#it was too good for me to form words about it

[tonycries]

BRAT!

Synopsis. Scream it! While he’s still asking nicely, that is…

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, getting reader to not be quiet in béd, CÚMPLAY, spítting, Sukuna’s second tongue, oraI (fem rec), pússydrunk boys, squírting, six eyes, face-sítting, pússy-slappíng, true form Sukuna, chokíng, markíng, exhíbitionism (Nanami), víbrators, dp, slight voice kínks, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Love y’all, have a good leak day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Let it all out!

“Doll…” he drawls out, that tiny scar at the end of his smirk dragging roughly against your glossy pout. And when Toji’s given nothing more than a few of your muffled, bit-back whimpers, he’s insisting - begging, “My stubborn girl-”

Five thick fingers wrap delicately around your neck - jostling your fucked-out expression up to his greedy gaze, “Cat got yer tongue?” As if to fuck the answer out of you, his hips are ramming angrily, knocking rawly into your bruised g-spot. “Don’t tell me you’ve been hah- fucked dumb already? Wha’s the problem, ma?”

It’s been hours now, and Toji’s absolutely wrecked - blood thumping in his ears, broad chest heaving with short rasps, stars bursting behind his half-lidded eyes after each sloppy thrust. And, yet, he still has enough sanity left to notice when you’re biting down brattily on your knuckles, throat tight with all those sweet moans being held back. 

See, that’s when Toji gets impatient. 

“Fine- be as quiet as your pretty lil’ heart desires, then.” Your eyes are widening at the mushy twitch of his rotund tip - still leaky, still angry. “We’ll see how long that lasts, anyway.”

Just that dark little promise is enough to make you keen - and he’s chuckling, “Now now- what did I say-” Those soft pads of his fingers glide up in a gentle curve towards your lips - but the way he just shoves them inside is anything but. Rounded tips constricting into the very back of your throat, “Ya wanna be quiet? Then, commit to it like the big girl you are.”

Big fat tears spring up to your eyes when he’s hiking a powerful thigh up, pressurizing the ruthless pace of his achy cock even more. Bullying into your velvety walls like he was angry, knocking all the air in your lungs with every glide of his swelteringly hot head along your cervix. 

“Hngh-” you gurgle past his swirling fingers. Your nails piercing ravaged red lines where you’re gripping helplessly onto his wrist, “T-To-ah!”

There’s such a deafening squelch gushing out of your messy cunt when the mean digits on his free hand push down about halfway at your stomach, feeling for the branding little nudge of his fat cock. Toji’s mouth drops in awe at the milky white coating of his cum. Dredge after dredge soiling your inner thighs, forming a creamy little ring where he was pushing his thick hilt into you over and over-

“Shit-” his Adam’s apple bobs with a heavy gulp. Mindlessly, he’s falling down onto his elbows in exhaustion, bending you in half like a little ragdoll underneath him. “N’ suddenly I’m the one speechless, doll- Hahah-”

The heavy thwack! thwack! thwack! of his still painfully-full balls make your head spin, and Toji’s drinking in your little gasps like a starved man. Slow, languid, eyes drooping shut. “S’this why- hngh- s’this why my girl’s bein’ so quiet all of a sudden?” Hips stuttering forwards like he was losing control, just filthy, lusted-up little half-thrusts and drags of his length down your gummy channel. Even that was too much for his poor, overworked cock - painting your insides full with his thick, translucent precum with every swallowed-up inch. “Too cockdrunk? Too hah- full of my cum t’speak?”

You were so close - so overstimulated - you could barely string together a sentence. And you couldn’t have answered even if you wanted to - because your lovely boyfriend only rummaged his fingers deeper inside your mouth. Fuck- it felt so dirty having him fuck you like this - spitting against your lips, twitchy cock mashing deep into all your sensitive spots. Like he was reaching into your lungs - into your barely-lucid mind until you couldn’t do anything but nod. 

“Mmmpf- I-” you’re managing out, the words coming out in a thick, garbled mess that makes his cock throb. “Hngh- yes yes yes-”

“Awww, fuckin’ knew it.” he coos, and it’s all the warning you’re getting before two big strong arms of his haul you up. Falling back onto his muscled thighs in a sitting position - with you all speared like a slut down his unforgiving cockhead. Being bounced up, up, up your limp body nothing against his inhuman strength. “Shit- fuckin’ knew it- My poor girl got fucked so good she couldn’t even speak, huh?” Toji just throws his head back at the answering clench of your elastic walls, molding around each one of his ridges and veins. “How cute–” 

You cower under his weighty gaze, unable to escape. To do anything other than take it when his bicep bulges around your waist, tightening like a vice. “How so very-” Abs clenching when they ram- up- “cute-” He’s gritting his teeth, baring you with such a sweet, sultry smile, one that ghosts the very shell of your ear, “But why don’t you jus’ cum f’me now, ma.”

