#i made this with love and just a hint of depravity

[vhagarys]

The Slayer of Bastards

brother!aemond x sister!reader, brother!aegon x sister!reader, brief jace x reader

summary: After being denied of their birthright to claim you as theirs, you are shipped to Dragonstone to marry Jace Velaryon. Your brothers will have you, no matter the cost.

warnings: canon-typical incest, smut, possessive!dark!aemond, possessive!dark!aegon, manipulation, death, penetrative sex, oral sex, spitting, degradation, slapping, breeding, dumbification, basically aemond and aegon are depraved

MDNI

Their sister was gone.

Aegon and Aemond, your beloved brothers, were denied a betrothal to you, and awoke the next morning to the news of you being shipped over to Dragonstone to marry their nephew Jace Velaryon.

The brothers fumed. As their sister, it was within their birthright to claim you as theirs. Their mother insisted this alliance was far more important than their domestic desires.

Within the hour, the two plotted to bring you home and take your maidenhood so you’d be unfit to wed anyone else but them.

Their lust for their sister was undeniable. Since children, they’ve always harbored a possessive nature towards you. Warding off those who dared to venture too close to you, despite your obliviousness to other men’s advances.

You were so naive, so pure, your brothers knew they had to keep you for themselves.

They waited until the small hours of the night to sneak into the dragonpit, and took Vhagar and Sunfyre to the skies. The brothers were consumed with anger at the prospect that their insolent nephew may have you, that he may corrupt you with his bastard hands.

Their sweet baby sister in the hands of bastards and traitors.

No one was going to stand between you and them.

After fleeing from the Red Keep, they managed to land without being detected, cloaking their dragons within the forests surrounding Dragonstone.

Like shadows in the night, they snuck past the guards asleep at their post and through the halls of the castle.

Silently wandering through their enemies homestead, their ears tuned in at the slightest sound of your voice. Soon, they found you sat in the throne room with Jace.

“You’re lucky you know, Aunt Y/N. You just barely escaped the hands of your monstrous brothers clutches,” Jace proclaimed as he sat across the table from you.

“You will not speak of them in such tone, they may have committed wrong doings in the past but i will not sit here while you berate my closest family. They are my brothers Jace, and your uncles,” you responded with a hint of annoyance in your tone.

Jace scoffs at you, his face unable to hide the offense at your words.

“Do you deny who they are? They are criminals to the throne. They killed my brother and have committed atrocities the gods may never forgive. For you to sit here and defend them shows you are no better then them.”

Your body simmered in rage, fingers digging into your palms in attempt to restrain yourself. Just as you were about to retort Jace’s vile accusations, a voice at the door made you freeze.

“Tsk, thats no way to speak to your betrothed little nephew,” murmured Aemond with a darkness in his eye. Forgoing his eyepatch, the sapphire in his other eye gleamed in the moonlight.

“No go one nephew, please continue this tangent of your love for your uncles,” Aegon quipped with a smirk on his lips.

You swiftly turned towards your brothers, who both locked eyes with you. Time seemed to stop as both of them looked upon you with a longing and something darker you had not yet seen before.

“Gōntan ao miss īlva dōna haedar?” Aegon smiled at you. (did you miss us sweet sister?)

You couldn’t help but feel relief at the sight of your brothers here, the betrothal to Jace made without your consent.

You always knew how much your brothers loved you. They would always hold your hand and accompany you through the castle, let you sit on their lap and hold you when you were needed comfort.

Anything you required, your brothers were there at the drop of a hat.

You wished you didn’t have to leave them and be married off to another family. The idea of being away from your brothers made you sick with unease. After all, they promised they would always protect you.

Jace fumed at the sight of your brothers. He practically jumped out of his chair to stand in front of you, as if to shield you from them.

“How in the seven hells did you manage to get in here undetected? You really have such little regards for your own lives? Tell me why i shouldn’t draw my sword and slit your throats where you stand.”

Aemond hummed, “I’m afraid dear nephew, that would make you a kinslayer as much as i, you wouldn’t want that on your conscience hm? I, on the other hand, have already dirtied my hands. What’s a little more bastard blood spilled? I may even enjoy killing you even more than your baby brother,” Aemond grinned darkly.

Aegon chuckled under his breath. You turned to Jace and saw nothing but black in his eyes. As he went to lunge towards your brothers, you grabbed both of his shoulders.

“Stop this! Please, stop tormenting each other. Why must every encounter end in threats and physicality,” you cried out, using all your strength to hold him back, to which he shrugged off and paced toward your older brother.

Aemond stepped behind you and tucked a piece of your silver hair behind your ear. “No need for tears dōna haedar (sweet sister), we won’t let him hurt you. You’re coming home with Aegon and i where you will be rightfully married to us, your own blood.”

Jace laughed as he slowly stepped towards Aegon. “Like hell you will, she is betrothed to me. She’s mine, and i’d do right by her and rid the world of her abominable excuses of brothers.”

Jace proceeded to jab his finger into Aegon’s shoulder, a provocation that you knew would end badly.

“I dare you,” he roughly grabbed the collar of Jace’s tunic, “to utter one more word bastard. I will delight in feeding you to my dragon, a poetic end to your pathetic life, wouldn’t you say? Seeing as your brother became a snack for Vhagar,” he seethed, his anger palpable.

You couldn’t believe the situation unfolding before you. Your heart filled with dread at the inevitability of this encounter. You felt helpless. Chasing any sort of comfort, you leaned into the warmth of your older brother Aemond as he gently wrapped an arm around your hip.

You turned into his body and wept on his shoulder, begging him to put an end to this and take you back home. You knew if you didn’t leave now something awful were to occur.

“Kostilus gūrogon issa lenton lēkia,” you stared up at him with glossy eyes. (please just take me home brother)

‘Hush little one, you’re coming back home with me, i won’t allow anyone to keep you from me. Al sytilībagon naejot īlva, hm? You know we will never allow harm to come to you,” Aemond whispers as his hands held you tight against him. (you belong to us)

Seeing his sister with tears running down her cheeks awoke something primal in Aemond. His mind flashed to the tears he imagined you’d be spilling as he used your throat to pleasure his cock. He pictured you on your knees, laid bare for him, covered in drool as you let him fuck your mouth full of his release. He could almost hear you whine as you leaked your own arousal with his seed on your tongue, opening your mouth for him to spit in and brainlessly swallowing anything he gave to you. like a good girl. their good girl.

Aemond knew this was an inappropriate time to indulge such thoughts, and tried to resist the urge to press his cock against you as you cried on his shoulder.

Jace shoved Aegon off of him with a loud grunt and immediately lunges towards him in an attempt to tackle him to the floor. You couldn’t bear the fighting a moment longer.

You broke away from Aemond and rushed toward the two, grabbing Jace’s arm with your hands.

“Please Jace, we are family and i do not wish to see anyone hurt. I don’t believe any good may come of their matrimony and you know it too. It is best if i return home and seek forgiveness with your mother and Daemon on the morrow. We will leave quietly, please-”

The sting on your cheek throbbed as you stumbled to the ground. Your hand immediately reached up to touch the ugly red splotch on your face. Your body stunned as you looked up to see the disgusted look on Jace’s face.

“They’ve already fucked you, haven’t they? Corrupted you with their seed, stolen your virtue? I can’t stand to look at you. Just wait until the realm hears of you, the Targaryen cocksleeve-”

The sound of metal sliced through the air as Aemond plunged his sword through the middle of Jace’s form.

You went to scream, but Aegon grabbed you and covered your mouth with his hand.

“Shh, shh sweet sister. It’s alright, he won’t hurt you ever again. Your brothers are here, everything is alright,” he delighted in seeing Jace writhing in pain, something he’d hoped would happen for quite some time. What delighted him more though, was the feeling of you pressed up against him.

He’d finished himself countless times to the thought of you completely at his mercy. Holding you down while he pummeled into your soaking cunt. His hands wrapped like a noose around your neck, licking up your tears and swallowing down your screams. Fucking you so violently you’re rendered speechless. Just his pliant, little cocksleeve for him to ravage when he craved release. He knew you would eventually succumb to them, always looking to please her brothers.

“Brother, what are you doing? Why is there something hard poking me?” you breathed out confused, your mind feeling like mush after the overwhelming scene before you.

Unlike his brother, Aegon never possessed much self restraint. He pressed you tighter against his front, rutting his hard cock on you from behind.

“That, my sweet sister, is me showing you how happy i am to have you back. Now tell me, are you happy to see me?” Aegon whispered into your neck as you felt an odd tingling surge through you.

“O-of course i’m happy to see you lekia (brother), but i-���

“I’ll have to see for myself, don’t fight me, relax little one,” Aegon moved your hands away and worked past the layers of your skirts, gently pressing his finger on your clothed cunt.

“Gods, you’re very happy to see your brothers, isn’t that right gevie,” (beautiful) murmured Aegon as he ran his nose up your neck and traced lines up and down your center.

“Tsk, what do we have here,” Aemond removed his sword from Jace’s dying body and slowly stalked over to you, his eyes fixed on his brothers fingers on your cunt.

“Brother, it seems our innocent little sister is more depraved then we thought. Her cunt is weeping after watching you kill our nephew,” Aegon began rubbing small circles on your pearl.

The new heady sensation made your mind short circuit. You let out the most pathetic mewl, and bucked up your hips to chase Aegon’s fingers.

Aemond’s eyes darkened as he watched his sister succumb to the pleasure his brother was giving her.

“i don’t believe this, what happened to my sweet baby sister?” Aemond teased.

“Look how responsive she is, brother. Practically begging us to touch her,” Aegon mused as he continued to tease your cunt.

“Poor thing is leaking all over the floor. Let us see just how wet you are,” Aemond unsheathed his knife and cut through your small clothes, leaving your pink cunt soaking and bare for them.

You whined louder, “P-please stop, it’s too much. I don’t-”

“We can take the pain away baby sister, how does that sound? Need your brothers to help you don’t you, poor girl. What would you do without us?” aegon ripped through the bodice of your dress until your breasts spilled out.

Aemond groaned and reached out to fondle your breasts.

“Gods you were made perfect for us. Can’t wait to fuck you full of my seed”.

In a moment of clarity, the words sunk in and you jolted up, away from your brothers touch.

Your mind began to sober at the depravity you were partaking in, and your hands flew up to cover yourself.

“But we’re brother and sister, this i-is wrong. We mustn’t do this.”

The brothers exchanged a smirk. “Sister, this is exactly what siblings are meant to do, to keep the bloodline pure. You are ours to breed so that you may produce targaryen heirs sweet thing,” Aemond caressed your cheek while Aegon continued his ministrations sucking dark spots into the crevice of your neck.

Aemond took your silence as an invitation to kneel closer to your dripping cunt. He gently blew on it and watched as you clenched around nothing.

You flinched and tried to pull away to no avail.

“You see sister, no one else knows how to pleasure you like we do,” Aegon pulled your hands away and began to grope at your breasts.

You couldn’t help but arch your back as he pinched at your nipples. Your mind began to cloud over again with the intoxicating sensation coursing through your veins.

Aegon groaned into your ear, “You were made to fit our cocks and to take our seed. you were made for us to have, in any way we desire, right brother?”

Unable to hold back from tasting you, Aemond offered a hum before leaning down and licking a fat stripe up your dripping folds, slurping up your essence like a man starved.

Your body twitched and spasmed at the all consuming pleasure. You gasped, chasing the electric feeling your brothers tongue offered you.

“I’ve got you, little girl,” Aegon turned your head toward him and swallowed your cries in a forceful kiss, dominating your mouth with his tongue.

After only a few minutes, you were on the brink of release. Your virgin cunt not familiar with such intense pleasure from someone’s mouth.

Suddenly, Aemond retracted his mouth from you, cursing under his breath and scooping up some of the wetness still leaking from you.

You watched as he reached over you and pushed his fingers into your older brothers mouth. A moan came from aegon as he sucked all of your juices off.

“Fuck” Aegon drawled, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

You couldn’t help but whine in frustration, your brothers leaving you throbbing with need but effectively ignoring you.

They both looked down at you drunken with lust.

“Use your words, sweet girl. what do you want, hm? what’s wrong?” Aegon chuckled at his brothers teasing.

“You really are cruel brother, our sister clearly won’t be satisfied until she’s felt our cocks stretch out that tight cunny,” Aegon began removing his trousers.

Aemond gripped your cheeks with his hand. He examined you, the way your tongue slightly stuck out, your eyes glazed over as you met his gaze.

“Not a single thought in that pretty head of yours is there. Already too drunk on the idea of cock you can’t speak?” Aemond grinned cruelly at you.

You whined his name. he squeezed your cheeks so you lips parted just in time for him to spit into your mouth.

“Show me,” you stuck your tongue out to show the glob of spit. Aemond nodded then commanded, “Swallow it.”

Aegon began to run his cock up and down your folds, hissing at how sensitive he was.

“Did you enjoy that sister?” Aegon slowly circled your entrance with his head, aroused at the scene before him.

You shyly nodded, too embarrassed to meet either of their gazes.

Aemond sighed, “Of course she enjoyed it, you love making your brothers happy right byka līve?” after which Aegon grabbed your face and spit into your mouth. (little whore)

You were overwhelmed by the need to feel your brothers, to please them. “P-put it in please”, you whispered to your older brother.

They both looked at you with a sick fondness, their lovely sister reduced to nothing more then a begging, cock slut.

“Asking so nicely, how can i refuse you gevie,” Aegon slowly pushed in.

The feeling was intense. the stretch of his cock in your virgin hole hurt so much. You could do nothing but cry and wreathe at the painful sensation.

Oh, how pathetic you looked when you cried. Aegon wished to make you cry whilst he spilled his seed into you.

After a moments pause, he pulled out and sheathed himself back inside, setting a brutal pace for your poor little cunt.

“Ah! slow down, lēkia, it’s too m-” (brother)

The rest of your sentence was muffled as Aemond took the opportunity of your mouth wide open to stuff his cock down your throat.

You gagged at the intrusion, and clawed at your brothers thighs to push him off. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked so you met his gaze. The soft look he gave you contrasted the way he was choking you with his member.

“Such a filthy little girl aren’t you? letting your brothers have their way with you after committing treason,” Aemond moaned. His other hand slithered down to your neck and began to squeeze, just hard enough you began to gasp for air.

Soon, you lost your strength and could no longer try to push him off of you.

Aemond smiled at you, “That’s it, just a little more dove. Don’t fight it, that’s a good girl,” the lack of oxygen made your eyes roll back into your head.

He soon loosened his grip on you, stroking your cheek lovingingly before bringing his hand down to strike at your cheek. The same one Jace laid his hands on earlier.

You gagged helplessly as he fucked your throat without mercy.

Aegon had never been so turned on his life, his hips sporadically thrusting into you. He knew no whore in the seven kingdoms could please him after tonight.

“No one else will ever lay a finger on you ābrazȳrys, only me and Aemond (wife). Fuck, I think she likes getting slapped brother,” he hissed and dug his fingers into your hips, sure to leave bruises come morning.

“Would you like me to spill my seed down your throat baby sister,” Aemond watched in delight as you gurgled incoherently around him.

He reached down and pinched your nostrils together, effectively blocking off your airways.

“I asked you a question līve, answer me,” (whore) he taunted and you did your best to nod your head while grabbing at his hand which finally allowed you to breathe again. He knew he was close to his peak, ramming his cock in and out of your warm, wet mouth.

Your brothers both moaned in bliss, minds overcome with the pleasure of finally corrupting their sister. They did not hear your cries and pleas, they were utterly consumed with you.

You could nothing but take it. Soon, your mind went blank as your brother prodded at your g-spot over and over.

You could feel your release approaching right as Aegon began thrusting faster, but n cock begin to swell.

“Fuck, you’re gonna take my seed aren’t you sister, gonna breed you as many times as it takes. fuck you’re mine, fucking take it,” he groaned as he let go and filled your womb.

