it. However, that doesn't stop him from automatically searching for your hand under the table, scaring away your admirers and blushing when you kiss him on the cheek.

↣ His adoptive mother, Ei, is rarely home, so you often spend time at his place. He doesn't like to talk about her too much. She's nice but doesn't interfere too much in her son's life.

↣ The boy has a very average room. As if he himself doesn't know if it makes sense to decorate it. You buy him trinkets so it doesn't seem so empty. He especially likes the colour purple.

↣ You're a strange, unusual couple. Against all odds. Despite that, you wouldn't trade it for anything. Now you just have to muster up the courage or get Childe to help you so Scaramouche admits he likes you...

[strangelittlestories]

Erupting from fresh grave dirt, the vampire was a mess of filth, fangs and fury.

It leapt at Shadow, expecting its mouth to close around fearful and yielding flesh. Instead, Shadow's hand moved like a cracking whip and the creature found its teeth closing around the rough edges of a wooden stake.

It spat out a mouthful of splinters and lashed out with a clawed hand. Shadow was already behind it and it fell to the ground as she lumped it in the head.

"Insert quip here." She said as it fell.

The vampire looked up at her and snarled. A dull far-away kind of pain was blooming in its skull.

"I don't know who you think you are, but..." the creature blinked, confused by what it was seeing. "Wait, what's with the watering can?"

The vampire felt the back of its scalp, The impact certainly felt like it might be watering can shaped.

Shadow sighed and lifted the watering can above the creature's upturned face. It flinched back, expecting another strike. Shadow tilted the can and a spray of blood fell upon its face. The vampire blinked in surprise before hungrily beginning to wipe the blood from its face and frantically lick its fingers clean.

With her foe distracted by its feeding frenzy, Shadow bent to retrieve the chewed wooden stake, which had fallen amongst a bouquet of withered flowers. She holstered it.

The vampire looked over at her, finished with its snack. Its thoughts felt clearer, the hunger in its core was beginning to fade. It winced as the pain in its head felt suddenly sharpened.

"With all due respect," the vampire said, "what the heck?"

"You woke up hungry." Shadow looked off into the darkness as she spoke. "Vampires always wake up *starving*. Not your fault. Feeding you is better than killing you."

Tim - he suddenly remembered that his name had been Tim - cocked his head at the strange woman. He took in her practical boots, heavy gloves and the floral cardigan badly covering her body armour.

He tried to look Shadow in the eyes, but she kept fixedly staring off at the gloom and gravestones.

"But a watering can?"

"It's easier to just ... water the fresh graves. Well, I suppose 'blood' the fresh graves. You soak in the blood through your skin while you're going through The Change. I hadn't gotten to your grave yet, sorry." she shrugged. "I think of it like gardening. Vampires are a lot like seeds, y'know? You go into the ground, you change, you grow, then you reach out to the world for sustenance."

"Most gardens don't try to eat you."

"Some do." Shadow smiled a little for the first time. "People don't blame a fly trap for eating insects. Or a rose for having thorns."

"But..." Tim struggled to take this strange woman and her strange words in. "But what about when I get hungry again?"

Shadow looked at him for the first time since their fight. She took slow steps towards him. She leaned down, put the watering can on the ground, and held out a business card with one hand.

"Go to this address. The man there will help you out. Don't wait too long, you'll get fangy when you're hungry."

Tim felt a pinch of pain suddenly in his leg. He looked down and saw that with her other arm, Shadow had stabbed a small metal device into his thigh.

"And if you don't go to him, now I can track you down." She smiled gently at Tim. "All gardens need pruning every now and again."

---

With thanks to Katherine for the submission of Shadow to the Character of the Month club.

Want to submit your own characters for my stories? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi with a recurring donation https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[swissboyhisch]

The Best Kinda Night

Pairing: Arber Xhekaj x Reader

Summary: Your first time watching Arber play and you get to see the rough side of his job.

Word Count: 1574

Warnings: fighting, mentions of sex related things

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

Since meeting Arber at a club after a game one night, the two of you hit it off. The two of you spent the whole night on the dance floor together. Maybe getting a little too handsy in public. After a couple too many drinks, you found yourself waking up in his bed. Arber woke up while you were getting dressed once more, phone held between your shoulder and ear. He protested you leaving and asked you to breakfast. Citing that he was wanting more than a one night stand with such a pretty person.

It had been months since you had had your first date and you were yet to go watch Arber play. Until tonight that is. Tonight he had a game against Arizona at home and you had a glass side ticket. You pulled out the pair of jeans, hoodie and jersey you planned on wearing before jumping into the shower. After spending the afternoon pampering, you made sure you were ready early so you could leave for the stadium and take in the journey.