You don’t know whether his own words have Toji reaching his high - or maybe the sight of you does. Because all you see is black tinging your vision - then white, seeping out of the corners of your puffed-up folds, sopping a wet puddle into the non-existent space between you two.

He’s so vocal when he fucks you through your orgasm, raspy baritone wrenching out little praises like a mantra- “Yeah- yeah there we go. Louder f’me- scream it all out. I know you can do it.”

“P-please, Toji.” You don’t know what you’re begging for - and Toji doesn’t mind. Only pinning your body to his hulking one, holding you so close that your whimpered out moans are almost inaudible over his cushiony pecs. Babbling out, “Please- f-fuck it feels too good hah- m’cumming- m’cumming m’cumming-”

“Such a chatty girl, moanin’ so fuckin’ loud.” he titters. “Don’t you dare hold back that pretty voice from me, m’kay?” 

But only when your orgasm bates into tiny tingles, only when your syrupy sweet moans turn quieten down - only then does Toji pull away. Shuffling onto his knees until his hot breath was fanning your eagerly quivering cunt, soft tongue dragging up your painted white slit, “So let’s see if you scream twice as loud for this, my girl.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Shhh…

“My love…” Nanami breathes out in a ragged pant, his hot breath breezing down your spine. Arching up so sultrily when the pistons of his hips slow down, aching for more more more- “Is something hah- wrong?”

It takes you a second to raise your bleary head up from where it rested amongst all the papers on the desk, the satin of your office skirt hiking up even further when you’re rutting your hips back in a quiet tandem. “N-nothing, Ken–” your words come out hushed - hurried. 

And oh your husband looked so unfairly attractive when he was concerned, blond brows furrowing in the middle, running one hand through his disarrayed hair, the other pulling your teary eyes up to his. “You’re just being so-” There’s an experimental mash of his fat, rounded tip into your mapped-out g-spot, as if to confirm his suspicions. And Nanami grunts at the sight of you biting down on your lower lip, “-quiet…Now now-” His thumb comes to gently pry away your worried lip from under your teeth, “-what’s wrong?”

“S’jus’-” you hiccup, eyes flitting to the closed storage room door. “-m’ so close n’ someone might hear. I know Higuruma also has overtime-”

Shit - you’re so far into your little rant that you don’t notice the way his entire body stiffens, jaw clenching at the mention of your - and his - coworker. You can only gasp when Nanami’s towering figure just shoves you deeper into the cool mahogany desk. One hand on your head, the other wrapped nicely around your blabbering mouth.

“You’re right-” Nanami breathes, words tinted with a slow, dangerous purr. And it makes your velvety walls just seep a fresh gloss of your sweet sweet juices down all his long, hard inches. “-better not make a noise unless you want to get caught then, because m’not going easy on you today, darling.”

And fuck, Nanami likes to think himself a practical man - a sensible man, even. But right now all he could see was red - nothing past the way that other man had been eying you a little too closely these days, laughing at your jokes a little too loud. 

Don’t get him twisted, he knows you’d never do anything - you were his pretty lil’ wife after all, the love of his absolute soul. But sometimes, he just wanted to make you scream it out. 

Your pretty eyes bat hypnotically over your shoulder, “K-Ken- oh!”

Only to be shut up by the furious pummeling of all his rock-hard shaft, the sheer girth of it already making you keen. It’s enough for honeyed moans to bubble up in your throat, ticking in time with that angry pulsing of his thick tip massaging your plushy walls. 

“Shh shhh-” Nanami coos, and you feel his abs ripple from behind you when he leans his weight down, down, down to pin you even more helplessly against the desk. Those thick fingers of his cover your mouth even firmer, “We hafta be quiet, remember?”

If he was looking for an answer, then Nanami fully and thoroughly fucks it out of you. 

Those important documents are shuffling around everywhere, flying off the desk when you’re scrambling towards absolutely anything to keep just an ounce of your sanity. Because Nanami was hammering into you in such powerful, pressurized thrusts. Hard enough that you could feel the line of his hip bones along the fat of your ass, the circular smacks of his heavy balls along your thighs. Sure to leave marks that that sinfully short skirt of yours wouldn’t cover. 

“Ken! Ken- oh my god-” 

All you get in response is the sudden slowing of his mean pace, until your heady moans are softening down to mere whimpers. 

It still feels so dizzyingly good this way, having your snug hole stretch limitlessly around his girthy shaft. Knocking so deeply and thoroughly against your womb, clenching your saturated walls down with every graze of the neat tufts of blond at his hilt. 

“What did I say?” His mouth comes down onto yours in a heated clash of teeth and tongue and moans. So many rasping grunts furling from out of Nanami’s throat, spitting into your mouth, “Hafta- be hah- quiet. Or else Higuruma is- gonna- hear-” 

And that hypnotizing push and pull is punctuated by the greedy drag of Nanami’s thumb down your clit, spelling out little patterns. Over and over-

Thud!