“Can’t wait to take you back home, were going to have such fun together aren’t we”, he stayed inside you and pushed his release back inside your with his spent cock.

The sight of his older brother spilling inside of you sent Aemond over the edge. After Aegon pulled out, Aemond took his cock out of your mouth and sheathed himself inside you.

“This seed is going to take, and you’ll soon be round with our child, would you like that? You’re squeezing the life out of me. Tatagon rūsīr issa,” he grunted in your ear. (finish with me)

Your release hit you like a lightning bolt. You cried out at the aftershocks of your peak. you reached down to cradle your belly that swelled with the amount of seed inside you.

Your body soon collapsed with exhaustion, blacking out for a moment before coming to again.

Both of your brothers knelt on either side of you and tenderly kissed your forehead.

“You did so well for us gevie,” Aegon murmured as he caressed your cheek.

“Made us feel so good.” Aemond watched your cunt clench around nothing, already missing the cock that was inside.

He would claim her cunt when they returned home.

A soft “mm” was all you could manage.

As you sat and composed yourself, you looked over to see Jace’s body still lying there.

Before you could dwell on the tragedy before your eyes, you were scooped up by Aegon who muttered, “Time to go home ābrazȳrys”. (wife)

tada! hope you all enjoyed my first fic! please leave me feedback as i’m new to this :)

- alice <3

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [COME UNBOUND HERE] ❞ — NSFW ; MDNI!

pairing: hotch x fem!bau!reader. summary: “completely self-reliant, you really don’t need me at all, do you?” in which hotch gets completely pussy whipped after seeing you taking down an unsub. content warnings: making out, foul language, sex, unprotected p in v with no mentions of birth control (no breeding kink just lazy writing), sub!hotch if you squint, switch!reader, nipple play, scratching, lip biting, THEY FUCK ALRIGHT. MDNI, this is a 18+ fic. word count: 1.7k a/n: requested by @mischiefmoons and her godsent filthy mind. i donnnt prooof read shiiiit.

      Aaron wasn’t one to admit to having a type, sure, he knows it’s human nature to look for similar traits when choosing partners throughout life, but he was a romantic at heart  (and a sweet talker at that!), he secretly enjoyed keeping the magic of just love alive, and more than that, he simply adored the way you would roll your eyes and laugh cruelly at him, your palm hitting his arm in a light slap each time he told you his type is you. 

      Truthfully though, most of that was all talk from his sweet soft spot for you, everyone knew exactly his type. 

      He couldn’t help but fall for confidence, every time someone confident and beautiful laughed at his terribly dry jokes he would feel his lungs tighten up, that was definitely one of the first things that made him so drawn to you, the fact you were so funny and incredibly gorgeous resulting in his everlasting love and downright depraved lust for you. 

      Today though, Aaron found out another trait of his ideal type: Could easily overpower an unsub before himself could even get to his ankle holster for his gun, before he could even try to protect you. 

      Your competence was never a question, an SSA like the rest of the team, twice a year having no problem at all in your evaluations. But you were a liaison, you stayed put unless extremely necessary to have the whole team out, your experience level wasn’t the same. 

      He did all he could to have your back, even before you started sharing hotel room beds, but hearing the man in front of him whine in pain after you twisted his arm, the sound of at least one of his fingers cracking at your strength as you pushed him to the floor… You definitely didn’t need him to have your back, you did it yourself pretty well. 

      He’s surely proud, but what floods his mind really, what is now burnt to his brain, what has probably changed his whole body chemistry at this point is the way your body moved to do it, your pants clinging more to your thighs, your breasts moving with your fast heart rate, your open cleavage blouse doing nothing to help his train of thought, nor did the hint of a grin in your lips as the unsub succumbed to your grip, complaining about the pain you were so easily causing. 

      Focus on the job, focus on the case, he tried hard to while he passed his handcuffs to you, but fuck, how could he when you looked so unbelievably sexy doing something he has seen so many people do before?

      How many times has he licked his lips in the past 20 minutes? He has lost count, but it's the only way he has to ignore the way his mouth is drying at how aroused he was about to be if he didn’t control himself. If he didn’t focus on anything else. 

      A few meditating breaths and unpleasant thoughts did the work for him, getting his priority back on track: The case was still going as far as he was concerned. It wasn’t done until the BAU got back to the hotel. 

      His avoidance to you at the precinct, not even catching him glancing as you worked didn’t strike you as odd, you were used to him needing his space and completely unaware of his conscious effort not to think of you. 

      It’s a happy surprise when you hear his well known knock on your door not even half an hour after arriving at the hotel, his lips gluing to yours immediately, his hands strong in their hold of your face as he kicks the door closed.

      You grin into the kiss, not at all opposed to how famished he seems for you, even though you don’t understand where it came from you more than willingly follow his lead, reaching for his waist under his clothing. The cold of your fingers causes him to whine and you can’t help but take advantage of that to sink your teeth to his lower lip just the way you knew he liked it. 

      Aaron guides you to the bed, but unlike many times before where he would lay you down, his weight deliciously on top of you, he sits on the edge, the back of his knees touching the mattress, shoes kicked off just before. He pulls you to straddle him, his lips only leaving yours to touch the skin you had exposed: Your neck, your cleavage. His hands making sure to sink you harsher on this lap anytime you stopped moving against him even if for a second, his fingers sinking on the flash of your waist. 

      You have to ask, you have to know what’s gotten into him (so you might do it more in the future) and he stops his actions to stare at you, eyes dazed with lust, lips swollen from the way your mouth worked his, cheeks flushed pink like it always got when he was hot.

      “Do you not have any idea of how… Alluring you looked today doing all that?” He’s breathless as he speaks, his tongue is back to your neck before you can reply or tease his choice of words. Your head falls lightly behind as you try to contain at least some of your whimpers. Hotch does no such effort, lucky his mouth is busy as you wet both of your pants with arousal, the feeling of his cock swelling up under you as addictive as ever. 

      You pull him closer by his tie, your mouth brushing against his ear before you spoke just so you could feel the way your warm breath made him shiver. 

      “All that what?” He doesn’t respond, busy taking your blouse along with your bra off, his sheer force able to break off the clasp without much effort. You force your body onto him, half for the so needed friction your nipples begged for, but mostly to get him to lay down on the bed. “All that what?” You repeat yourself, needing to hear him say it. Your hands strongly keeping his on your waist and not an inch up. The sight of your bare tits alone enough to make him try to get more friction from you, unconsciously rutting up. 

      “Confidently taking a man down with your bare hands, maybe?” Aaron’s reply pleases you and you let go of his hands, helping him take his dress shirt, his tie and the annoying white tank top keeping you away from scratching his stomach, “Completely self-reliant, you really don’t need me at all, do you?” He says teasingly just as you gasp to the touch of his calloused fingers to your nipples, working both at the same time. 

      You could honestly come just from that (and you have before, noticing how sensitive your nipples are has been a gift to him that kept on giving), but you wanted more. You palm him through his slacks, wet from his precum and your own fluids. “Wouldn’t say that, I do need you to help me with these,” you point to the bothersome remnants of clothes in the way and he has the audacity to chuckle, as if he wasn’t as desperate as you. “Because as soon as we are free of them, I can ride you the way you’re just begging me to.” Aaron can’t keep his groans contained, your crude words going straight to his dick in a way only you were able to. It was a mess of fingers unbuttoning, unzipping and hands quickly working to get rid of the slacks and underwear restricting you both. 

      He helps lining his cock to your entrance, but not before teasing pressing his tip to your clit, causing you both to moan, you’re as wet as you always are for him, sinking him into you all at once and the whimper leaving Aaron’s mouth is just sinful, completely at your mercy. 

      You set the pace and he lets you, one hand on your thigh, the other gripping one of your tits in a way he would leave not just marks, but a whole handprint. You loved it, your nails giving his chest crescent moon shaped marks and scratches all around his torso. 

      “Aaron–ple–put your fingers to work.” You skip the begging, the please, knowing that’s not what he wants today, you’re busy moaning his name as your pace goes to a faster rhythm to say much else, but he obeys, deliciously using one of his thumbs to draw circles over your clit, following your lead, moaning as you clenched around his cock, your wetness loud against his finger and his pelvis. 

      You were about to come, the imminence of your orgasm making your toes curl, “Fuck me, Aaron, hard… And fast.” You manage to say, not wanting to slow down and knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep up. 

      It’s like he’s been waiting for it, for your orders, and he turns you around, his weight over you as he follows your words. Hard and fast. His own pleasure building up as you helped him prop one of your legs up on his shoulder, you felt like you were melting under him, going between grabbing the sheets and his flesh as you squirmed for him. 

      The noises are relentless at this point, and if the walls of the hotel are cheap everyone will be able to hear his name leaving your lips like a prayer, his whimpers getting stuck in his throat and the skin to skin slapping as Aaron brought you both to orgasm, his cum going inside of you without a question, his forehead touching yours as he drops your leg and fucks deep and slow into you a few more times so you both enjoy the climax as long as possible. 

      “Fuck, I definitely need you for these as well.” Your tone is full of tease, referring to the orgasms he gave you seemingly effortlessly. 

      Aaron hums, his eyes already closed the minute his body reaches the bed, pulling you to his chest. “Then, I shall pretend you like me for more than my body and sleep here tonight.” He’s joking and would sleep cuddling you either way, so you don’t bother replying. 

      But god, you love him. You love him. 

[holybibly]

As much as I love my sugar bunnies, I can't leave you empty-handed before my trip. So enjoy the preview of my new ff for Seonghwa. I love you, my darlings.

𝔙𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔩

Mafia!au ​​Alpha Seonghwa x Omega reader

"I think that you should take a little more time off from work, Hwa. If you go on like this, I'm very much in doubt that you'll be able to tie any Omegas with your knot. Aren't you worried that you're going to leave all those sweet, horny babies needy and unfulfilled, daddy?" Hongjoong soberly chuckled as he turned his amberish feline eyes to the gorgeous dark-haired Alpha beside him. There was a hint of mockery in his seductively purring voice.

"Oh, my sweet Joongie, you're so worried about that, I could think you're desperate to ride on my knot too. But you're working so hard too. Aren't you? When was the last time you tied a nice omega yourself?" Seonghwa said as he walked out of his office, which was located on the top floor of a luxurious, high-class brothel. 

It was an exquisite establishment for Seoul's chosen elite, full of the most beautiful and fertile Omegas with luscious, sexy bodies and submissive, soft dispositions. Seonghwa would never settle for anything less than the most beautiful and luxurious. 

Pulling a black glove made of soft Iberian leather over his long fingers, Seonghwa was walking down the dark corridor that led to the common room when a tantalising scent hit him in the face. It was barely perceptible—just a soft sensuality—but Seonghwa felt as if the scent had taken over his body, making every cell in it tingle and burn and sending goose bumps running up and down his smooth, golden skin. 

The Alpha stopped abruptly, practically bumping into Hongjoong, and let his nose wiggle a little, trying to find out where the delicious scent was coming from. All of his Alpha instincts flare up with a strong curiosity. The blood in his veins becomes more viscous and hotter by the second, and saliva starts to collect in his mouth. 

'Shit, Seonghwa, what are you...' Seonghwa doesn't let him finish and abruptly cuts him off in the middle of his sentence.

"Can you smell it, Joong? That aroma..." His voice is hoarse and deep, and there is a slight, velvety purr to be heard in between the letters. Seonghwa almost groans as a puff of air brings a new wave of the thick scent to him. A heavy, rich, almost maddening smell—there is something big in it—something sinful, decadent, depraved, but at the same time fresh, pure, and so innocent. 

"What's that, Hwa? What do you feel?" Hongjoong's voice is filled with genuine curiosity. He raises a well-groomed eyebrow in question and sinks his teeth into his plump lower lip to keep the grin from spreading across his demonically handsome features. He takes real pleasure in seeing Seonghwa, who is normally so cold and perfect in every way, turn into an excited puppy at the slightest whiff of an unfamiliar scent.

"We have a new Omega in the brothel, don't we?" Seonghwa's voice drops a few octaves, each sound enveloped in a thick, murky sexuality. His breathing becomes heavy and hot, as if he has a fever. Fuck.

"Oh, that..." Hongjoong nods in understanding and now grins openly, revealing the tips of his pointed fangs. "I think it's the new Omega that Yeosang told me about—the cute little thing has just been hired to work here, Hwa. She's probably still waiting in Yeo's office." 

Before Hongjoon could finish his sentence, Seonghwa was already halfway to Yeosang's office, the bare, luscious scent of vanilla wafting through the air and seducing him, and Hwa immediately wanted to know whose scent it was. 

Seonghwa quietly opens the heavy, oak  door leading to one of his assistants' offices and looks inside to finally see the owner of that intoxicating scent. 

"You know, you can just have this omega if you want to.'" Hongjoong whispers as he tries to peek over Seonghwa's shoulder to get a better look at the Omega, the scent of which has made his friend so excited. 

"Can you just shut your pretty mouth and stay out of my way, Joong?" Seonghwa hissed back irritably as he rolled his beautiful feline eyes on the other alpha before he focused all his attention on the unknown Omega.

Oh, what a little sugar baby you are. You look just too adorable dressed up like a doll in the fluffy pastel-coloured sweater with the open shoulders, the high socks with the satin bows, and the white lacquered Mary Jane shoes with the little gold buckle. You seem completely out of place in the gloomy atmosphere of the office, but you are seductive all the same. There is an inexplicable eroticism about you, like a fragile butterfly caught in the deadly web of a spider. Which was basically true because Seonghwa was the king of the world's dark side, and you fell right into his hands. 

Your hair is long and black and shiny like the silk sheets on his bed; he can't see your whole face from his seat, but the contours of your plump cheeks are seductively soft and pink, and your lips are childishly plump and overly sensual. Seonghwa would even call them kissable, but as far as he's concerned, he'd rather bite them bloody and lick them with his tongue than kiss them. 

You're clearly nervous; it's all too easy to tell by the way you fidget restlessly in your seat and the slightly bitter notes in your scent, which fills the entire office like fluffy candy floss, sticking to his tongue and leaving a moist, sweet trail on it. Seonghwa can't help but wonder: What could a candy thing like you be doing in a brothel in search of work? 

This is definitely not the kind of place he would have in mind for such a delicate Omega. You might look perfect between his legs, with a diamond collar around your swan-like neck and your sweet, glistening lips curled around his cock, but a brothel... 

Only the most desperate and needy Omegas seek work in a brothel. And even then, not all of them get the chance to find a place. It's necessary to comply with too many requirements to be able to be just an object of pleasure for the rich Alphas, Betas, and even other Omegas. 

His curiosity is aroused even more, as is his excitement. His hard cock tugs at the fabric of his leather trousers, and the knot at the base begins to press slightly, slowly swelling. Fuck, he's no puppy to be so shamefully turned on by your scent alone, but you smell heavenly and look like an angel, and Seonghwa just wants to spoil you in the most depraved and darkest way, and maybe this desire is too strong for his own good. 

Something catches your attention, and you turn your head sideways, allowing Seonghwa to finally get a full view of your angelic face. Involuntarily, a small sigh escapes from his throat, his feline eyes darken, his fangs ache to sink into the soft skin of yours, and thick saliva gathers in his mouth. 

You're beautiful, a real little angel from the heavens, an exquisite porcelain doll for his pleasure. With a face like that and a scent of pure innocence and sweetness, you could be a gold mine for a brothel. Seonghwa isn't surprised that Yeosang hired you. If even Seonghwa himself wants you so badly, he has no idea how long the queue for you will be. 

"Seonghwa, Mingi wants to talk to you." Hongjoong whispers in a low voice, hands a mobile phone to the dark-haired Alpha, and tries not to draw the attention of the Omega to them. Seonghwa closes the door carefully and takes the mobile phone out of the hands of the other Alpha. 