What he didn’t tell you was that Caitlin, the captain’s girlfriend, would be meeting you at the stadium and sitting next to you so you weren’t alone. Not that it would have bothered you. But he wanted you to have a friend within the team because he knew you were going to be around for a while.

“Hi! You’re Wi-Fi’s girlfriend, yeah?” A blonde greeted you a couple moments after you stepped into the club bar area.

“Uh hi?” You and Arber weren’t public yet so you were very confused as to why she asked you this. She was dressed similarly to you but wearing a jersey with a C patch. Suzuki if you’re correct. “Sorry, who are you?”

The girl smiles, “I’m Caitlin, Nick’s girlfriend. Arber thought it would be a good idea you weren’t sitting by yourself.”

“Oh, that’s exciting. Thanks for agreeing.”

The two of you grabbed a drink from the bar before taking a seat. There was still half an hour until the teams took to the ice for warm-ups. You got to know Caitlin while you two bonded over the drinks. The blonde even introduced you to a couple of the other girls who walked by on their way to their seats.

“Let’s go find our seats. We’re against the glass,” Caitlin suggests when you both had finished your drinks.

Following others through the stadium halls, you find your section and descend the stairs. You made sure to take pictures of everything. Taking in all the bright lights and experience. The two of you were at a perfect spot. Across from the bench and near the penalty box. Or as you like to call it, the sin bin.

“When did you and Arber meet?” The blonde asks.

“Uh, a year ago? Dating for about 7 months.”

“He’s kept you hidden from us!”

You chuckle at the girl’s reaction. “Yeah, we just wanted to get settled and comfortable in our relationship before telling everyone.”

The two of you got to know each other while waiting for the teams to take to the ice for pregame warm ups. At least the chairs were comfier than other stadiums you have been to in the past. You glanced around at the fans around you. People watching. A few Arber jerseys stood out to you. Some Caufield and Suzuki jerseys as well.

“Here they come,” Caitlin spoke up, pointing to the tunnel.

One by one the boys stepped onto the ice and did their laps. Arber came out and skated around, looking around at the fans. He spotted a fan sign with his name on it being held up by a boy no older than 6. Watching the fan interaction was one of the best parts. Arber played paper, scissors, rock with the kid before flicking a puck over the glass and posing for a picture.

“Look who’s skating this way,” Caitlin teases as she waves to Nick standing in front of the girls.

Arber skated towards Nick and bumped him. He then turned his attention to you. The Canadian boy had the biggest smile as he waved like a kid to you. Just like he did for the little boy, he waved the puck then tossed it over the glass. You caught the cold rubber and posed for a picture that Caitlin was more than happy to take for you. Before he skated away to continue warm ups, he put his into a fist as best as he could and put it against the glass. You copied his actions and did a fist bump through the glass.

The fist bump started when you two first started dating. You had always fist bumped your best friend as a goodbye since they weren’t the hugging type. With Arber, the first time you did it was when you were both laying on the couch after your second date. Both of you were to shy to cuddle at the time. But you randomly held out your fist to him. From there it’s a daily occurrence. When it came to games, it fitted into the pregame ritual. He would kiss you goodbye then a fist bump on the way out.

“I like the jersey,” He yelled before giving you a smirk and skating off with his captain to join Caufield not far away.

“He’s so in love with you,” Caitlin pointed out. “I’ve never seen him smile that much. That wide!”

Warm ups went quicker than you’d like and next thing you know the teams skate off again. Now the wait between warm ups and the start of the game. Caitlin grabbed a silver sharpie from her bag and thrusted it towards you.

“You have to write on the puck the date and first Canadiens game.”

You agreed and wrote it on the back of the puck. One to start a collection. Or add to Arber’s puck collection when you moved in together.

The game started and was going smoothly. Kinda. There was some tension building and by the 2nd period you could see that Kassian was aiming at Arber. Wanting to drop the gloves. It wasn’t until a checking incident that Arber decided he had had enough.

“Here we go,” You smirk as Arber and the Arizona player threw their gloves off and grabbed each other. As someone with combat sport training, a fight was entertaining. “Arber’s got this one.”