“Hah- I don’t-” you’re startling when he hikes up a leg onto the desk, the change in angle making you all but scream out into his ravenous mouth. “Don’t think I even- care anymore ah!” Every one of those syrupy sweet moans falling from your lips have Nanami hammering in even deeper, rattling the desk with his strength. “Just wanna- just want you to-”

You’re gasping at the familiar work of his fingers on your sensitive nub - a flurry of letters all over. K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-O-K-E-

“Say it.” he bites down on your earlobe. “Spell it out f’me.”

“M-m’gonna-”

K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-O-

“Scream it out, no need to be embarrassed.”

“Cum!” you’re sobbing. Heaving for air when he doesn’t take even a second to slow down, “M’gonna cum, Ken. M’so f-fuckin’ close.”

His next words are murmured at the crook of your neck, dangerously above your racing pulse. Making you flinch at the sharp teeth indenting over your skin, “Then cum.”

Oh and when you do it’s like something snaps. Because all you know next is that you’re being fucked through such a delicious high. White-hot pleasure having you quivering deeper into Nanami’s hold, dragging out each one of your peaks. Your throat feels raw, head swimming so much that you almost don’t hear-

“Just the way I like you.” Leaving a lingering peck at your collarbone, “All gorgeous and-” At the sensitive underside of your jaw, “-blissed out and-” Before you’re jumping at sharp canines sinking down into the side of your neck. Hard. Possessive. 

It hurts - but it hurts so good that you don’t even register the way Nanami’s eyes flit to the door - slightly ajar now. Voice rising in volume when he finishes, “-mine.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - We’ll piss off the neighbors

“Mmpf- S-Sugu…”

“S-S-Sugu-” your beloved boyfriend is just leering, his velvety voice pitched dramatically high. Shoving apart your dangling legs so burningly wide to bully that furiously shuddering hot-pink vibrator even deeper inside your insatiable cunt. 

He’s grinning such a dangerous grin down at you, “Now, why don’t you lemme hear those pretty moans of yours like usual, gorgeous- instead of holding back?”

And all you can do is squirm around mindlessly when he’s feeding your sloppy cunt inch after smooth inch of more of the thin vibrator. Rummaging around your clingy walls so much, “Come on now-” A taunting thumb of his glides along the intensity meter - Setting 1, Setting 2. Before finally resting smugly on Setting 3. Long, dark lashes bat at you, “You’re breaking my heart here!”

“P-please!” you sob out, before immediately worrying your lower lip shut. And Geto notices - of course, he does. The determined smirk on his face turning into something a little colder, a little more predatory. 

“Aww, my poor baby doesn’t wanna speak with me.” he’s goading, leaving your plushy walls stretched full with the blissful girth of the vibrator. Letting you all but cockwarm it while he’s running a rigorous thumb over your puffed-up clit, “Tha’s fine. Whatever my girl wants, she’s gonna- get.” 

Geto’s sharp tongue is running lewd stripes up and down the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on the corners of your lips as if he isn’t driving you insane. As if he isn’t driving himself insane. The achy, fat tip of his reddened cock kissing wetly at your glossy folds, weeping hot precum that sticks to your slit, trickling down the buried hilt of the vibrator. Oh, how he knew - had planned out - exactly how he was going to make you scream. 

But for now, he’s only pursing his lips together, letting you babble and whine unfairly to yourself. 

“S’not- not that I hngh!” your entire body jolts when he’s wordlessly increasing the intensity - Setting 4. Nervous eyes flitting down to where Geto’s lengthy cock was sitting prettily across your open legs, throbbing. Waiting. “Jus’ the neighbors- hah- we got another noise complaint, Sugu–”

He still doesn’t budge, still doesn’t say a word. This time his fingers are toying your finger even sloppier. Tweaking and circles lazily along the sensitive nub, making you all but scream-

“Please- I promise-” you’re bucking your hips up for more more more. Feeling the sopping smack! of his hefty shaft come down on your skin, splattering translucent dredges of his syrupy precum all over your skin. “Promise s’jus’ that Sugu.” Shaky fingers of yours wrap around his long, inky hair - hauling him close to meet your lips, and you could feel the ridges of Geto’s toothy grin when you crack, “Feels so good- too good. N’- jus’ want your cock- hngh! Promise was jus’ trynna be quiet because the walls are th-thin and the-”

And then it feels like you’re being split apart, such a thick intrusion to your already filled-up cunt. Soft, supple walls being contorted around the vibrating toy - and Geto’s addition of his thick, weepy tip. 

“Say please, then.”

You’re so completely and utterly fucked out that you barely even hear him at first - body moving before your mind when your lips sag open. Jumbling out a mess of, “P-please.”

“Hmmm…” Geto pretends to think, but he’s still circling open your elastic entrance to fit his needy cock inside. Taking it slow, sensual - making sure your silky sweet walls are rubbing against each and every one of the prominent veins down his middle, the rotund end of his head shoving its way inside. “S’not ‘nough - how about ‘please, Sugu’?”