"I'm listening...' Seonghwa glances at the Omega for the last time before walking away. He leaves behind his back the rich scent of vanilla and a sweet, angelic face with sugar-sweet lips. There is no doubt that you will be the object of his wet dreams.

Seonghwa had tossed and turned for hours in his luxurious royal bed, unable to sleep. The black silk of the expensive sheets flowed around his body like a surface of water, cooling the excited heat of his bare skin a little. But it did nothing to help him control his feelings and thoughts.

Even after all these hours, he can still clearly hear every seductively innocent note of your intoxicating scent, and he feels as if the bare, viscous sweetness of the vanilla has soaked into his skin and seeped deep into his bones. He almost chokes on it. 

With a heavy sigh, Seonghwa leans back against the soft, fluffy cushions, his dark, feline eyes meeting his own reflection in the mirrored ceiling. Even though Seonghwa was hellishly tired, his body categorically refused to relax; every nerve tingled, and his muscles tensed and trembled as if he were in heat. And it's all because of you. 

You're such a sweet, voluptuous omega, with a face like an angel, big innocent eyes that literally beg: "Fuck me, Alpha," and the most sinful lips he's ever seen. God, he just can't seem to get you out of his head. 

As soon as he covers his gorgeous eyes, the image of your sweet mouth stretching so beautifully around his thick cock appears in his mind and causes his whole body to react in an instant. Seonghwa can feel how his cock is straining once again; the massive velvet length is getting harder by the second, and drops of pre-cum are starting to appear on the dark pink, swollen head. 

The Alpha lazily runs his long fingers over his bare chest, hissing from his hypersensitivity, lust burning like poison under his skin. No other Omega in his life has ever been able to interest him in such a way that Seonghwa becomes hard just at the mere thought of her.

And he doesn't know if he hates it or if it just makes him more horny.

You are the very real Miss Pink Sugar, not at all his type, but still, Seonghwa longs to crumble you up between his teeth like a damn shiny lollipop and to devour you without a trace. 

The alpha in him purrs with approval at the thought of that. 

As he stares at his reflection in the mirror, Hwa can't help but wonder what you would look like if you were lying in his bed with his cock deep inside of you. Your pretty tiny pussy is stretched so deliciously around his thick knot, and your belly is swollen from the huge amount of cum that he is pouring into you. Fuck. Hwa would have marked every millimeter of your soft skin and would have left behind forever the inflamed marks of his teeth, which would have bloomed like bloody flowers on your body. 

Your pretty little brain can't even begin to imagine the horrible, dirty things that he would do to you if you were in his presence right now and how much he would teach you.

And he'll be doing that soon. 

For him, there is nothing more pleasurable than to corrupt someone's innocence, to turn divine purity into vice and sin—it is his natural instinct for his inner Alpha, one that has appealed to him since the very beginning of his kind. Hwa has never been a gentle Alpha; he has always been one to take what he wants, and you will be no exception. 

To be honest, he didn't know what he would do with you once you had stated his hunger and satisfied his Alpha's dark desire. But that was the least of his worries at the moment. 

Seonghwa wants to see your lovely, sweet face contorted in pure bliss as he ties you with his knot, your soft, plump cheeks all flushed with shame and wet with tears, and your beautiful mouth sticky and glistening with his cum. 

Damn, you're going to look divine. Seonghwa has no doubt about it. 

Hwa growls in irritation, turns over in the bed, throws off the silk sheets that are now only a nuisance to him, and reaches for his phone. 

"Seonghwa, is there something wrong?" Yeosang's voice is deep and sultry as he answers his call. Seonghwa lets out a grim chuckle, knowing exactly what the gorgeous Alpha is doing right now. 

"Why doesn't that surprise me, Sangie, that you're fucking around instead of concentrating on working? Sometimes I have the feeling that you all are an absolute waste of my time and my money, Sangie." Before Yeosang starts talking again, a muffled groan and rustling can be heard on the other side of the phone. 

"I can never deny myself the pleasure; you know me as I am, but why are you calling me at such a late hour?"

At such a late hour? Seonghwa looks absent-mindedly at the screen of the phone. It's almost three o'clock in the morning; yes, really late. He's been spending more time in his fantasies than he would like to. 

Fuck, he'll just go crazy if you're not in his bed, but he doesn't mind spreading you out on any available surface.

"Never mind. Hongjoong told me that you've hired a new Omega, right?" 

"You mean Y/N, don't you? The doll is so  gorgeous; it's not at all clear why she decided to work in a brothel, but let's just say it's our luck. I've already got some plans for her. In my opinion, she could be one of our star girls..." Seonghwa doesn't let him finish and rudely interrupts him. 

"Sangie, I want you to bring her to me first. Do you understand me?" 

"Oh, what do I see? Someone wants to play with the beautiful Omega, eh? Finally, our Seonghwa will have some time to himself. But I'll do whatever your wish is. Just don't break her, OK? She's real gold." 

Seonghwa doesn't answer him, but ends the call and throws the phone down on the bed before she leans back onto the silk sheets. 

As usual, Hwa will get what he so desperately wants very easily, he just has to wait a little longer.

[leclerced]

one more | op81

summary: oscar can’t get enough of his girlfriend after nearly two months apart.

author’s note: this is depraved. i did not mean to write this, it’s 4-5k and it was supposed to be a short blurb about oscar eating pussy and this is where it ended up. also tysm for 100 followers ily

warnings: hint of breeding kink, bit of forced orgasm st the end bc oscar is… ravenous. 18+ minors do not interact

Oscar could tell his girlfriend was unaware of how loud her begging and moaning had grown as he pushed her over the edge for a second time. He couldn’t care less how loud she got as she rocked her hips into his face and pulled his hair as she moaned his name and simultaneously begged him to keep going and whined that she was too sensitive. Her pleas as she came on his face were motivation for him to continue and he got more into it, spelling his name into her clit as he moved one hand from around her thigh to between them so he could slide two fingers into her slick cunt. The slick sound of his fingers curling in and out of her and her moans mixed together and made his cock leak in his boxers as he nibbled on her clit and she sharply tugged his hair in response.

Oscar’s eyes fluttered open as pulled his mouth away suddenly and gasped for air, if he kept going he thought he might cum like that. She blearily blinked up at him while he panted above her with that crazed look in his eyes, lips red and puffy as he sucked her wetness off his lower lip. Her chest was rapidly rising and falling as she moaned from his fingers fucking her. His eyes followed the trail of hickeys from her thigh, to her hip, all the way up her stomach, chest, and neck, until they met her kissed and bitten raw lips. He kissed his way up the bruises he’d left, blushing at how depraved he had been to do that. He couldn’t blame himself, he hadn’t seen her in weeks, almost two months, and she wore his favorite dress. It was technically a new dress, but the moment he saw her in it he decided it was his new favorite. He liked it even more when after making out against the room door he walked her backwards to the full length hotel mirror before he spun her around so he could unzip the back, watching in the mirror as it slid down her body and she was left in nothing but her heels.

He hadn’t known about the lack of underwear, if he had… jesus christ he would have faked an illness to get away and fuck her. So really, you couldn’t blame him for leaving a trail of bruises down her entire body while she begged for him to touch her.

She thought he was going to kiss her as he stared at her lips and licked his own, whimpering as his fingers pulled out of her and he held them up and scissored them in front of her face, strings of her slick spreading between them. He pressed them back together as he tapped her bottom lip and her lips parted. Oscar immediately pressed his fingers into her mouth, her tongue pressing between his digits and he groaned, “Fuck, why haven’t I done this before?” She whined around his fingers as he pressed them back on her tongue, to the back of her throat and she started to gag before she relaxed her throat. “Good girl, fuck, you’re so good for me.” His voice was hushed and breathy, and she eagerly sucked on his fingers as her eyes fluttered shut at the praise. He began fucking his fingers in and out of her mouth as he pushed his boxers down his thighs and stroked himself.

Oscar rubbed the head of his cock through her folds, collecting the wetness before he stroked it over himself a few times and lined up with her entrance. He could feel her cunt fluttering around him before he had even pushed in, and he teased her by pressing just the head in and swirling it around a few times before pulling out and repeating. His free hand slid from her hip to her lower stomach, pressing her hips down into the bed as she tried pressing herself onto his cock.

Oscar couldn’t help but admit he loved having her at his mercy like this as he pulled her apart piece by piece. He knew he was bigger than her, she was only five inches shorter than him, but he had a much smaller frame, one that made it so easy to hold her down or manhandle her to get her how he wanted her. His hand looked giant on her flat stomach, fingers stretched out spanning her smooth skin. All he needed was one single hand to hold her steady underneath him, or flip her over, pull her on top of him. And she’d let him do whatever, soft and pliable in his hands as she trusts him to do whatever he’s planning, even when his mind is running wild like now. He finally sinks into her with no warning and her mouth falls open in a moan around his fingers before she closes it again and bites softly at the tips of his fingers. He’d stopped fucking her mouth with his fingers, just rested them on her tongue and he blushed as he pulled them out and pressed his hand into the bed next to her head as he dipped down and kissed her.

Oscar’s mouth tasted like her and she whimpered into the kiss as he slowly rocked his hips into hers. The kiss was soft and languid as he moved his hand from her stomach to cup her cheek. She puffed air from her nose and it tickled his cheek, making hin giggle into the kiss. She smiled and nudged her nose against his as she broke the kiss, “This is nice, but I want.. more.” His eyebrows quirked but he didn’t change his pace. She sighed and he felt her hot breath hit her lips, “Oz, please, I can see that look in your eyes, fuck me like you want, however you want, just fuck me please.” He pulled out of her and his hands were on her hips and he flipped her onto her stomach before she could complain about it.

He pressed a pillow under her hips and his hands found her thighs and pulled them apart. She folded her arms behind her head and pressed her cheek into her arm as she looked back at him. Oscar’s hands slid up her thighs to her ass before rubbing over her cheeks and grasping at the flesh of her ass. She was so wet that it was dripping down her ass crack and to the mattress when she was on her back, a wet spot forming where she had been as he made her cum with his mouth. Now, the sight of her puffy wet cunt and asshole were sending his mind reeling as he thought about how she begged him to fuck her however he wanted.

She should have expected it when he flipped her over, and just now when she saw his hand pull back, but she was still shocked when his palm made contact with her ass cheek and sent a rush of pain and pleasure through her. She bit into her arm to muffle her startled moan as he repeated the action on the other side in quick succession. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, anxiously waiting for another spank as he moved between her legs again and pressed his cock against her clit teasingly.

His voice was low as he suddenly asked, “You said anything?” She hummed and nodded so he continued, “Can I put my finger in your ass?”

She blinked at him, shocked by his question, but wasn’t completely opposed. It took her a moment to collect herself and nod as she mumbled, “I’ve never done that before.”

He suddenly looked at her and grinned, “Me neither. I’m going to fuck you first, get you relaxed, then do it while I’m fucking you okay? I don’t have lube so I’m gonna use spit.” Her stomach clenched and she nodded a bit too eagerly and pressed her face into her arms as she blushed at his words. He pressed the head of his cock into her entrance as he asked, “Do you want a warning?” She shook her head in her arms and he grinned as he bottomed out and her back arched to press him deeper inside of her.

He began fucking her quickly, hands on her ass to hold her in place as he pulled out completely then bottomed out, the head of his cock brushing that sweet spot inside of her that made her whine his name. She was already sensitive from two orgasms, and despite her face being buried in her arms, he could hear her moans and whimpers clear as day. She was putty in his hands as he fucked her, and he couldn’t control the urge to lean down to bite her shoulder as she clenched around him as she pressed her ass back into him. Oscar kissed the bite mark he left on her shoulder and pulled back, his right hand left its place on her lip and he sucked his pointer finger into his mouth, wetting it with spit. He kept it there for a minute as he fucked her, not wanting her to be expecting it. He waits until he feels her cunt fluttering around him, on the verge of her orgasm, before he spits onto her asshole and presses his finger against it.

He teasingly rubbed her second hole, pressing the tip of his finger in. When her body doesn’t fight back, he spits on where his finger is sinking into her and presses further. Oscar could see and feel the shudder that ran through her as his finger bottomed out in her ass, her back arched beautifully and she came around his cock with no warning for either of them. It hit her like a tsunami, she didn’t realize how close she was until he’d pressed his finger inside her suddenly and she felt so much more full, could feel the stretch of his finger in her and she didn’t remember it being so long and thick when he’d fuck her pussy with it. It made her mind go blank, her body shaking as she gasped and moaned while pressing her hips back for more. He began fucking his finger in and out of her ass in sync with his cock and his other hand shifted between her thighs where they met to rub her clit with two fingers. The contact hurt at first, his fingers rough as they rubbed at her sensitive bud before easing up on her and swirling soft patterns around her.

She began gasping and whining into her arms after her third orgasm, blabbering nonsense about how good he felt inside of her, how she had missed him. She was talking so much Oscar had mostly tuned it out, eyes locked on where he was fucking her and he couldn’t think about anything else but how close he was. “Oz, please, ‘m so close.. want to feel it.” His gaze suddenly snapped up to her and saw she still had her face buried in the sheets.

“Yeah? Cum with me then, baby, give me one more and I’ll give you what you want.” She whined at his words and came a moment later as she moaned his name. The feeling of her clenching around him as she begged him to fill her up sent him over the edge, and his hips froze as he bottomed out and spilled his load in her. He pulled his finger from her ass and leaned down to bite her shoulder again teasingly. He groaned when she pressed herself back against him with a whimper. "You're fucking insatiable, you know? You want me to keep going, fuck my cum in you?" She whimpered again and nodded, and he peeled his body away from hers. His cock left her and he flipped her back over, her arms that had been supporting her head, fell above her head as she arched her hips into bed in disappointment as he stared at her dripping pussy, his cum leaking out of her. Just before she complained, he lined his cock back up with her entrance, collecting his cum that had dribbled out and pressed inside again, her pussy clenched around him and his cock twitch with over sensitivity. A shiver ran up his spine as he bottomed out and he mumbled, “Wanted to see you, baby. Open your eyes for me." Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked at him prettily as she lifted her arms to reach for him. He leaned down so she could wrap her hands around his neck and pull him down, fingers tangling in her hair as he began rocking his hips against hers. He was always unreadable with the stupid blank face, but now even more so as he stared into her eyes while licking his lips, she wanted to let her eyes flutter shut again to escape the skin crawling intensity of his gaze. She arched her back and tugged on his hair to give herself a reason to close her eyes, watching his flutter shut as she pulled him down for a kiss before hers followed just before their lips met. His lips were soft and pillowy against hers and she sighed, curling her fingers in his hair as she rocked her hips into his. He practically purred into her mouth when she scratched her nails against his scalp.

He pulled back after a moment to watch he again, eyes traveling down her bodies to where his cock was slowly gliding in and out of her, his cum coating his cock, spilling out around it when he pulled out and fucked it back in. The slick sound was sickening, he should have felt embarrassed by how turned on he was by it, and realistically this was stupid, neither of them wanted kids (at least not so young, so early in his career) but jesus christ did they rely on birth control and plan b. A condom was the last thing on either of their minds tonight when all they wanted was to be as close as possible after weeks apart. He couldn’t help himself when she let him do this to her, begged him to do this to her. He couldn’t deny her anything, much less something that felt so good.

It was supposed to be a one time thing, when they ran out of condoms without noticing they used the last one and she begged him to fuck her without one after he mentioned asking Lando for some, saying she’d rather not face that embarrassment. He hesitated, worried he wouldn’t even last, worried she would get pregnant at the start of his rookie season, but she pulled him back into bed and told him she’d had an IUD for two years and that it would last for three more, so she would be fine. He could even go and buy her a Plan B first thing in the morning.