Kassian’s first punch knocked off Arber’s helmet but he was sure to retaliate with multiple blows, one after the other in quick succession. The Coyotes player dropped to his knees pretty quick, allowing Arber to get some good hits in. Kassian managed to stand up again but didn’t stay on his feet for long. With the coyotes’ jersey in his grasp, Arber took him to the ground. He threw one last punch before the refs managed to pull him off. You watched as your boyfriend smirked at the sight of the player on the ice before skating to the penalty box. He even waved his arms to hype up the crowd who were all cheering by. He looked towards you, a smirk on his face as he chewed on his mouthguard.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, turned on more than you’d admit to anyone.

“Keep it in your pants,” Caitlin laughs after she hears your muttering.

Arber took his seat in the sin bin and side glanced at you. Another smirk appeared when he noticed the look on your face. He winked at you before turning back to the game.

“Welp I’m gonna have to buy new lingerie after tonight,” You joke (slightly) to Caitlin.

She laughed, understanding the feeling, “it’s the best kinda night after a good, tense game.”

The pair of you laugh before turning back to the game that was playing. The game soon came to an end with a win for the home team. Caitlin showed you down to the family room where people waited for the players to finish changing and the media tasks.

“I’ll introduce you to some of the other girls if you want?”

You shrug, “Sure why not.”

The captain’s partner took you around, introducing you to the older players’ partners. Meeting their kids who were running around the room as well. It definitely filled the waiting time because you feel arms wrap around your waist as you talked to Caitlin and Kirby Dach’s girlfriend.

“Hey,” you grin, turning to see a freshly showered Arber.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. You could see in his eyes what he was thinking about. “Hey baby.”

“I can’t believe you hid her from us!”

“Sorry girls,” he chuckles. “You’ll have her around more but I’m gonna steal her now.”

Caitlin smirks, “don’t break any furniture.”

You blushed but Arber smirked and dragged you away and out of the arena. When you reached his car, he pushed you against the door.

“God you look so good wearing my name on your back.”

You tangle your fingers in his damp hair. Pulling him closer. “Showing everyone who I’m with.”

That snapped the tension. Arber ducked his head and kissed you roughly. He hand slid up your back and cupped the back of your hand from hitting it on the car.

“Let’s take this to yours shall we?”

Arber grinned as he opened the passenger side door for you, “you’re in for a long night baby.”

TAG LIST

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @dasiysthings @dancerbailey3 @puckmaidens @cole-mcward48 @sammiejane22

[yurinaa-world]

"𝐼𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒?"

Characters: Blade and Luka x Gender-Neutral Reader

Synopsis: Watching a scary movie together

Warnings: Fluff, ooc (Luka), spelling errors,

Notes: Im not really proud of this one

𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒

You let out another shriek for the seventh time, clinging onto Blade's arm. You only got through almost half of the movie, yet you were screaming, closing your eyes to avoid the scary scenes that played on screen. Blade,  the whole time, wasn't affected by the movie; he just looked at you with a grin; it seemed that your fear-filled face was laughable for him.

"You can look now that the bloody part is over." He tells you, opening your eyes to look at the screen, It wasn't over at all, that liar! It's just getting worse; it just made your stomach churn before you hit his shoulder. "You damn Liar!" You hiss at him, glaring daggers at his grinning face, making you want to just slap him.

"I thought the gory scene was over, but I don’t mind you keep on clinging to me." Blade teases you; you feel his arms wrap around you and pull you closer to his chest and press you against it. You feel his breath fanning across your neck, and you shiver in response.

 He chuckles at you, "You're so cute when you're scared." "Shut up and go watch the movie."  You huff, hearing the sound of the main character in the show running through the woods away from the killer.

You turn around and glare at his smirking expression before he goes to watch the movie and how it progresses, he had warned you before watching that yet you don’t ever listen.

𝐿𝓊𝓀𝒶

"It's not as scary as I thought it would be," you shrug as you look over to Luka; he seemed to be shaking. Uhh, Luka, are you scared?" you ask with a bit of laughter in your voice. "What! No! I'm not scared; why would I be scared?" Luka quickly denied it, but you could tell he was totally scared. He was shaking, and his eyes were wide with fear. "Whatever you say," he said, you kept on watching the movie but ended up zoning out.

Loud screams hurt your ears. You jump before Luka grabs onto your arm. Luka, what was that?" you say, not trying to laugh at his reaction but a little bit concerned for him. "Did the greatest fighter of the fight club really scream like a girl?" you say while laughing even harder. "You know we can stop if you want; I don't mind." You smile.

"No way I can handle a dumb movie," he tells you. Yeah, sure, you thought to yourself but didn't voice it out loud, or else he'll get pouty with you again, but you don't like the way he has arms around you. It's cute to see him all scared.

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