“Please, Sugu!” Your nails claw their way down his broad, milky shoulders - leaving red, red marks that make him groan. That make his hips jut forward in a solid, thorough thrust, “Please- d-don’t care about the n-noise complaints hah- jus’ wanna be full of all of you.”

Geto doesn’t know if he can move, fuck, he doesn’t even know if he’s breathing. Eyes widening, head thrown back at the slightest feeble clench of your velvety walls desperately trying to accommodate around his cock and the vibrator. 

It takes beat - two, of him grinding in filthy gyrating motions, abs flexing when his slender waist surges forward. All the way until that divot at his tip was branding into your spongy cervix, painful, cum-filled balls sticking thoroughly against your ass. Somehow, he’s managing to roll his eyes, “D-didn’t hafta hah- say that much, gorgeous.”

There’s a sharp flick! 

Setting 5. 

The heady room is instantly filled by both of your moans - so loud. Yours higher-pitched and cracking pathetically at the end, Geto’s throaty, like they were being dragged from his throat against his will. 

Immediately, he bores down at you with a bit lower lip, eyes half-lidded, the corners of his mouth curled up in what almost seems like a smile. “Guess I better quiet down myself- hngh- huh?” he gasps - heaves - tremors of the vibrator rubbing up so deliciously at the underside of his throbbing shaft, jostling with each hastening ram into your gushing cunt. “B-because now that I finally got you to scream out f’me-” 

You’re mewling when his thumb comes up uncharacteristically gently to swipe away your own lips from underneath your teeth - a habit, almost, at this point after you’d gotten a very huffy email about being too disruptive at night. Like right now. “-I don’t wan’ ta hear anythin’ else. And that includes noise complaints - because soon m’gonna move ya to our own house, pretty, don’t ya worry. And there-” Your forehead is branded with a soft kiss, your g-spot with a rough ram. “-you can scream as much as ya want.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Please please please.”

Choso couldn’t stop even if he tried - he couldn’t hold back even one of those broken, whiny pleas wrenching from his rosy pink lips. So loud, deep voice pitching up highly at the end every time the weepy divot at the very end of his fat tip reached into the spongy bottom of your pussy. 

“Baby- please, baby–” he drags out your sweet little nickname, two of his sizeable palms coming to splay out on the curve of your hips. Just dragging your gummy cunt down like a cocksleeve, helping you ride him in easy, relentless grinds. “Does it feel good? Tell me- does it- hah-”

His breath hitches with a sudden shudder when your fingernails dig into the side of his pale neck, using the leverage to just ram your cunt down in thorough, hypnotic gyrations.

“Please!” Choso’s gasping, eyes rolling to the back of his head. You’re jostling slightly precariously on his slender hips when he’s planting two feet flat on the silky sheets to buck up, up up- “Tell me- tell me how it feels, baby.”

Your fingers tighten involuntarily at the sound of his greedy beg, making him let out such a guttural groan. The sound sends shivers running along your spine, all the way down to where he was jackhammering into your ravaged cunt. Thumbing apart your swollen folds to keep them spread enough for him to bully his girthy hilt into. So depraved. Needy. “S-so good, Cho-”

It was an accident - really - you didn’t even mean to let the little compliment slip. But it’s enough for Choso’s eager cock to expand even girthier inside you, all the blood in his body rushing to stretch your elastic walls to their limits. You could feel him everywhere, molding you to the very shape of his cock. 

“Yeah? Oh yeah?” he’s hissing, craning his neck up to mesh your lips together sloppily. Languid, delirious - kiss-bitten lips smacking when they’re sucking on your lolled-out tongue. Fuck, how he missed your voice. “Tell me- ngh! Tell me more, please.”

Oh, but really - your sweet sweet boyfriend was so pretty like this underneath you. Milky skin damp with sweat, his dark eyes dewy with tears and locked on you, mouth parting open in ragged grunts. Your favorite little melody - it made the way you bite your lip stubbornly all the more sweeter. 

There’s another glissading stream of his sweltering hot precum coating your inner walls, sloshing around in a syrupy slow rhythm inside you. “Please-” He’s crying out again after a few more branding smashes into your bulging g-spot  - lips wobbly as if he was on the verge of bawling without your voice. “Wanna hear your sweet moans, y’know? S’my f-favorite song-”

And you swear your hulking boyfriend’s mouth was upturned into such a pretty pout at that very second, soft planes of his hands caressing up and down your bent thighs. You can’t help but hum, making his head feel so lightheaded with that teasing quirk of your lips.

Or maybe it was the way your fingers clamped down tighter around his neck, sure to leave a perfect array of bruises from your splayed-out fingers. Jerking him even closer- “Fine- open that mouth if you love my voice so much.” 

You’re barely even finishing the sentence before his jaw slacks open, tongue darting out - just in time to catch the steady glob of syrupy saliva you spit out. Right onto the middle of his tastebuds, Choso’s immediately slotting his mouth against yours in an even greedier mess of a kiss. 