That was six months ago and they grew careless, no longer making trips to buy them when they ran out. They’d buy them if they walked by an aisle with them, or saw them hanging on the other side of the counter when checking out, but as soon as Oscar found out there was a safety net in place… He didn’t know what got into him when she let him go bare, obviously he was still young and had plenty of stamina normally, but he could fuck her for hours, filling her over and over before one or both of them couldn’t go anymore. It was a bit disgusting, a bit concerning, the way he seemed to go feral when they ran out of condoms, not that she minded.

Oscar was pulled back to earth as she squirmed underneath him and whined his name, and he realized he’d zoned out watching his cock sliding in and out of her. He shifted his gaze back up to her and she was blushing, “I hate it when you stare at me like that.”

He laughed and leaned down to bump his nose against hers as he mumbled, “Like what?”

She shrugged weakly, “I can’t explain it you look like…” She sighed, tilting her head as his lips moved to her neck and began sucking softly, “Like you’re trying to memorize me, like you think I’m a dream you’re going to wake up from.”

He sucked softly on her skin and hummed, “I am trying to memorize you, I want to know everything about you, ‘m so completely obsessed with you.” Her cunt fluttered around him and she whined at his words and his mouth as he nipped at her throat before he pulled back and brushed his lips against hers as he said, “‘M in love with you, so sickeningly in love with you.” She tried to say it back and he pressed his lips to hers quickly before hushing her as he pulls back and looks at her again with that look, “Be quiet, ‘m not done. I want you with every fibre of my being, I think about you all the time, I couldn’t live without you. Every second of every day I am trying to memorize every little thing about you, because I’m scared you are a dream about to slip away from me.”

She squirmed under his gaze, the intensity of his words, the look in his eyes, the feel of him between her legs, it all made the knot in her stomach tighten as she whined , “I- ‘m gonna cum.” He grinned stupidly at her and dipped down to kiss her again, their lips slotting together as he picked up his pace and pressed his thumb to his clit. He couldn’t help but spell his name into it as he pushed her over the edge, just one more way of showing her how much he loves her. He feels his orgasm crash over him suddenly as she tightens her legs around him and her orgasm teases a second one out of him with no warning. He could feel her sweat slick body writhing under him with the power of her orgasm, gasping his name into his mouth as she pulled his hair and dug her nails blissfully into his shoulder, scratching down to his bicep as he rocked his hips against hers and she shuddered with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

She feels so full of him when he fills her a second time, his cock twitching inside of her as his orgasm hits him with no warning. Their would be kiss turned into them gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths as they came together. Oscar stopped moving when she stopped shaking underneath him and relaxed his weight against her, hands moved to cup her cheeks as he tenderly kissed her. She broke the kiss before he was ready and he chased her lips with a whine, but she turned her head so his lips hit his hand on her cheek. She giggled, “I love you, Oz.” His lips transformed into a grin as he pulled his hand away to sloppily press kisses into her face, his other hand pressing against her cheek to straighten her her head so he could kiss her all around her face. Her eyes scrunched shut as he pressed a wet kiss into her temple, then her forehead, her cheek, her chin. She giggled the entire time, fingers curling in his hair as butterflies filled her stomach. Just when she thought he was going to kiss her again, his head tilted down to her neck and she couldn’t help but tease as he mouthed at her skin, “Now who’s insatiable?”

He hummed, “You just.. taste so good, baby.” His teeth sunk into her skin and she hissed as he pulled his body from hers, his cock sliding out of her against her will. She tried locking her legs behind his back to pull him back in, not wanting to lose the feel of him just yet, but his hands found her thighs and pushed them open on the bed as he kissed down her body. She suddenly realized what he meant a moment before and her legs tried to close against his steady grip keeping them open and she whined, “Not again.” She felt his lips twitch into a smile as he kissed her belly button and she tugged on his hair, trying to pull him back up. “Oz, baby, you already-“

He shook his head as he pulled back to admire her pussy dripping his cum as he interrupted her, “Not like this.” Her entire body jolted as he swiped two fingers against her, her now free leg trying to close, but his body prevented it as he collected his cum on his digits. She whined pitifully as he lifted them to her lips, that sickening needy look in his eyes as he silently asked her to open her mouth for him. And she did, she would do anything for him. Her lips parted and she stuck her tongue out and his fingers immediately found their place in her mouth. He sighed and kissed the thigh that had wrapped around his shoulders before promising, “I’ll be gentle… I just… want a little taste. Let me clean you up, baby.” She whined around his fingers and her eyes fluttered shut as she nodded.

Just like he said, he was gentle. Oscar’s lips brushed from where they were kissing her thigh to her center and she felt his warm breath on her a moment before his mouth. She whimpered and twitched underneath him, body confused on if it should follow the overpowering pleasure or run from it. His tongue was soft as it lapped against her entrance and poked inside, she could have dealt with that, but his perfect nose was nudging her painfully sensitive clit and she knew she’d be cumming again as tears welled up in her closed eyes.

Oscar could feel her fingers tightening in his hair, her moaning around his fingers, could feel her swallowing the spit that collected in her mouth around his fingers. He felt bad for her as he pulled his fingers from her mouth and finally heard her breathy whimpers as her thigh twitched against him and the one still under his hand fought to press into him like the other. He was letting her do this, he might as well let her trap him where he wanted to be. Her legs immediately locked around his head and her back arched blissfully when his hand slipped from where it was holding her down to wrap around her leg and pull her closer.

Oscar was going to make her cum again, he hadn’t planned on it, he truly was just going to go in for a little taste and clean her up, but once she rocked her hips against his face he couldn’t help it. He licked from her entrance to her clit and wrapped his lips around it suddenly, softly suckling at the bundle of nerves. She was overwhelmed with pleasure, her entire body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending in her body was sending signals to her brain at once and she couldn’t think straight as she rocked towards her nth orgasm. Her body shot up and she yanked at his hair, “Oz, that’s too much, I-“ Her body flopped back and she arched her back as she interrupted herself with a loud moan. In the brief moment she’d sat up he’d seen the tears trickling from her eyes and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped him. She couldn’t form coherent thoughts or get a solid word out as he forced another orgasm out of her. She was being so good for him, he thought, as she cried above him, “Oz- I-“ She gasped and whined and he nodded against her, only drawing her closer to her impending orgasm, “Please, Oz, I’m- it hurts, baby.” He hummed and wrapped his arms tighter around her legs, lost in how good she tasted and felt on his tongue. He could feel how close she was, her entire body was pulsing under him, and he just needed to feel her cum on his tongue one last time.

He felt desperate as he nipped at the bud teasingly and she unraveled beneath him, body jerking as she whined and gasped and choked out his name before she collapsed onto the sheets again. He immediately pulled away and began kissing her thighs, apologizing between each kiss as he left a trail of cum and spit along her skin. Oscar pressed kisses all the way up and down both legs, up her stomach and up and down both arms before he began kissing her cheeks softly, the salty tears mixing with the lingering taste of cum in his lips. She felt herself coming back to earth when he was kissing her fingertips, the kisses and apologies before that lost in an orgasm induced haze. She giggled dreamily at him as he repeated sorry between each kiss to her cheeks, “Why are you apologizing, my love?”

He pressed his nose into her cheek, “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She blushed, “I like it when you hurt me.”

Oscar blushed too at the admission, even though he’d heard it before, and pressed his lips to hers softly before murmuring, “I like hurting you too, but I still have to take care of you baby. I’m gonna run you a bath, okay? I’ll be back.” She tried to hold him back, but he slipped away from her easily. He returned a few minutes later and scooped her up as she started sitting up to follow him. “Let me take care of you,” He replied her when she told him she could walk after he lifted her into his arms. He set her down and let her climb into the bath on shaky legs, then climbed in behind her and pulled her back into his chest.

They stayed like that for awhile, her hands finding his in the water to play with his fingers to occupy the time. He started feeling drowsy, so he forced them to sit up so they could take turns washing each other’s bodies and hair before she relaxed into his arms again, too comfortable in the hot water to get out and face the cold air conditioning. He made her get out when she started drifting off against his chest, kissing her shoulder as he sat up and moved her with him. He drained the water and dried her off with a towel before kneeling in front of her to find each bruise where his fingers had dug in a little too hard and kissing them, murmuring an apology to each one he found. He treated her like a porcelain doll as he dressed her in a nightgown before he braided her hair down her back. She kept trying to do things herself, and each time he’d pull whatever she grabbed from her hands and repeat his last words. It didn’t stop until he carried her to bed after she brushed her teeth, he tried to, sat her on the counter and put the paste on the tooth brush but she snatched it from him.

She crawled in first and kicked the fresh blanket back for him to crawl in next to her, he’d requested it as soon as he arrived at the hotel, knowing they’d end up defiling the one already on the bed. He stood in his boxers and stared at her for a moment before searching for his phone on the floor where it had fallen earlier when she’d rushed to get his pants off. He found it after kicking their discarded clothing around and found it under her shirt from earlier. He turned back to her and found her in the same pose as before, now with her head tilted prettily and her eyebrows scrunched. He took a photo of her with each step he took to the bed, until he crawled onto the bed and she laid back and held her arms out for him. He took a few more before he set one of her reaching out as his lockscreen and dropped the device on the sheets, then dropped his body into her waiting arms.

[thelastofhyde]

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra​​ @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !​

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet. 

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?” 

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s. 

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point. 

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

 “you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure. 

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass. 

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

 and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time. 

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you. 

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms. 

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.​

[nivisdreaming]

Roommate Rules

Summary: Eddie teaches you a thing or two about what happens when you decide to get yourself off every night since you moved in knowing he could hear in the next room over. Part 2 of this request about Eddie in grey sweatpants

WC: ~1.8k

Tags: NSFW, smut, PWP, oral (m!receiving), deepthroating, praise, degradation, dumbification, dom!eddie, sub!reader, fem!reader, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, bondage, fingering, daddy kink, master kink, clothes humping, PiV, objectification, exhibitionism, a hint of possessive!eddie, breeding kink, subspace heavily implied, aftercare

Eddie massages the base of your skull leisurely, his fingers simply following along with the bobs of your head as you work your throat open on his cock. He stares down at you with lust-blown pupils, a smirk evident on his face as he watches your lips stretch around him and drool start to pool out of your mouth.

“Y’know, you’ve always been such a vocal little girl, moaning and pleading while you touch yourself. I felt so dirty, listening to you like that,” Eddie tightens his hold on your hair, “but all along, you’ve been the dirty one, haven’t you? Making all that noise to put on a pretty show for me, let me know what a slut you are in hopes I’d just come over there and choke you on my dick like this, huh?” He forces himself deeper down your throat until he can press your nose against the curls of his pubic hair. “Fuck, that’s it, keep it right there princess.” He keeps you held down for a few seconds for yanking you back, sending you sputtering and gasping for air while he throws his head back in pleasure.

You take in the sight of him for a moment, sweat glistening on his chest, veins up his arms and leading to his neck pulsing, red angry cockhead leaking precum just inches from your swollen lips. You whimper and make a small kitten lick at tip, savoring his taste before leaning further forward to nuzzle at his thigh, trying to regain his attention.

Eddie’s head falls back into place and he smiles down at you, reaching out to softly pat the top of your hair. “What do you want from me, baby? You have to ask for it,” He coos condescendingly. You pout and nuzzle further against him, beginning to suck and nip at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh in protest. You drink in the low rumble that comes from his chest as if it was a reward all in of itself.

You feel a strong jerk pull you upwards off your knees as Eddie tugs you by the restraints, easily manhandling you to lay flat on the bed. He shoves your legs open with rough palms, leaning down far enough for his hot breath to just lightly tickle your cunt through your panties.

“Not feeling up to asking? Did daddy’s dick down your throat turn you all dumb? Or are you just hoping if you’re defiant long enough I’ll fuck that attitude out of you?” He settles himself on his knees in order to keep your legs spread while he trails his hands upwards, tugging your underwear to the side and teasing a fingertip through your folds. “You made me wait so long. I fantasized about this tight pussy around me for so long. How about I give you a taste of your own medicine? I’d love to see just how much of a desperate whore you can become.”

He pushes his middle finger into your entrance up to the second knuckle and simply holds it there, his free hand keeping your waist pinned down as you try to squirm. His thumb trails up to rest atop your clit, applying no pressure or movement as you whimper and clench sporadically around his digit. He gives a dark chuckle in response to your pleading look.

“What? The little tease doesn’t like this? Being held right on the brink of what you want, but not allowed to take it?” He tuts, “Poor baby, like a pathetic little bitch in heat.” Eddie begins to pump his finger agonizingly slowly, his thumb pressing down on your bud just hard enough to tear a moan from you.

“You’ve just been feeding yourself orgasm after orgasm for so long princess, giving in to every depraved desire you have-“ He adds a second finger without warning, his hand pressing down harder on your abdomen, “It’s about time someone put you in your fucking place. Give you some rules to follow, and punish all that slutty behavior until you’re a well trained fucktoy.”

You nod mindlessly along to his words, basking in the fire being stoked deep in your core. You can you feel your legs begin to tremble as the pad of his thumb moves in circles, hips struggling not to buck and writhe as he presses you down. Your high-pitched whines fill the space around you and Eddie can’t get enough of them, so glad to finally being the one forcing that air out of your lungs.

“That’s my sweet girl, keep clenching down on my fingers,” he groans. You feel the stretch of a third digit thrusting inside you, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. The growing knot in the pit of your stomach cinches tighter. “If you want something, you better fucking ask for it.” He gives you a harsh warning glare.

Your mouth moves uselessly, endless babbles seeming to fall out every time you make an attempt at speech. Singular pleas are doable if you try to fight the fog in your head, but sentences and coherent questions are long out of reach for your blissed out mind. Still, you rock back on Eddie’s fingers as much he will allow, chasing your orgasm.

Right as you feel the delicious burn begin to spread from your abdomen to your whole body, Eddie’s yanks his fingers out and pulls away all touch, leaving you to thrash about as your body desperately tries chase after the fading sensation. He waits patiently for the rise and fall of your chest to slow with arms crossed and his gaze fixed on your dribbling hole that you keep your legs spread to present for him.

Finally, with all overwhelming sensation gone from your skin, you manage to work your vocal chords for something other than pitiful whining. “Daddyyyy… why you’d stop? Please, come back master,” you huff. Eddie chuckles darkly in response but makes no move closer to you.

“I’m showing you how it feels, little one, to not be given everything you want. I’m teaching you what it’s like to be denied, and teased, and treated how naughty girls deserve to be treated.” He squats down and picks up a dirty hoodie from the floor. “You wanna cum so bad? Sit up, shove this between your legs, and hump it. Maybe, if you make a nice mess on it, I’ll fill you up properly as a reward.”

He tosses the hoodie to you, and you scramble up to your knees in order to grab it, quickly balling it up and placing it below you so you can grind against it. The harsh fabric rubs against every sensitive part of your skin, the pain of the friction from how fast you’re rutting into it only adding to the pleasure surging through you. Your eyelids flutter and struggle to maintain focus, but you catch glimpses of Eddie still standing in front of you, hand clenching around the head of his cock with slow, calculated movements. You can just barely hear his groans and heavy breaths over your own noises, but they do wondrous things to the tension in your belly.

You fall forward to hold your weight up with shaky arms, giving you more leverage to push yourself harder against the bed, and Eddie speeds the jerking of his fist. “C’mon baby, I know you want to. Let go, be my dirty little girl and make yourself cum for daddy,” he coaxes, sending your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, convulsing as you helplessly fall limp onto your stomach, “That’s a good girl, look so beautiful when you obey.” He sits in front of your panting figure, pulling you into his spread lap and aiding you in wrapping your shaking legs around his middle.

“Now you get your reward, don’tcha baby? You’ve been so good for me, so now you get to take my cock and cum again with your cunt all stuffed full.” He lines his tip up with your entrance and pushes in, the slick dripping down your thighs allowing him to enter you with minimal resistance.

He lets you slump on his chest, adjusting to his size while furiously kissing and licking at any part you could get your mouth on, leaving red marks in your wake. Before long you get impatient and try to circle your hips, and he takes it as his sign to grab onto your waist and fuck up into you. The bottom of his stomach slaps against your sensitive bundle of nerves with every hard thrust, and you find yourself clawing at his back in a fight to stay grounded to reality. Every bit of you burns white-hot as he bullies your g-spot, the overstimulation ripping screams from your throat in between punches of breath. You force your head into the crook of his neck to muffle the sounds, and only then do you realize he’s rambling to himself.

“So good, taking it so well princess. You feel so good wrapped around my dick, split open and ruined like my perfect sextoy,” his hands move from your waist to pinch at your nipples and clit, “I fucking own this little hole now, gonna mold her to my big cock and fill her over and over til you’re a bred little bitch. Fuck sweetheart, is that what you want? Know it fucking is, you’re squeezing me like you want to milk the cum out of me, just want daddy to make you a mommy, then everyone will know you’re my slut. My fucking cumslut.”

His words send you toppling off the edge again, a final scream tearing through you as Eddie spills inside you, letting you ride out your high on top as you milk every last drop. Once he feels the last bit of tension melt from your limbs he lays you back on the bed, pulling out of you and placing a soft kiss to your forehead. He leaves for only a moment, returning with a damp cloth that he wipes the both of you down with. You peep your heavy eyes open to watch him slip back into a clean set of boxers, and when he notices you he offers you water and a fuzzy blanket that you gladly accept. Wrapped up comfortably, nuzzled into his pillows, surrounded by his gentle embrace as he whispers praise into your ear, you fall into an easy slumber listening to his heartbeat.

—

Tags!!: @saramelaniemoon @e0509 @ajkamins @babybatlover @tiannamortis here y’all go!!

[hedwig221b]

Your fic recs got me singing 🎵 a whole new wooorld🎵

On that note, any recs for just pure filth?

You want me to expose myself, huh?

Knot Thinking With Your Head by KnottheWolf

The first time Sam met Stiles he had no idea who the Omega was, nor did he have any clue that the Omega was already in a series relationship. When he met Stiles, he was hungover and had a massive pounding headache that was killing him to have his eyes open. The Alpha instantly ran to the nearest bathroom to puke in the toilet, before splashing cold water in his face and sighing with relief when the pain was barely there anymore.

Flushing the toilet he left the bathroom so he could make himself a cup of coffee, and then start figuring out how to make the best first impression with the other Alpha’s in the fraternity.

Now all he wanted to do, when he spotted the Omega was get all up on that cute ass.

Stuck In A Rut by KnottheWolf

Derek just loves to show off at the gym, first with his muscles and then with his mate.

AU in which it's legal for werewolves to have sex in public.

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

Deflowered by astrugglingstoic

In which there is a prince, a knight, sequential sword fights, and an anecdote about pressed flower petals.

As it Should Be by KuroKitty (HaleYes)

Stiles comes home from his 18th birthday party at the bowling alley to find a surprise waiting for him in his room.

Or, the one where Derek has no chill.

Plushwolf by the_ragnarok

So suppose Stiles slept every night with his plush wolf doll, to ward off bad dreams. Only that doll was Derek under a spell, and he came alive in Stiles’ dreams.

Specifically, in the type of dreams that involve coming.

In The Dead Of Night by SinQueen69

Stiles wakes up, dripping cum and loves the fact he had no idea who came into his room that night to fuck him.

The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy by halcyon1993

A series of mostly unconnected PWPs in which Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale engage in all manner of depravity.

Love's Violent Delights by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.

Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.

Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Angel Choirs and Magic by LadyDrace

Derek has been very, very patient, and has shown frankly incredible self-control in the face of brutal teasing and flirting for two months. But now it's time for the mating run, and he's about to get his reward.

Except for how maybe it's actually Stiles getting a treat.

Win/win.

Anything, really by SinQueen69, I ain't gonna expose myself more than I already did, but that shit is so… 🥵 yeah

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack

[eccentricallygothic]

Psycho Husband!Steve Rogers who is a crazed coercive bastard.

Warning(s): Noncon, misogyny/sexism, depraved housewife kink, head shaving/hair cutting, he's a mental mf who thinks he is only doing what's best for you; cruel punishments are care and better sense according to him, age gap, fear kink, infantilization, humiliation, size kink. MDNI. 

. . .

You meekly sit atop your husband, Steve Rogers' lap as he feeds himself and you the dinner you meticulously prepared for him as he cares greatly for detail and perfection. 

The older man hums with each bite, one large paw caressing your back from over the thin -nearly sheer- material of one of the many dresses that make up the entirety of your wardrobe. 

“Absolutely delicious, baby, good job” he has been praising you with each bite and so you cannot help but smile at the compliments, your smaller body resting against his as you gently comb his hair with your fingers.

This is good.

Him being pleased is good.

“Thank you, my heart” you kiss his cheek that he had shaved just this morning when you were on your knees getting rid of his morning wood. He usually does that at night but you chose to wear a certain dress yesterday that caused for you to remain trapped in bed from the moment he got home till the both of you woke up tangled and sticky.

“See?” Now his fingers silkily glide up the length of your spine, past its dents that appear on your nape and towards your scalp that holds no barriers between your skins. “Wasn't I right?” Steve's fingertips flex all over your shiny head that he keeps empty from any hurdle between yourself and him. “Didn't it make things all better for us, hm?” Your tongue grows heavy and you feel it beginning to swell.

But you must not speak your mind.

For you are not allowed to have one.

“Yes, hubby, you were” you feel him stroke the bald crown of your head and the feeling of his coarse skin rubbing your soft and moisturized one sends shivers down your spine. 

His dark but relaxed blue eyes watch you, outwardly friendly but secretly inspecting you closely for the tiniest slip up. “Just too stupid to see it back then, weren't you?”

You nod nervously, offering him a smile as you avert your gaze from his, choosing to awkwardly play with his dress shirt instead. “Yes, hubby, I was.” Before you look up momentarily. He hates it when you don't look at him while speaking. “Thank you for teaching me better.” 

“And what did I teach you?” You bite your tongue, his words scalding your ears. 

Of course, he wants you to say it.

It is a routine that he likes to do every night. 

“That you are always right because you know better.” You resist the urge to cringe from how he suddenly gives you a burst of praise head rubs. 

It is a trap, meant to set you off.

He knows you don't like his hand rubbing your bald head like you're some kind of an animal and he still does it.

You've made the mistake of fighting back one too many times in the past.

But now you know it never fares well for you.

So better to just obey.

“Yeah?” His eyes begin to dance all over your form in that lewd fashion of theirs. “And how did I teach you that?” This is nothing new, and yet your heart drops.

“You taught me by…” Your face becomes hot from the embarrassment and humiliation. “B- By…” Fuck.

Even after all this time, it's no easier to do it. 

“By?” You can feel his sick arousal poke into the back of your thigh. He shifts to readjust himself. “Know what, honey?” He actually has the gall to sound friendly like he's doing you a favor out of the goodness of his heart. “I'll help your little mind out by giving you a hint.” You cannot hold his gaze anymore. So you drop your eyes and train them on his collars as you whimper into his cheek from how he hugs you closer with the arm he has draped around you. He loves proximity. “It had something to do with a machine and a cute head” his long fingers caress your scalp in circular motions.

Your heart is erratic against his chest. “H–” the whimper you let out is shaky and pathetic. Your expression falters into one of pain but you recover just as fast. At least on the outside. “T- Taught me by shaving my head.”

Steve's smirk is one of pride. “Oh? And what setting did I shave it on? Did I leave anything behind or did you become a complete cueball?” 

Tears sting your eyes from the sensitivity and helplessness as you feel your throat tighten even more. “N- No, hubby. Nothing was left. You shaved it all off…” Closing your eyes momentarily is the only way you can let out your next words. “Until I was a cueball.”

“And why was that, huh, baby?” Now he speaks to you like you're a child. 

He does that when he is horny. 

The realization makes your stomach twist.

“B- Because you warned me many times but—” your voice breaks and you softly sob into his cheek all of a sudden because the memories overwhelm you. “I didn't l- listen and my hair kept getting in the food I would prepare for you.” He somberly cooes and lowers your head forwards in a submissive position to caress the links of your spine.

“Oh, honey. Is that what happened?” Though Steve rests his cheek atop your bald head that he keeps shiny with scented oils and feigns sadness his bulge is too stiff against your tender skin for his little act to hold any weight. 

“Yes, hubby.” Your tears fall on your lap. 

“And how did it happen, huh, darling?” He loves the helplessness of your situation. That has got to be it. “Can you tell me?”

You nod and swallow the bile in your throat. Denial is not an option. “The scary razor went all over my head, hubby” you make yourself sound like a baby because that's what he likes. “Like buzz buzz buzz~” you try to mimic the sound and gesture as you run a pretend trimmer over your naked scalp. 

“Aw, it was scary for your little baby self, was it?” You timidly nod, pouting a little. “That's because you're so small and easily scared, aren't you?” He presses kisses all over your head and pinches your cheek. 

“Yes, hubby.” 

“Aw, my poor girl” he cups your face and lets his thumb trace the shape of your mouth. “I get it, you’re just a baby” he cannot but kiss you deeply before speaking again. 

“But it was necessary, wasn't it? And it worked” it is typical of him to seek validation for his unhinged actions from you, probably helps him sleep easier and pumps his pompousness further. “No more hair in the food.” He smiles and forces you to look at him by tipping your head back.

“No more hair in the food.” You echo him like the hollow doll he has made of you.

“Awww” he chuckles at the dejection in your voice. “Cheer up, silly. You look just as perfect as the first moment I laid my eyes on you” his lips repeatedly peck yours for a few moments. Then he continues. “I am the only one whose opinion matters for you and I think you're the most gorgeous thing alive” he scoops you up in his arms before standing up and you give him a smile like you're supposed to. He leans in to capture it in his own. “The cueball only makes you sexier and more nude for me. So it's a win all around” you whimper into the words he utters against your mouth. “C'mon, hubby will make you feel all better.” He whispers before carrying you to the bedroom. It is impossible not to be aware of your devastation and that is why he offers compensation the way he does. “Yeah?”

All you can do is nod defeatedly.

. . .

If you made it down here, hi you're cool. 

[yandere-romanticaa]

Longtime followers will know that there used to be a time when the entire blog was covered head and toe with Nikolai Gogol! It's raining horribly where I am, I'm alone in a coffee shop and listening to Melanie Martinez and then the idea to write for this clown came to mind.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐋, who's a lot more subtle than anyone could ever have predicted. He has been in your life much longer than he ought to be but that was his special way of keeping tabs on you. Like most things in life, this infatuation was not planned. He doned on the disguise of a simple waiter who worked in a coffee shop near your campus. As most of his work he needed to be undercover but newfound delights took place instead of his task.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐋, who is so charming that you can't help but come to the coffee shop daily. It was a little humiliating how much you liked the man but it could not be helped. In your eyes he was just a simple man working a minimum wage, a regular Joe... Who just happened to be out of this world charismatic and charming. You were confident that he could charm the pants of anyone he desired but he kept casual... Most of the time!

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐋, who stops charging you for drinks because this isn't actually his job and is not taking it 100% seriously - but he also wants you to feel special! It's fun to gauge out your reactions and study your mannerisms. It was nothing but a fun little game to him, just something cute to pass the time. You were adorable, so easy to rile up, so easy to amuse. He loved cracking dumb jokes and occasionally asking you some questions. You may have the beauty, but do you have the brains?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐋, who starts to see that his feelings are becoming more serious as time flies by. He resents you a little, for trapping him in such a manner. He is usually good at separating work and pleasure but if he kept you around that line would start to blur. Being your humble waiter was just not enough anymore. He started to masquerade as other random passerbys in your life such as the cashier, mailman, garbage man. It was only a matter of time until you started to catch on that something was off but Nikolai continued to pull the strings of this play just a little more.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐋, who leaves you gifts and hints of him and his whereabouts. Sometimes they're normal such as roses and chocolates. Hey, they're a classic for a reason! But the fright in your eyes was dazzling to the jester, it made him want to do things he really had no business doing. He was horrible but human. He had needs and feelings too, no matter how depraved.

♥️ TAGS: @yanroma, @oneoftheprettynerds, @misdollface, @sxy0ung, @rosemary108233, @c4xcocoa, @gettinshiggywithit, @ophticcus, @lakxcpsta, @ranposgirlboss, @robinaxolotl, @acornwinter, @enomane, @ishqani, @hannzai, @bluepeanutharmony, @ficsreblogs, @kaithegremlin, @fyodorscockslut

[aris-ink]

more ddlg jk please im so obsessed

ily <3

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: romance

warnings: manipulation, big corruption kink, dd/lg, hints of size and spit kink, lots of kissing, slight dub con, allusions to con noncon, intoxication, drugs (marijuanna), dirty talk, groping, bondage (ropes), praise, free use kink, loving humiliation (verbal), possessiveness, creampie, aftercare

Coming back from work, Jungkook found your sleepy form curled up on the bed, the nightlight setting a faint glow over the room. He crouched down on the floor and leaned in to kiss you, the affectionate greeting making your eyes flutter open. You tried to blink the drowsiness in them away, but it didn't seem to be quite working, and Jungkook felt his heart melt in his chest.

"Are you okay, princess?"

You breathed out slowly, your answer coming out mellow.

"I feel so weird, daddy."

He examined you with concern, the dull glaze of your eyes the first thing to catch his attention. Whatever he was about to say died in his throat, and he found himself stroking your cheek with his thumb. You looked so small like this; barely holding on to consciousness, gazing into his eyes with all the love and trust your precious heart had to offer. It stirred something in his soul, something primal and sinister, instantly triggering its protective instincts.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He coaxed gently, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. "Did you eat properly?"

"Dinner," you nodded, sighing, "and some snacks."

Your answer was just as expected, but the innocence of it further provoked that thing in the shadows of his mind, and a pierced eyebrow raised at you cluelessly.

"What snacks? We ran out last night, baby. I got you some on the way home today."

You frowned at that, confusion seeping into your expression.

"No, we... still had some left... they- they were in the shelf... in the kitchen."

"Oh baby..." Jungkook sighed then, and lowered his lips to your forehead. "There's a reason daddy keeps those hidden. You probably shouldn't have touched that."

For a split second, when your eyes raised to meet his, he thought you had realized what happened, what he did, and his heart reacted in tandem with his cock, jumping. But then your small hand moved to reach for him. You couldn't have been cuter if you tried. Even now, seeking his protection, whether it was the drugs muddling your brain; or just love.

Because hidden wasn't exactly the most accurate word here... not since a while, at least, but there was a sadistic need rising up in Jungkook to slip further into his role, murmur reassurances that would have made angels weep for you, had they ever existed and mourned for lost souls.

"It's okay. Just rest, baby... The feeling will pass soon. Just..." he brushed his nose against yours, "close your eyes and let go. Daddy will take care of you. Yeah?"

You followed his instructions flawlessly, letting your eyes fall shut, your body relaxing as he spoke. But your hand still squeezed at his bigger one, like you were nervous that he'd disappear. There didn't really seem to be many coherent thoughts left in that pretty, little head of yours. No wonder the weed hit you hard; it wasn't something you've tried before. You've always rejected any blunts Jungkook offered, trembling and stilling his hands when he whispered all the depraved things he knew would make your cunt leak as he touched you. Now, after the drug has entered your system - and in large amounts, too - you were left so... vulnerable, in every way. Helpless against the warmth flooding your senses, making your nerves tingle as Jungkook climbed on top of you. Helpless against him; his wicked hands soothing you, exploring your waist, their touch your only connection to your earthly existence in the warm, fuzzy haze pulling you under; stripping you off your inhibitions.

"Relax, sweetheart. Just like that."