“Didn’t think you- hngh! like my voice that much, baby.” you’re humming, letting him hurl into a frenzy of powerful mashes into your g-spot. Some missing - drawing long, eager glides of his rounded, thick head along your cervix. “I like yours too, y’know. So much.” Leaving a lingering drag of his jutted-out bottom lip between your teeth, “S’why I ah- hngh- held back- love hearin’ you.”

And oh, every honeyed word of yours goes straight into twitchy cock, pulsing painfully into your mushy walls. Curving upwards so deliciously, Choso’s hold on you tightens - enough to draw blood, you might think, had he not cut his nails just earlier. 

He’s fucking upwards into you so solidly hard - feverish drags of you down his massive length only getting rougher and rougher until he couldn’t-

“Don’t do that, silly girl- mm- can’t live without hearing those cute moans of yours, m’kay?” Big fat tears gloss down his sharp cheeks with how stimulated he was right now, and you could feel the weighty shifting of his balls. So tight they almost felt like they could burst. “So be loud. Be as loud as possible f’me- tell me how it feels, how you ah- want more- a-and-” His fingers now cup your face, leaving all the laborious duty down to his frantic hips. Yet, Choso didn’t mind - anything that let him glide a thumb along your spit-glossed mouth, tugging out your bottom lip from where you were trapping it between your teeth, “-and say my name.”

You do - and it’s just about all you can manage out when you’re leering down to bite on Choso’s sensitive earlobe. Exactly where you knew would make him shiver the most, rutting up animalistically to bounce you up even deeper, “Then cum f’me, Cho.”

And he thinks he will - fuck, at the sound of his name rolling off your saccharine sweet tongue he couldn’t hold back even if he tried. But not before teasing a hard roll of his thumb along your clit, “F-fuck you little- ah! You first, since you’ve been hah- holdin’ out on me. N’ this time-” His glinting eyes narrow, sharp canines bared in such a viciously fucked-out grin that it makes you clamp down - hard, “-you’re gonna be the one hngh- crying out, baby–”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - CHATTERBOX!

Now, usually when Sukuna had you all splayed out like this - your trembly thighs balanced on either side of his head, puffy pussy lips so sopping wet it made his mouth water - he knew you’d let out a few pretty noises. 

A mewl when his hot tongue laps up the syrupy juices sopping from either side of your slit, a moan of his name when all he does is card the very edge of his soft muscle between them. And finally - finally - his favorite, a whiny beg for, “P-please, Kuna- no more teasing!”

How cute. 

When you miss the first - he doesn’t think much of it, instead too engrossed in thumbing apart your swollen folds, admiring the way your greedy cunt was already glistening and winking down at him so sweetly. Spitting a fat wad of his saliva right on the bullseye of your entrance. When you miss the second, he’s concerned, humming a raspy growl at the back of his throat while wrapping two plump lips around your throbbing clit. 

And when you miss that last one - oh, now you’re gonna get it. 

Smack! 

All give digits of his thick fingers come down hard on your hovering pussy, sliding a glistening syrupy wet sheen down to his wrist. 

“S’this boring to you, woman?” the famed king of cures spits his words with a low, threatening rumble of his sculpted chest. And it’s all you can do to throb, whirling your glassy eyes down at his half-lidded, darkened gaze, “Anything else you’d rather be doing right now?” 

You’re shaking your head deliriously - but that’s not enough for him, of course. 

There’s another oozing little throb from your cunt - rewarded with another branding smack! across your sensitive clit. “Don’ wanna use your big girl words, hm?” Sukuna raises a brow, still holding such dangerous eye contact with you when he hollows out his cheeks, long tongue lolling out to make out with your pussy. “Fine then- let’s let this cute pussy speak for herself, hm?”

There’s only a drawn-out, sloppy squelch ringing through the heady air when he lays his tongue flat across your glossy lips. Just teasing around the very edge of your gushy entrance before the very tip of him dances up, up, up.

“Hngh!” you’re gasping at the feeling of him grazing over your clit in a sultry push and pull - and the sudden wetness of something else swirling around your syrupy sweet hole. “Wh- is that-”

“Shhh, didn’t ya wanna stay quiet, brat?” Sukuna cuts through your words, velvety coo making you just arch down harder to drag your slobbering cunt all across his eager face. And where that mean mouth of his was teasing you, his other - larger - tongue on his stomach was picking up wherever left off. More, even. “So shut up and let this pussy talk, why don’t ya?”

Ah, it was impossible to escape him. Two big beefy hands were steadied firmly around your quaking thighs, hauling you right onto his swallowing mouth, grinding you against his jaw like his favorite meal. You’re being bounced, almost on top of him - his other tongue driving you insane. 