There was a repressed desire lurking in the softness of his palms sneaking under your shirt. When his lips inched towards yours, something almost innocent laced the action; a soft peck, testing the waters. Too lightheaded to think straight, you let Jungkook do the thinking for you, because that was what daddy was there for, wasn't it? To catch you when you fall. To look after his little girl, kiss her and hold her. And he did just that, throbbing at the whine that slipped past your lips as soon as his touched your neck.

"Sensitive, angel?"

His hands explored your tummy, butterflies erupting while the rough pads of his fingers inched upwards. His voice was as soft as any devil's leading their prey astray, a seduction too great to resist with your guard lowered and brain muddled. Sweet, little thing, so putty in his hands; an adoring kiss warmed your cheek, followed by a sigh, a sound of feigned sympathy. Poor, little baby, so dazed under him; back arching softly when he began to rub your nipple, eliciting a gasp. Good thing daddy knew exactly what you needed. He was going to make it all better, he whispered. Daddy would never hurt you, he promised. And then he slid down your underwear.

He was sure that even with how high you were, his brain was running on the same kind of adrenaline, releasing endorphins, heart beating fast and blood rushing, his kisses sloppy and slow. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you, or rather, like he wanted to pour himself and his love into every nook and crevice of you, body and soul; a suspicion he made far too easy to confirm when he pulled away, dark gaze immediately drawn to the string of saliva connecting you for a second too long. It was enough for his thumb to reach upwards and rub the remains of the wetness into your bottom lip, hypnotized by how swollen and shiny it looked.

There was no other sound in the room besides the mingling of your labored breathing and the soft moans his touches encouraged, igniting a kind of fire within you that, had your mind and heart been sober, would have been considered humiliating. The willingness to be defiled, the trust that this was your caretaker just doing his job. And in a twisted way, he was. Fueling all the forbidden desires and needs you kept locked up, deemed too dark to ever leave the twilight zone of your soul. And once again, whose job was it if not Jungkook's to show his little one that not all dark things were frightful?

Floating, you briefly felt your arms being raised, cool air hitting your skin as he slipped your shirt off. The bed dipped then, and more kisses were lovingly left on your shoulders, the silky heat of his lips lazily trailing up to your neck. Time seemed to be passing by in a blur; you could feel Jungkook trapping your wrists above your head, slight shuffling coming from somewhere beside you.

Another kiss. More shuffling. You were disoriented up to the very moment you registered the fact that the noise stopped, and something was being wrapped around your hands.

No, not wrapped; tied. You whimpered, akin to a little fawn that realized it was ensnared.

Jungkook cooed at you, his lips brushing your collarbone, leaving your skin on fire.

"Such a good girl..."

He made his way down your stomach, presumably to continue to comfort you. Yet his deft fingers landed on your foot, the caress sending your heart jumping to your throat. Because even though it lasted only for a moment, you could hear more rustling, the final kiss landing on your ankle; right before the loving gesture was replaced with the lewd intentions he has had all along. His hands were gentle as they secured the knots, tying both of your ankles to the bed posts; leaving you spread open and defenseless, just the way he wanted.

Even without the restraints, even if your pussy wasn't dripping for him, it wasn't like you would have been able to fight back. Not after the edibles. And in the moment, not many things made sense besides the ache that built up inside you, the smell of Jungkook's skin, invading all your senses and making your thighs start to tremble. But one fact was pretty clear; you were nothing but a toy for him. He wasn't even bothered holding your legs open.

"All good?" He asked sweetly, his arms on either side of your head as he hovered above you again.

Your breath came out uneven, head spinning, but you nodded, lost in the darkness of his eyes staring into yours, giving into its entrancing depths, a bottomless pit that seemed to be asking: There, isn't this so much better? Doesn't it feel good to let daddy make the decisions for you? And he didn't need you to say a word, because your body provided all the answers, keening as you heard him undo his zipper. There was another layer of vulnerability attached to the fact that he was still fully dressed while your skin burned bare underneath him. Another layer of power Jungkook clearly relished in, if the way he twitched against you was anything to go by.

"You're so wet," it was a breathless statement, his eyes threatening to close when his heavy cock finally pressed in between your thighs. "So fucking wet."

Perhaps it was twisted, how lovingly he took advantage of you, degraded you, like you didn't quite belong to yourself; only to him. But your hole was clenching around nothing, trying to suck his cock right in any time he nudged the tip against it. And just like that, all the self control he had exercised so far was beginning to crumble. He could feel himself slipping, the words weighing on his tongue getting harder to hold back.

"So good for me... Just stay like this. Let daddy take care of you."

You moaned weakly, hips trying to seek more friction. Jungkook's cock twitched at that, spurting more precum in between the soft folds of your cunt. You were so divine. His little girl, his property, waiting to be used, craving it. And Jungkook could never deny you. This was all you've ever needed; to be stripped of your identity, no daunting responsibilities, no thoughts. All you had to do was lie there and take his cock like a good girl, your head fuzzy and cunt well fucked.

He rocked into you slowly, pushing an inch forward only to slide out again, the stretch combined with the pressure quickly making your stomach knot up. You didn't realize you were begging until you felt Jungkook's tongue over yours, his lips cutting off your soft whines.

"Fuck," he breathed out weakly, his hips arching into you off their own accord. "Doing so good for daddy." A kiss. "Gonna take care of you." A whisper. "Gonna give you all you need." A dip of his head, soft lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Little miss free use slut."

His tummy clenched at how sharply you inhaled, at the warm pulse beating around his cock as he sank deeper inside you. You were so tight, moaning into his ear, but too out of it to move, too out of it to do anything but feel the thrill of the pleasure he forced into your body. It was intoxicating, how perfect you were, all his to taint and love, his marks so deep no holy water could scrub them off your soul. He groaned, at this point running on pure instinct, fucking you harder as your cunt clenched around him, struggling to accommodate all of his girth and yet aching to be filled up with more. It was too much to handle; the combination of you, the rush of power, and the heavenly heat he was rutting into tipping him dangerously close to the edge.

"Yeah..." His voice came out as a needy, shaky whisper, an inked hand tightening around your breast. "Fuck." His forehead rested against yours, eyes hooded. "Feel good?"

A hiss escaped him when you clenched in response.

"Oh yeah? Little, slutty hole feels good?"

Jungkook's lips were on yours again before you could process it, muffling the loud moan you let out. You were already falling apart, and there were so many ways he wanted to ruin you and leave you shaking for more. All he could focus now on, though, was the vice grip of your wet, abused cunt, and the obscene sounds it made.

"Oh baby, you gonna come? Look what a pretty, little fucktoy I have here. Only good for one thing, hm?"

His hips stuttered at the shiver that ran through you. He gripped your jaw, the mattress protesting under the force of his thrusts. But the noise was nothing compared to the way you cried out for him, your walls spasming around his cock and drawing a loud, desperate moan out of his pretty mouth. Just like that, he followed you right over the edge, spilling his cum deep inside you, and shamelessly fucking it in even deeper. Eyes scrunched, he let his head rest in the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

"Ohh fuck-" His groan broke into a drawn out, raspy whimper. "Yeees."

He came so hard, white spots dancing behind his eyelids, unwilling to stop grinding until his knees felt weak. He tried to catch his breath, his head swimming. You were limp beneath him, your heart still pounding hard against his. Despite the dreamy exhaustion weighing down his bones, he lifted himself up to check up on you, press tender kisses into your lips.

"Are you okay, baby?"

A nod was all you could manage.

"Such a good girl. You did so well."

His fingers reached to work on untying the knots binding your wrists, his dick twitching at the sight of you before him. The spit still shining on your lips, the glow of your flushed skin, the cum dripping out of your sensitive hole. So blissed out, ruined and pretty. All his. But rather than acting on the shivers of arousal that still haven't died down, flowing through his body, Jungkook focused on sitting you up and getting you to the bathroom.

He sat you in a tub filled with warm water, then discarded his own clothes to join you. The snacks he bought you earlier were placed on a tray, within arm's reach. He held you against his chest, fed you a little. He knew you were tired; you needed rest, you needed time to sober up, because you couldn't keep your eyes opened nor move as he washed you.

He rested his wet cheek on the crown of your head, taking a moment to just feel you close, immerse himself in the warmth.

"Baby," he whispered, his arms tightening around your waist, though he wasn't sure if you were still conscious enough to hear or understand him. "What have you done to me? I love you so much all of my soul is gone."

Gone where? Lost in yours, perhaps, the only heaven that actually mattered.

A moment passed in silence, your breathing soft, until an almost incoherent whisper broke him out of his stupor.

"Love you too, daddy."

Jungkook glanced down at you, a fond smile lighting up his face. It was time to go to bed. Tomorrow, he was off work, and he couldn't wait to spend the day with you. Cooking, kissing, watching movies, then rolling a joint. He had a feeling you wouldn't resist this time; you tended to like the games Jungkook chose. He was good at it. He had to be; that was also a part of his job, wasn't it? Making sure playtime with daddy was fun.

And how could he ever do anything but his best for his little girl?

💌 taglist: @baalsgurl1913 @kooktrash @glowunderthemoon @era-genius @sweetempathprunetree @bucketofhiros @iceprincessviviane @imnotlauriane @silv3rswirls @httpsbts @osakis-gf

[wormswurld]

he hit me (and it felt like a kiss) // cattonquick, one-shot, 560 words, face slapping with a hint of dom/sub undertones; enjoy! ✨

"felix.." oliver whined pathetically. like a dog to his master, he always came back, no punishment of any kind could keep him away from felix. felix catton. the sole reason he got himself into this mess. "y-you can't just throw me away" mewled the love-drunken deer, voice cracking with deep seeded regret. what a funny word. regret. in all honesty, it never really would be able encompass the complex nature of his emotions. but that didn't matter anymore. he knew this was the end.

"just get the fuck away from me ollie!" felix shouted with disdain, words practically dripping in venom. in a desperate attempt at salvaging whatever he thought this was, oliver began to stagger his way towards the angel. a heavenly light which once shone brightly quickly dimmed as the boy approached. oliver's warm breath fanned across felix's lips, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes still hanging in the air between them. "i was just giving you what you wanted. like everybody else does!" poor oliver quick. his wailing had no use for what felix had in store.

a loud slap filled the little space between them. felix's eyes stay glued to oliver's hand that cradled his now redden cheek. a subliminal kiss. "again" oliver urged the boy in a hushed whisper, his blown out pupils finally meeting felix's cold gaze. "what?" replied felix questioned bluntly, confused on why anyone would ever ask for such a thing. but he wasn’t dealing with just anyone. he was dealing with oliver quick, the boy who just asked to be slapped in the face again. and not just slapped again, but harder. though, felix didn’t know that. at least not yet.

"hit me again felix" pleaded oliver, shaky hands gripping the sides of felix's white cotton tank top. felix scoffed, his eyes filled with a mix of sympathy and disgust. no matter how depraved oliver's actions were, he knew he could never deny oliver of his wants. his needs. with bated breath oliver waited for the next slap, closing his eyes to feel the sharp sting that awaited his already irritated cheek. clenching his fist, felix eyed oliver again. what the fuck has he gotten himself into.

"pleas-" before oliver could even finish his final plea felix smacked him across the face. oliver let out a guttural moan, the contact shared between felix's large hand and his cheek sent shockwaves throughout his body. his cock now straining harder against his tight jeans. now fully aware of the noise he pulled out of oliver, felix gasped in awe. "oh...you like that" he purred, tongue quickly swiping across his teeth. a beast has now entered the maze.

"yes" oliver gasped, his voice shaking arousal, "i like it felix..." his words now slurring together the longer gazed upon the fallen angel. seeing this moment as an opportunity felix gripped the sides of oliver's cheeks, making sure to dig his thumb hard into the cheek he marked with his touch. oliver inhaled sharply, not even daring to break eye contact with the boy towering over him. "good" felix replied sharply, quickly dropping oliver's face as he made his way towards the entrance of the maze. not even bothering to bid oliver a farewell as he exited.

excruciatingly hard and confused, oliver stood alone left to pick up the pieces felix left him once more.

[eldritch-spouse]

I will do it! I will hump Vinnel when he in that starfish pose! I will grind on him so fucking much his suit is going to be stained just about everywhere!💦💦💦

[Very short but I had to. Fem reader.]

TW: Vaguely unsanitary.

You know you've won the moment you straddle his waist and fulfill his jest of a suggestion.

Because even his mask goes blank in the shock of the first lurid grinds of your already wet cunt on him, before mirroring pure confusion Vinnel did not think to shield in time.

" Pervert! " He throws at you, sounding almost scared. But he starts caving to the friction, to the drag of your plump ass and his own suit across his emerging cock. " Huhuhu shameless animal! Horny little dolly- "

For once, the jester is mostly quiet. Probably because you caught him off-guard, because he didn't have time to twirl in the air, giggling to himself at the depravity of his own mischievous machinations. You're forcing him to improvise around you, and adding sudden pleasure into the mix.

Vinnel doesn't take this submission lying down. Or rather, he is lying under you yes, but his hips will buck you insistently and his claws poke at the resistant material of his gloves as he rakes them across your front, leaving furious marks on skin, pelting moans out of you when he all but pierces into your soft tits.

" Poppet- " He breathes, a far less stern or mocking sound than you're used to. There's a rough and ugly garbled groan from the performer as he grabs your hips and physically forces you to spread yourself harder against him, threatening to stab into your supple flesh if you don't move fast enough to his liking. " Poppy... "

Courtesy of having already been pleasuring yourself prior, you're the first to come undone, body arching beautifully atop the sadistic jester, a cry of rapture on full lips before you start to curve and tremble in the resulting shocks. He grinds himself against you throughout the entire duration of your release, moaning fervently at the sensation of your hot slick spreading rapidly on the fabric of his colorful prison, indirectly coating a squirming cock that begs for real touch.

Vinnel will die faster than he'll admit it turns him on endlessly to have his outfit defiled in your fluids.

As always, sporadic giggling is a hint that you should begin sharpening your senses.

Not that you can, after such a lovely climax. Meaning you're sluggish and helpless against the hand that grabs a fistful of your hair and flips you off him, onto your back. Tears prick your eyes when he's the one atop you, twisting your face into the mess you've made of the humorous red shape over his crotch. You can feel his dick push and wriggle, trying to latch onto you, throbbing with his need.

" What an on-point performance! " He cheers, bucking at your face. " Here, taste the fruits of your labor... "

[tomssexdoll]

heyy girl i have a request

can you do 2010tom x reader fic where tom and bill have a sister who’s same age as reader(they’re best friends) and tom is crushing on reader(don’t mind me,i love romantic stuff🤧)

hiii ofc pookie

My best friend Summer has 2 twin brothers, one named Bill and one named Tom. Me and Bill are super close and Tom too but Tom is very different.

Tom has always been super flirty with me, kissing my cheek when he greets me, putting his hand around my waist possesively when other guys are around, cuddling me in very provocative ways when I'm over and watching a movie.

Summer never really noticed, he only did it when we weren't around her. I felt bad for letting him do it but I couldn't help myself, he was a really cute guy and super kind. He always treated me with respect and stood up for me if I was getting bullied.

One night Tom had invited me over, it wasn't unusual since we were somewhat friends and Summer knew. Bill and Summer were out for the night, on a holiday with their parents, Tom had decided to stay back to focus on his "studies." I didn't buy it for a second.

Once I arrived he opened the door, his eyes lighting up as he picked me up and hugged me tightly, "heyy y/n!", I chuckled, he set me down eventually and I walked in, heading up to his room.

"Soo, what do you wanna do?" he smiled, obviously super nervous. "Oh, anything" I smiled back, sitting on his bed and looking around his room. I had never really been in his room before, only for a short time if he needed to show me something.

He sat down next to me, his tall frame towering over me, making me cave. "Uh...do you wanna watch a movie?" I said, stuttering slightly. He smirked and rubbed my thigh softly with his thumb, "Y/N, its just us..you don't need to pretend anymore.." he whispered in my ear, softly kissing my neck.

I pulled back, sort of freaked out "Tom..but..what about summer? She'll kill me if she finds out!" I whined, "then we won't tell her" he rolled his eyes, slightly groaning.

I sighed and nodded, moving my neck to give him better access. He grinned and held the back of my head, his lips doing magic on my neck, leaving little marks everywhere he went.

"You know..i've liked you for years y/n, I hate that Summer is getting in the way of us" he sighed, pulling back and looking deeply into my eyes, caressing my cheek. "I know Tommy, but maybe if we tell her another time she'll understand, I'll try and throw hints that i like you.." he nodded "honestly that's kind of a good plan, I just want to be able to hold and kiss you in front of everyone, tell everyone you're mine and mine only"

I smiled, blushing softly "me too Tom, i've liked you for years too..all the secret little acts of affection you do made me fall harder for you" he chuckled "it always made me happy when you'd get flustered, you're so cute" he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine.

I softly kissed him, my hand resting on his chest. He kissed back with more passion, holding the back of my head again, pulling me in closer. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me onto his lap.

I continued to kiss him, our lips locking in a desperate embrace, needing each others touch urgently, depraved for so long. "I love you Tom.." I blurted out, his eyes widened, "fuck..no..I'm sorry!" I sighed, thinking it was too soon, how could we ever love me?

My overthinking was cut short by him smashing his lips into mine again, "I love you too..it was just a little shocking hearing it" he chuckled.

(When Tom sees or thinks of Y/N, just the way you are by bruno mars starts to play)

tags: @itsmealaiah @tomscumdump @tomkaulitzloverr @20doozers @ge-billsgf @miyukafujii @charliesgoodboy @tomscumdoll @ballhair @bkaulitzlover @syylss

[reriart]

RE: Your ask I saw a little it ago.

So you know all those BG3 fics where someone’s with a Teifling or Dragonborn and the POV character is really into their partners tail? What if Astarion was curious about what his partners tail was capable of?

Happy Friday!

A different kind of reading

Hi! Thanks for this request. I really like the prompt. It took me several days to decide whether to use a tiefling or a dragonborn (I had never used the latter, so I created one on BG3 to study it a bit). In the end, considering the fact that the dragonborn has many scales, and the nature of fanfiction, I preferred to proceed with a tiefling! I wanted to write Astarion in first person but he is a very difficult character to play, so I preferred a third person. I hope you like it, anon! ;)

As always, please remember that English is not my native language!

Tags: 18+ smut, MDNI, gn!Reader (using they/them), tailfucking, tailjob, Tav is a tiefling that uses magic, kink, sex, mention of Astarion’s past, a hint of angst because why not (trauma + healing at his own times), Tav is insecure about their appearance. Also, a tiny Karlach x Dammon. Divider by @anitalenia. You can read the fic also on AO3.

‘So that's how it works...’ Astarion commented, a sly smile on his face, as he flipped through some old, yellowed pages. ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’

Hard as a Rock and Ninety-Nine Other Spells to Use Under the Sheets is already a questionable enough title; the red linen cover with a big phallic rock on it with fake, cheap gold details is even worse. 

Yet, Astarion had been attracted to that book a little earlier in the evening, among the various texts available in Dammon's house (who would have thought the shy tiefling would be so interested in such topics? ), who had offered a hot drink to the whole group after meeting them in Baldur's Gate (probably in the vain hope of flirting with Karlach... who drank the boiling tea, describing it as ‘refreshing’). Just as the two were flirting, the elf had sneaked around the house, noticing piles upon piles of books. Obviously intrigued by the common theme, he had started leafing through some of them only to be interrupted by Tav.

‘You really read a shit ton of books,’ they had commented, peeping over the vampire's shoulder, causing him to jump on the spot and snap the tome shut. ‘Our blacksmith friend has obscene tastes, truly. Who would have thought such a depraved man!’ had been Astarion's reply, in an irreverent tone... before shoving the said volume under his leather jacket, only to read it in his own tent shortly after sunset to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

Astarion had always spoken freely about sex... at least with strangers, to whom he showed his libertine façade. But with Tav things were distinctly different, ever since he had confessed that he had really fallen in love with them. The tiefling had awakened pure, honest feelings in him, but also anxiety, fear. Fear of making things too fast, fear of not being enough, fear of not being himself when he was with them; of being rotten, broken inside, irreparable.

But Tav had taught him how to love, first starting with a hug that had left the vampire stunned - a simple gesture, as innocent as it was frightening, because no one had ever hugged him since his transformation (perhaps his mother, when he was a child, but it had been far too many years for him to remember). Then the caresses: superficial, gentle, then increasingly intimate. From the face, to the chest, and lower. Astarion had discovered he loved the tiefling's touch, after an initial hesitation. The act of trust itself was the thing that made him feel on cloud nine, far more than the excitement.

Then they had progressed to lovemaking. Astarion had discovered the pleasures of being cared for, snuggled, in ways he had never even imagined. Because imagining being everybody's whore at the Szarr palace was easy, but receiving attention, being the centre of it... that was hard to imagine.

He had discovered the gentle touch of Tav's hands, their warm, sweet mouth, the warmth of their sex, so different from his cold, marble skin...

But there was something that haunted him: their tail. Tav had always been ashamed of it: the tieflings they had known in their life - including their parents, but also Karlach - all had beautiful tails. They had a very simple one, without spikes or cartilage, and also quite thick, with a very round tip. For this reason they tended, whenever possible, to hide it. 

Astarion had never dared to touch it: he had realised it was a weak point for the tiefling. However, that very curious book had led him to discover a fascinating truth.

"Tieflings have an extremely sensitive tail, which swells even more during mating, making it an erogenous zone suitable for all kinds of spells, especially those involving fire and ice."

Astarion's attention had stopped at ‘erogenous zone’. 

He had long harboured a fantasy that perhaps even he, who had probably had more sexual partners than his years spent as a vampire spawn, would have described as perverse. He not only wanted to touch that tail, kiss it, lick it, maybe try to bite it to feel if the blood tasted different there, but also... to have it inside.

Astarion knew very well that he took pleasure in penetration. Tav had occasionally played with his asshole during oral sex, inserting a finger or two, making him tremble and come on their tongues.

But, gods, what would he have given for...?

‘Astarion?’

Tav's face popped up inside the heavy, battered tent, a friendly smile always ready to light up his face. ‘Are you alright? It's the middle of the night and I saw you still have your lamp lit. Do you need blood?’

This was another thing that used to drive Astarion crazy: the tiefling's attention to detail. He cared for him all round, always paying attention to his bloodlust, his moments of weakness when he had none left in his body; they noticed when his body stiffened from anxiety and knew about the nights when the elf couldn't even go into his trance, nights when he usually just read until his eyes were on fire.

‘N-no, thank you sweetheart, you already gave me some yesterday and I don't want to debilitate you any more than...’

‘That book again? What's so good about it?’ they asked, closing the curtain behind them and stretching dangerously towards the tome. ‘Give me here-’

‘Nothing special! It's just, you know, very funny, haha!’ he replies, closing it and throwing it into the backpack behind him using all his agility - not enough, however, to stop their Misty Steps. 

‘Sooner or later I swear I'm going to break that magical necklace’ he mumbles, as Tav appears behind him, grabbing the book in time. ‘Let's see what you were reading...’

With a theatrical gesture, the tiefling's hand rises, making the pages move to where the reading had been interrupted.

"Tiefling and sex: a hellish pleasure, chapter 16."

Astarion swallows, averting his gaze. ‘’It's-it's not what you think,‘’ he stutters, throwing off his mask once more. ‘I was just curious...’

Tav begins to read, stroking their chin. ‘So, you want to use magic in bed. Are you sure?’

‘I... that's not what I'm interested in,’ he confesses, knowing that he can't blurt it out this time. Also because the tiefling's tail is finally free and not hidden under pounds of fabric, which brings all of Astarion's blood between his thighs. 

It is beautiful: smooth, free of frills. It moves like a whip, like an oak branch on a rainy evening. He licks his teeth.

‘But it's a book about magic and sex. And you don't look to me like a great lover of the first one. Drop it, Astarion,' they intimated. But the vampire's gaze is fixed on the tail moving left and right, the round tip caressing the air. He feels an emptiness inside him, a void he wants to fill.

Tav sighs, turning around. ‘There's something in the tent that-’

They breath catches, realising that behind them there is, in fact, only their tail. 

"Tieflings have extremely sensitive tails...’ they reads out loud, then snap the tome shut. 'Is that what's going through your head? Do you want to touch my tail? You know I hate it and if I could I would..."

‘’It's gorgeous,‘’ he whispers, in a trembling voice. ‘I can't stop thinking about it. I know you can't stand its appearance, but I want to touch it so badly...’

Tav doesn't know how to react. It is the first time Astarion confesses this interest of his, even complimenting. He had only previously asked to touch it and had been smacked full in the face by the said tail.

But they are attentive to details. They notice the vampire's erection, his dilated irises. His cheeks, perhaps by a trick of the light, even look a little pink.

‘All right, but just once. I don't want you to... look at her any more than you have to,' they warn him, prodding their thumbs with the horns, a gesture Astarion has by now learned to interpret as shyness. ‘Let's consider it an exchange for that time I touched your ears.’ 

The elf is amazed when they turn around, showing their shoulders. The tail comes out of a hole artfully sewn between the trousers, so as not to show more than it should. 

He releases it from that restraint, lowering it just enough to look and touch it in the warm candlelight, but without showing any extra skin. Smooth, thick, to the top, round and perfect. Astarion reaches out a hand, making them both gasp when he touches it. 

He runs a thumb over the top, squeezing the tip between his fingertips just enough to make his beloved sigh. He then proceeds down, bringing it close to his face, stroking it with the tip of his nose. ‘Gods, you're so perfect.’

The cold breath on his skin makes Tav gasp, who plants their claws on his own thighs and bites his lip, trying to hold back a groan; which they're unable to do when Astarion reaches the base and after a brief massage begins to lick the patch of skin that joins the tail to the body.

‘Oh, gods, Astarion... wait!’

‘You know you have to use the safe word in these cases,’ he whispers. Ever since they had started making love, because Astarion was still exploring his tastes, the tiefling had suggested using a word of caution in case either of them really wanted to interrupt. This was because, occasionally, they both tended to ask to wait when they really just wanted to get on with it. 

... ‘and I'm not hearing it.’

Tav, almost instinctively, stretches their body downwards, raising the bottom upwards, moaning as softly as possible so as not to wake the others, while he continues to lick the base. Twisting the tail in his hands, just like a cat when its attention is drawn to prey.

‘Now, hold still,’ he orders to Tav, licking languidly along the length. ‘Tail included.’ They execute, trying to spy him from behind the shoulder. ‘What are you gonna do?’

‘You'll see soon enough, my love.’

Astarion flicks his tongue up and down, helping himself with his hands to bring it to his mouth. The fangs caress the skin, without scratching. The temptation to bite is high, but for now his plans are otherwise. ‘Stop...’

His mouth finally reaches the tip, and after two languid licks, he holds it between his lips and sucks, then tries to take as much of it into his mouth as possible.   ‘Oh, gods...! Astarion, what are you...?’

The elf begins to move his head up and down, as his hand sneaks under Tav's trousers, admitting a laugh-like cry when he feels their underwear wet. And Astarion's own cock begs to be released, as he begins to soak his trousers. Soon he stands up, abandoning his tail and lowering his trousers. ‘Get undressed,’ he begs them. ‘I need you now.’

After they both get naked, Astarion starts kissing Tav's neck, inevitably ending up biting and sucking some blood. ‘Mh, you look delicious tonight, my dear.’

‘Thank you.’ Their hand plays with his hair. ‘I really enjoyed that. I didn't think you could do something like that...’

As he licks the two tiny holes to make them heal, his hands return to the Tiefling's thighs. ‘...That's not the only thing I plan to do tonight.’

‘Oh, yeah? And tell me, what goes through that well-literate mind?' they tease him, pushing so that the thief's dexterous fingers can suppress the desire that is driving them out of their minds.

‘Do you remember when you told me that you would like to do what you desired with me? That night when you got drunk and were terribly, incredibly horny and sexy, but we couldn't do anything because we all had to sleep in a shit room?’

‘Yes.’



‘Then do whatever you want with me, but under one rule. You will have to use only your tail, my dear.’

Tav turns their head, raising an eyebrow, but without interrupting that pleasurable touch between his legs, his eyes full of desire. ‘Are you sure? I don't want you to make you...’

‘I'm asking you,’ he reassures them, kissing them on the forehead. ‘I'm comfortable with it, because it's something I've never done or tried. It's undiscovered territory, just ours.’ In spite of the burning desire, there is an infinite thoughtfulness and gentleness in his eyes and voice. ‘I'm yours.’

The tiefling turns completely back, kissing him. Through the tadpole, they feel a strong curiosity from Astarion, curiosity that - surprisingly - they have as well.

‘Do you really like my tail that much? It's so ugly. Karlach's one is much more beautiful." They stroke their own tail, analysing the humid tip. 

‘But it's not yours. And then yes, I find it dreadfully gorgeous... and arousing,’ he confesses, lying down on the pillows. They lie on him, caressing his face. The long tail strokes his testicles, then the length of his cock. 

‘Mmmh...’

‘Do you like it like that?’ they ask, as the tail makes one, two, three laps around Astarion's manhood. ‘Tell me if I'm tightening too much.’

Astarion gasps, gripping to the velvet underneath him. ‘D-don't stop. And hold tighter.’

The tiefling begins to wiggle their tail, tightening.. It's not exactly a piece of cake, but keeping it hidden all the time has led them to train it and execute precise movements. The vampire trembles, arches his back in an attempt to accompany the motion; his thrusts begin to become imprecise, words disjointed, eyes glazed over.

‘I want you inside. With the tail. Please!’ His tone is desperate, barely enough breath in his lungs to speak. Tav releases him, noticing how red the tip is.  ‘Did I squeeze you that hard? Does it hurt?’ they ask, concerned. 

‘N-not at all,’ he babbles, covering his face with his hand, his cheeks red with blood and growing excitement, as he spreads his legs apart. Tav makes to approach his cock and take it in their mouth, but he stops him. ‘P-please... just the tail, now! I can't take it much longer.’

A smile paints their faces as they lie on top of him, one hand holding the tip of the tail in front of his entrance. Astarion's beads of arousal had been so copious that they descended to his asshole, which allows Tav to insert the tip without difficulty. The vampire groans, eyes wide with astonishment as the tail slides deeper and deeper, opening him up, filling him. It moves up and down, but also sideways, forming an "s". He bares his fangs, clawing at the pillows, breathing heavily. Tav watches him, a hint of pride in their chest at knowing that the part they had so rejected now makes both feel good. 

‘On your hands and knees’ they order, taking Astarion by the hips and flipping him over. The elf leans on his elbows and knees as Tav resumes penetrating him. The tail fills him, until it hits his most sensitive spot, moving left, right, spinning. 

‘Shit!’ he screams, collapsing, but Tav holds his bottom up and stands up, spreading his legs apart. ‘That's it, enjoy it, my love.’

This is too much for the poor thief. He comes suddenly, with long, white streams hitting the pillows, carpets and floor. Tav rides his orgasm, until Astarion is breathless.

‘That was... incredible,’ he gasps, trying to recover, but his legs don't respond. His body still shudders, just as his cock continues to release little pearls of pleasure. ‘I hope you've changed your mind about your tail.’

Tav smiles, stroking his back. ‘Yeah, I think I have.’

Remember that trauma is not forever. I happened to read about using kinks to overcome PTSD, and I thought that was fitting for Astarion. As a SA survivor, it's important to me to use this fanfiction both for fun and to leave a positive message when I can. Pain and suffering do not last forever. <3

[glo0b]

~Cooking With Love~

(I do not own the art or character)

Content: Sebek x F!Yuu, other ocs are in this and as well as the other first years.