Reaching all the spots you could’ve never even imagined. Arching into you almost as deftly as his cocks, bullying past your puffy lips and into every bulbous areas of your sensitive spots. Fucking you so thoroughly-

“Hey-” There’s another reminder - one of Sukuna’s free hands planting a solid smack onto the very bulge of your elastic walls around his tongue. “Think she said she’s getting close- Almost didn’t hngh- catch it ‘cause you’re being a bit too hah-” He’s craning his thick neck back in for a messy kiss against your clit. “-loud-” Again. And again and again- plump smirk glittered with all your sweet sweet juices. “-dontcha think?” Smack! You’re whining in response, drunken hips pushing down as if to shut him up, “S’like you want to hngh- moan f’me. If you wanna then why are ya being so- fuckin’- stubborn.”

And fuck, you were so far gone that Sukuna almost didn’t expect a response. Half-lidded gaze locked on the trickle of drool slobbering down your slack mouth, eyes bleary, soft whimpers barely even audible over the sinful squelches! from down below. You were so loud, so drippingly wet in each one of your noises that it has him running his free palm over the outline of his aching cocks. 

“B-because-” your wobbly voice makes his fat tips just gush out in thick ribbons of precum, seeping through the fabric of his decadent yukata and onto his fondling palm. “Felt embarrassing- the position a-and hah! got nervous I’d be too whiny or somethin’, Kuna…”

“That so?” Sukuna simpers, voice a little more silky soft than before. And the gentle smack! on your cunt reads as more fond than punishing, “Stupid brat- ya think I’d be like this if I didn’t like your pretty noises?” As if to prove his point, the two hands on your body ride you harder down his mouth. Sloppier. More depraved. “Nervous for what- s’jus’ me, y’know?” Tonguing back teasingly over your glossy clit, his eyes just bore into yours. Baritone vibrato pulsing down your achy pussy, “And I love every lil’ thing you do, my girl.”

His guttural moans are still echoing from the very base of your cunt when you cum - so hard. Violent, even, that Sukuna has to wrap his strong arms around you to keep you from escaping. It’s all your poor pussy can take. Waves of pleasure taking you away. Gushing and gushing so hard-

“Sh-shiiiit-” Sukuna utters - and it’s only then that you realize just how much you’d cum, quivering hole letting out bursts of your syrupy sweet slick. Just coating the entire lower half of his face, his cheekbones, down to his pecs in everything you’d squirted.

And while his lower tongue still laps at your honeyed juices, letting each bead slide down the muscle. He licks his lips with a sigh, “Let’s ask this gorgeous cunt if she can do that on my cocks now, too, hm? N’ this time- ya better scream f’me.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Shut up.

“Sweetheart…”

“Satoru.”

“No-” 

Maybe it was the way your sorry boyfriend was just aching to hear your sweet sweet voice moan around his name, maybe it was the way he’d been spending hours already groveling and worshiping your body. Or maybe it was the way your clingy walls just pulsed all around his weepy cock, squelching in a way that makes him salivate. 

“I told you, my girl–” he soothes out in an almost-whiny tone. Pressing an overly-wet peck at your forehead, your nose, on either side of that scolding pout on your glossed-up lips. “I’m- sorry- I’ll listen to whatever hah- gossip about your favorite show next time just please-”

Two rough hands rest at the globes of your ass, purposefully jostling your fucked-out body to face him - he wasn’t letting you escape any time soon. 

There’s the slow, lingering squelch of Gojo rolling his hips forwards in such a dizzying tandem. Shoving you further and further up those expensive silken sheets at the hotel suite he’d booked for tonight - all for his little apology. 

“I s-see that lil’ smile-” he’s grunting, forcing two fingers around your face to look right into his greedy gaze. “Aww, come on- wontcha forgive me? M’begging here- begging.” And when you’re still keeping your mouth stubbornly shut, he’s throwing your limp legs over his broad shoulders. Running a syrupy slow circle over your neglected clit, “-promise I won’t fall asleep next time ya hah- t-talk my ear off.”

You have to admit that every saturated glide of his throbbingly fat tip has your jaw slacking further and further. Honeyed moans just bursting behind your lips, he’s stretching you out so sinfully. 

And, yet, it was so fun to see the strongest all broken down like this - eyes drooping almost closed, pouty lips with a glistening sheen of spit, little whimpers sounding at the back of Gojo’s throat every time he’s knocking right into your bulged-out g-spot. It drove him absolutely insane to see you purposefully hold back your pretty moans. 

“No no no no no-” he’s frantically prying away the knuckles you’re biting down deliriously on, trying to ease out those soft little whimpers and mewls. “My stubborn girl.” Pecking lingeringly at your lips, “Won’t you just scream- f’me-”

With a singular, jutting slam! of his hard hips against yours, you’re just keening - because Gojo was just crashing angrily against your poor g-spot. No longer teasing grazes and glides along your soppingly wet walls, just daring you to beg for more as you always did. 

No, he was pressing into your g-spot with ferocious power, muscles rippling across his hulking body when he’s sliding his fat cock back, back, back- Only to reel all the way forwards, the very curve of his globular head curving thoroughly against your sweetly sensitive spots. Again. and again. And again and again-

“Ah!” you’re scrambling up onto your elbows, connecting your forehead with his own. “S’too-”

You didn’t know what you were going to say - to have him beg more- to have yourself beg for more? But whatever it was clings to your heavy tongue when you’re raising your head up to meet your boyfriend’s. 