Tw: Some NSFW mentions, this was meant to be a nice fluff cooking fic but my depraved mind can't stop

word count: 2081

note: This took me FOREVER. I kept stopping and continuing so it might not be the best.

“Oh look, the Culinary Crucible sign ups are out again, maybe I could sign up to be a judge.” The five Ramshackle residents were walking down the halls of NRC, heading off to lunch like usual until Felix pointed out the Culinary Crucible sign ups. “Nya, I nearly died last time from Lilia’s cooking” Grim sat on Yuu’s head, it was his favorite spot since her hair was so fluffy. “How did Silver survive all those years with him? Perhaps it made his stomach stronger, I should test that out later, Mumble Mumble” There Donnie went with his evil scientist thoughts again and pulling out his notebook with info about everyone in the school, honestly how could that boy not be best friends with Rook at this point.

Yuu picked up the small paper that was stapled to the cork board, she noticed two familiar names sketched in pen on the parchment. “Hm looks like Floyd and Sebek would be the ones cooking. You may want to reconsider that thought, Felix.” Yuu couldn’t lie, she was slightly excited to see what Floyd and Sebek could do but also terrified of what the food would turn into. She did know a bit of both of their skill sets too. “That damn Eel? Jeeze I already gotta deal with his ass in the Basketball club! I bet he’d poison the food if he could!” Balik groans at the thought of having to see that wicked eel’s face cook for her. “Oh hush! Hmm, maybe I should sign up to be a judge.” Yuu quickly pushed away her fearful thoughts and signed the paper. “If you get a stomach ache from their food don’t come crying to me, henchmen!”

The thought of Sebek cooking for her was on Yuu’s mind all day. She giggled softly and smiled at the thought which started to freak her friends out a bit. “Yuu has been a little too bubbly than usual.” Epel bit into his BBQ, finally able to enjoy it since Vil or Rook weren’t nearby. “I scanned Yuu earlier and her heart rate seems to be more elevated than normal!” Ortho spoke, not eating since he didn’t need food but he still could eat it in a way since Idia gave him a new update! “I couldn’t smell any potions on her breath or anything so it could be something mental.” Jack was clueless to what could have happened to their sweet friend. “Do you think someone cursed her!? I’ll get revenge for Yuu!” Deuce looked like he was about to punch someone. “Wha- no! Who could possibly want to hurt Yuu? Let’s just ask Yuu what happened when she grabs her food.” Finally Ace was actually using his head to think, which if they weren't worried about Yuu, would have freaked the group out even more. "Alright, I'll calm down." Yuu grabbed her food and made her way to the rest of the first years with the other four behind her. Yuu places her tray down and sits next to Ace. “Hello big sis-” Before poor Ortho could greet Yuu he was interrupted by a very concerned Deuce. “Are you ok!? Did someone curse you?! Did you finally snap!?” Ace face palms. “Real nice on staying calm, Deuce.” Yuu raises her brow in suspicion but keeps her sweet smile. “Oh? What’s this now?” The first year group looks back at each other before Epel speaks up. “We’re just concerned since you’ve been acting a little off today….” The other Ramshackle residents finally joined the first years. “That’s just because she’s excited about being a judge for the upcoming Culinary crucible.” Donnie sits next to Ortho while Balik, Felix, and Grim sit next to or across from Yuu. “Really, you aren't getting it? Here’s another hint, loud knight of Diasomnia.” Small ‘Oooohs’ escape the boys’ lips as Donnie explains the reason behind Yuu's state.

Yuu covers her face in embarrassment. “That’s…not the reason..” Balik stabs her food with her fork repeatedly. “Really? Jeeze I can’t tell which one of you is more dense.” Felix rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, I gotta agree with Balik here.” Ortho stands up- well floats off the ground in excitement. “Maybe we could get you two together! Big brother was playing a game with the same premise the other day!”. “I don’t think that would work. The only thing that guy seems to think about is Malleus just like the only thing Grim thinks about is fancy tuna.” Ace snickers as he looks over at Grim devouring a can of tuna in Yuu’s lap. “Nya?! Hey!” Yuu glares at Ace and he stops right away. “That’s a really sweet idea, Ortho, but I’m not sure it’s the best idea right now.” Ortho looks slightly disappointed but nods his head in understatement. “Ok big Sis! I’ll still make a plan though!” 

The first years continue to talk but soon lunch comes to an end. “Man, I got P.E next. I better go now so I can get changed.” Felix whines as he grabs his empty tray and leaves. Everyone else starts to get up as well and leave for their classes. Yuu holds Grim in her arms as she walks with Ace, Deuce, and Donnie. “Oooh~ We got Alchemy next” Donnie smirks knowing he’ll get an easy 100%. “Don’t act so smug just because you’ve got slightly better grades than us!” Grim kicks his little feet causing Donnie to laugh his unsettling clown-like laugh. “Slightly? Oh please, you’ve gotten Ds and Cs on every test from Professor Crewel!” Donnie’s smirk grows even bigger as he knows Grim can’t make a well backed up argument. hours pass and classes slowly finish up for the day. “Yawn I really wish P.E didn’t kick my ass.” Felix rubs his sore arms. “Maybe it’s just because you’re weak and have little muscle on your bones.” Felix glares at Balik. “Be quiet, will you! You’re hurting my ears!” Grim interrupts their arguing before it could get any more heated. The two glare at each other before shutting up. “Hey, isn't the Culinary Crucible supposed to start tomorrow?” Donnie quickly changes the subject to make sure Balik and Felix don’t start arguing again. “Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s meant to be taking place before lunch, I think.”. Grim pouts. “Why can’t I get free food too! No fair!” Yuu giggles at Grim’s whines. The five reach their dorm and soon settle in for the night awaiting the brand new day full of opportunities to come. A certain half fae walks past the school cork board covered in flyers for clubs and what not, he looks down at the Culinary Crucible sheet. “So she has signed up to be a judge….I’LL DO MORE THAN MY VERY BEST FOR BOTH THE YOUNG MASTER AND YUU!” Sebek hurries his way back to Diasomnia so he can return to his job of guarding Malleus.

================================================

Morning comes without fail, birds chirp on cue as the sun rises with its natural beauty. Sebek was out doing his morning jogs before he had to head off to the Culinary Crucible. Sebek had originally signed up so he could learn to cook for his liege but when he found out Yuu was going to be one of the judges he felt even more determined to master the practice of the culinary arts. ‘I have to be able to cook for my future partner!’ That’s what the little voice in his head kept telling him plus Lilia said a good boyfriend should be able to cook for his partner when they’re sick or tired. Sebek finishes his morning jogs and heads inside of Diasomnia to wash off all the sweat on his body. As the cold water hits his body he thinks about how the Culinary Crucible could possibly go. He did learn a bit from Yuu when all the first years were at Ramshackle for a studie night which somehow turned into a small party. Sebek couldn’t help but blush when he remembered how Yuu’s soft hands guided him on how to cut an onion or when he burnt most of the vegetables Yuu just simple laughed it off with a reassuring smile. “How could a human like that make me feel like this….”. Oh Yuu’s soft hands, he just can’t stop thinking about them. All he wants is to have them trail along his body and wrap around his hard- “I must stop thinking about such things of Yuu! I need to get ready!” 

Sebek finishes his shower and gets dressed but not before gelling up his hair like he always does. This man went through almost two jars of gel each week, if Sam didn’t somehow magically have everything in stock Sebek would have been stuck with his natural hair. Sebek quickly checks the time. “On time as always.” And with that Sebek leaves to head off to the Culinary Crucible.

================================================

All of Ramshackle’s (living) residents were sitting in the courtyard talking. It was their free time before lunch so Donnie started making bets “Ok, 10$ says Sebek burns it to ash.” Donnie rolls his eyes at Felix’s bet. “Oh please, he’s not Lilia. Althouuuugh, 5$ says he makes it too dry or too bland to eat.” Yuu couldn’t help but laugh “Wow, you really don’t have faith in him? How about 100$ says Sebek makes something that I’ll enjoy.” Both Felix and Donnie’s eyes widen “Henchman, are you feeling ok!?” Even Grim and Balik looked shocked “Yuu is making bets?!” Balik dropped her cool guy act from pure shock. “We don’t even have that kind of money! Crowley doesn’t pay us shit!” Yuu smirks at Donnie’s comment and shrugs her shoulders. “Well~ I just have a lot of faith in Sebek, I guess. Plus I should probably join in on the fun shouldn’t I?” “I guess you do seem to like him a lot.” Balik plainly states. “Seems?? Those two are head over heels for each other!” Donnie throws his arms up in the air in frustration. “We’ll just have to wait and see who the winner of the bet is.” Yuu smiles knowingly. “Nya, I’m going to buy so much tuna with this bet!” Donnie rolls his eyes at Grim’s gluttonous statement before looking down at his watch “Looks like we only have a few minutes till next period.” Everyone lets out a small groan before saying their goodbyes and parting for their next classes. ==============================================

Yuu sat comfortable in the judge’s chair with Idia to her left and Trey to her right. Sebek set a bowl full of chicken pho before her with shaky hands. He looked so nervous, which seemed so unlike him. Once Idia and Trey also reserved a bowl of the chicken pho Yuu took a small spoon full. She looked up at the nervous half fae man in front of her and put the spoon to her lips…..Woah! The chicken had a melt in your mouth texture and the broth was so flavorful! Yuu’s eyes opened in shock as she let out a small moan from the amazing dish. After the other two finished it was time for the results. Yuu was so proud of Sebek, he obviously worked super hard on the dish. Yuu happily held up the sign that had the number ten written on it. “Amazing~! I loved it!”. Trey held up a ten sign as well while Idia held up a nine sign. A big grin spread across Sebek’s face as he saw the high ranking signs, he quickly bowed. “Thank you!”  ================================================

“WHAT!?” Like they planned this Felix, Balik, Donnie, and Grim all yelled in unison. “But how!?” Donnie was still in disbelief, how did Sebek do such a good job!? “My tuuuuuuuna!” Grim whined as his dreams of buying tuna with the bet money went down the drain. “Oh hush, I’ll buy you some tuna.” Grim’s ears pop up at the mention of Yuu buying him tuna. “I guess you get the money then.” Felix lets out a sigh before handing Yuu the money. “Thank you! Now remember next time not to test my intuition~” Yuu chuckled to herself. “Yeah, yeah, whatever and maybe next time we can get to taste this ‘amazing food’.” Balik still doubted Sebek of all people could cook such a good meal. “Yeah maybe…..” Yuu remembered the creamy, rich broth and melt in your mouth chicken, maybe she would have to cook for Sebek some time? Maybe a cooking date? Who knows, there’s so much time in life when you cook with love~!

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You have made it! Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it, it took me VERY long to make this. Mental health didn't help much lol. Make sure to get plenty of rest and to drink water dear reader!

[joels6string]

Carnal Reflections

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: No Cordyceps AU: Joel walks in on you getting ready for a night out.

Rating: E

Word Count: 1.1k

Content: smut, unprotected p-in-v, mirror sex, fingering, dirty talk, creampie, cum play, depraved porn without plot

You were late. Par for the course, but this time you’d really tried to be ready on time. It just didn’t work out that way.

The dress you wanted to wear had turned out to be too tight over your hips, a lovely reminder of the extra pounds you’d put on since the last time you wore it…five years ago. A pile of other ruled out choices lay around it on the bed, your shoulders slumped as you stared at yourself in the mirror in nothing but a thong and thigh-highs, inventorying what was even left to attempt at this point that wasn’t leggings and one of Joel’s shirts.

“Honey,” he called with an air of agitation, his boots thudding on the creaking stairs as he made his way up to you, “We are already late-”

As the door creaked open, his scolding was immediately cut short, and you prepared yourself for the stern annoyance his tone was about to take on. It was Tommy’s birthday and the party had been planned for months, and now you’d be missing the surprise element of it all which was what Joel was looking forward to the most.

“I know,” you preemptively defended, “My dress didn’t fit.”

“For good damn reason,” he responded in a huff, his gruff voice already an octave lower.

When his calloused hands slid across the sensitive skin around your waist, a shock traveled down your spine and settled between your thighs, his beard grazing over your bare shoulder as his breath fanned over the shell of your ear, heat building in your lower belly faster than you could try and control. The gentle scrap of his teeth tugging your earlobe had a traitorous whine slipping free, your back pressing into his chest as your body begged for his hands to slip lower and swipe through the dampness that had already begun to accumulate.

He chuckled when you pressed your bare ass against the rough denim of his jeans, the stiff bulge making you whine again, his fingers drifting higher and tugging on your pebbling nipples. Blood rushed downwards again, your body twitching this time in response as he rolled your pert little bud, his teeth nipping once again, this time at the curve of your neck and shoulder.

“How soaked are you?” he growled against your prickling skin, one of his hands undoing his belt as the other tearing your panties clean off, sliding his fingers through your slit and groaning in appreciation, “God damn. Doesn’t take much, does it?”

“No…” you sputtered, uncaring of how desperate you sounded.

The lazy circles over your clit he began to work you up with were enough to have your knees buckling, his arm keeping you upright with a tight hold beneath your breasts. Your legs spread wider, his middle digit sinking into your soaked hole and pumping in and out roughly, curling to press against that rough patch on your inner wall with pinpointed accuracy. It was easy to get lost in him, your head dizzying at the first hint of the cologne he wore only on special occasions mingling with the sawdust and leather aroma that clung to his skin. He was solid behind you, keeping you steady, buoying you in the storm of his own creation, and when you fell victim to the waves rolling through you he whispered gentle praises as you carnally cried out into the moonlight filtering in through the window. 

“That’s it,” he cooed, “Open your eyes, sweetheart. Open ‘em and see how pretty you look.”

Your mascara was smudged, your mouth hanging open, and when his cock breached your entrance and slipped in to the base with ease there was no denying how utterly depraved and pitiful you looked as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. 

“Focus,” he instructed, sliding out and slamming back in as his hand gripped your chin, directing your gaze back to the reflections in front of you, “Look at yourself.”

How could you focus on yourself when he was right there? He was gripping your hips now, slamming into your ass hard enough to have it shaking against his forceful thrusts. His lips were parted, eyes fixated on where your bodies met, his face freed of the tension he carried in the fine lines and sun-darkened features. You were whining, the sound barely audibly over the sound of skin slapping against skin, your body so willingly taking him it took all his focus to keep himself from slipping out of your slick channel. 

Hazel eyes met yours when a hand around your throat pulled you flush against his chest, squeezing enough to cut off your airflow slightly. It was effortless the way he lifted your leg and hung it in the bend of his elbow, the sight of his cock disappearing into your swollen folds on blatant display. You could see the way you stretched around his girth, his shaft flushed red and glistening with your juices that coated your inner thighs.

“Fuck…” you whimpered, eyes transfixed as he fucked up into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he panted, his control faltering. 

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, “Lemme see.”

There was nothing slow or gentle about the way you rubbed at your buzzing bundle of nerves. Every inch of you was electrified, his grip around your windpipe robbing you of your last ounce of coherency. As you succumbed to him the second time, white heat searing over your sweat-soaked skin, he captured your lips with his, your tongues drunkenly dancing as you felt him spilling hot and deep inside of you. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighed as he pulled himself free, keeping your leg slung up in his hold as you both watched his spendings leaking free of your gaping hole, “Ain’t you a mess?”

All you could do was nod, your fingers sliding down to push what was dripping back into your pussy, his groan of appreciation vibrating through you. You were quivering, still suffering from the aftershocks, autopilot bringing your drenched two middle digits to your lips and sucking them clean. 

“You know what?” he snarled, turning your lips back to his, “I think I’m sick. Caught that nasty bug goin’ around. I’d hate to pass it along. Now. Get on that bed.”

The text to Maria apologizing for his absence was barely legible, his hands too eager to unbutton his shirt as he kicked his jeans further down his legs with every step, his body hovering over yours as he notched himself between your thighs. The night was only just beginning now. 

Joel Miller Masterlist