Because oh you knew that flushed, blank expression on his face, the slight crinkle of lightning at his eyes. This fucker-

“Whoops.” Gojo’s grinning, not a drop of regret in his words. “Guess I must’ve hngh- accidentally used six eyes when I-” Another nudge of his rotund head against your g-spot, only picking up in pace. Only plugging you full of his deep, grinding inches - fucking you so thoroughly into the mattress that you could hear the bedframe creaking in protest, your own cunt squelching ravagedly. “-hah- fuck this cute pussy. But hey…” He leans his face even closer, that infuriating curl of his lips only growing, “-I don’t hear ya complainin’ now, do I, sweetheart?” 

“Especially when m’ruining you right-” Splaying out all five of his long, pale fingers across your stomach - drawing an invisible line where he was branding the imprint of the very top of his length into the bottom of your pussy. “-here?”

Fuck, he had you exactly where he wanted you. 

“Y-you’re so-” you’re managing to gasp, eyes narrowing as he leans in even mockingly closer. But you can’t hide the slutty bliss in your tone, the way you tug and tease his soft, snow strands. “-so infuriating, y’know. I shouldn’t even hah- be lettin’ you off the hook this easily.” 

He’s moaning twofold, like the sound of your voice electrifies him. Hefty shaft twitching with each piston, painfully tight balls just clenching so painfully. “Yeah- hahah- yeah, isn’t it because you love me?”

The entirety of his body shivers when you lock your legs tightly, bowing his body even closer to stick to yours. “It’s because-” you purr, batting your lashes so sultry. Spitting against his lips, “-you’re such a pain in the ass, Toru.”

And then he’s cumming - and cumming and cumming so hard that Gojo doesn’t have the time to be embarrassed. All he can really think about is the syrupy slow slosh of his seed painting inside your gummy walls, shooting out in thick dredges. 

You giggle, eyeing down at the puddle of cum and saturated slick oozing down your thighs. Leaking out of your weepy slit, “Heh…for someone that wanted me to hngh- s-speak up so much, you sure are weak, Toru.”

The second roll of his nickname on your tongue is enough for Gojo to be gushing out another wave of potent cum into your snug channel. Hissing, he’s swiping at the creamy ring forming around his hilt, pooling the mess on the large pads of his fingers before-

“Maybe s’better when you-” Bullying them between the seam of your mouth, he’s swirling around your hot tongue. “-don’t speak.” Your answering glare is enough, “J-just kidding!”

A/N. If y’all need me I’ll be in my prayer circle manifesting for a Gojo comeback…

Plagiarism not authorized.

[gloomwitchwrites]

I absolutely love your stories they’re so amazing! Can I please request the task force and pranking them by telling them a guy did your Brazilian wax

Thank you! I can't take all the credit. I might be the writer, but the Imagines Series couldn't be what it is without all the amazing ideas people have submitted. I'm honestly blown away by the amount of creativity and ideas sent my way. My inbox is full of wonderful requests, and while it's going to take me a bit to get to them all, I'm eager to complete them!

The amount of prank requests I've been getting has been so fun. Not just this one, but telling mom to shut up, and the premium air prank, etc. All of these make me giggle and have been a blast to work on. Thank you so much for sending this in!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, established relationship, pranks, non-descriptive nudity

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John briefly licks the pad of his thumb before counting out the appropriate amount of pound notes.

“This enough?” he asks, presenting it to you.

It’s more than enough. “Plenty. Thank you, John.”

He leans forward a bit, and you eagerly greet him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Drawing back, you give him your best smile. But beneath the grin is a trick.

You want to mess with him a bit.

“I have a new waxer,” you shrug, adding the cash to your wallet. “Cheryl put in her notice.”

Cheryl did not put in her notice. That woman probably won’t retire until she dies.

John inclines his head, already turning away. “That’s too bad. You liked her.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, grabbing your purse. “They’ve put me with someone new. A Mark? Mike? No—Marcus? I think.”

John freezes. He slowly turns back, cheeks bright red. “What?”

“It starts with an ‘m’,” you muse.

“Your new waxer is a man?”

“Yes,” you shrug. “And?” John’s face resembles a beet. “Everything good?”

“Where does Cherly work now?”

“John—”

He grabs his phone from his pocket and starts tapping away at it. "I want to know if she accepts walk-ins."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle's hand slowly runs over your newly waxed skin. "Look at you. So soft and smooth." His touch makes you shiver.

"You paid for it," you murmur.

"I did," smiles Kyle, head dipping.

His tongue makes contact, and you release a moan. It’s slightly distracting, but not enough to detract from you poking at him.

“Had a new waxer,” you sigh as Kyle goes in for another taste.

“Did you?” he asks absently, more interested in your new smoothness.

“A man, actually. Undergoing training. There were two of them in the room.”

Kyle's head snaps up. "What?"

"Why'd you stop?" you whimper.

"There were two men that waxed you?"

“No, Kyle. Just one.”

A series of emotions pass over Kyle's face. His mouth opens. Closes. And then his hand forms a fist, fingers flexing and relaxing as he mulls over something.

"Everything okay?" you ask, suddenly worried.

“Can’t be that hard.” Kyle pushes away from the couch and reaches for his phone. “Or expensive.”

“What can’t? Kyle. What are you talking about?”

You lean forward and see him adding a waxing kit to his online shopping cart.

“No,” you say firmly. “You’re not putting hot wax anywhere near my vagina.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Oh, what's this?"

Johnny's hands are on your thighs and then beneath your skirt in a moment.

"Johnny!"

"Is this for me? You don't have to. You know I like a good adventure through the woods."

"Johnny!" you say again, slapping his arm playfully as his fingers lightly squeeze, making your squirm in his grasp.

"Was this on my dime?" he asks.

"Maybe."

"Oh, aye. Am I gonna find an unknown charge?"

"With a tip. A large tip. My waxer deserved it. He did a good job."

"Oh, they—he?"

"Yes. That a problem?"

Johnny's hands don't retreat but he's staring at you—hard. You arch an eyebrow and he finally speaks. "Your waxer is a man?"

No.

"Yes."

Johnny nods and then he leans in, lowering his voice. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m—”

“I saw your location. I checked it out. They don’t have a single male employee in that place.”

Your face grows hot.

Johnny’s hands squeeze a bit harder, and then he lands a brief smack against the curve of your ass. “Lying to me, love?” Johnny tsks. He palms the curve of your ass where it stings. “Suppose I should punish you.”

“Maybe you should.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You reject the call and clutch your phone to your chest. You've messed up. Royally. Pranking Simon is always a terrible idea.

The texts were just a tease. Just a way to push Simon’s buttons.

I have a new waxer.

I thought it would be one of the other ladies.

But no!

It was a guy!

Your phone buzzes again and you nearly throw it across the room. It’s Simon. You decline the call. Everything is quiet for a few brief seconds before a text message from him comes through.

Answer your phone.

You click out a reply.

I'm in the car!

His reply comes instantly.

You're at home. I know your location.

Another incoming call. This one you answer.

"Simon,” you say flatly.

"What location did you go to?" he asks, voice rough with tension.

"Why?" you counter.

"What's his name?" he snaps.

"I know what you're doing, Simon.”

You always forget just how deep his possessive streak goes.

Silence. Then, "I just want to talk."

"Simon.”

He growls your name in warning.

"You don't need to go there. Just...come home. You can see the results for yourself."

He sighs. "I'll be there in ten. Be ready for me."

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[akunya]

“a humans touch.”

pairings: malleus draconia x m!reader

summary: you’re curious about malleus’s horns, so he lets you touch them.

tw: frottage (?), dubious consent, touching, implied age diff., size diff, etc. sfw.

notes: some food after a year.. thank you so much for all of the messages you’ve left me in the meantime. i can’t express how happy they’ve made me.

this is sfw, but i promise next fic will be filthy. enjoy!

“can i.. touch them?”

malleus’s head cocks to the side a little, a bit puzzled over your request. you and him were just lounging around the diasomnia dorm until you spoke up, breaking him out of his reading session.

“touch.. what exactly?” the fae questioned as he watched you moved closer to him, until you were staring at the top of his head. “oh, my horns? is that what you want to touch, child of man?” he couldn’t help but chuckle, closing his book and putting it on the coffee table. you nodded silently. sometimes, you were too adorable (in his eyes) for your own good.

“sorry if it’s a weird thing to ask! they just look so.. intriguing?” your voice trailed, trying to find the right words to describe his horns without offending the prince. “we don’t have many fae or dragons where im from.” malleus smiled fondly. he nodded before leaning down. he was much taller than you, with your little form barely reaching his torso — and he adored it that way. it added onto your undeniable cuteness.

“i don’t mind. i trust that you’ll be gentle with them. touch as much as you like, y/n.” his deep voice made you feel warm, nodding as you sat up straight, a tad guilty that he was straining his neck to appease you.

and so, you started your little examination. your fingers lightly grazed upon the tips of his horns, slowly rubbing up and down. malleus gulped. his brow furrowed for a split second. not wanting to comment on your actions, his fangs digging into his lips to keep quiet. his horns weren’t extremely sensitive, but they did have feeling, and every time you touched — it sent a shiver down his spine.

however, you were too engrossed in his strange anatomy to care. mumbling to yourself, you let your hands travel further down his horns, paying attention to the little crevices and ridges on the sides. “amazing. it almost feels like scales, in a way. it’s a bit.. leathery..?” nails delightfully scraped the faes horns.

he hummed happily, almost purring at the special attention from the boy he liked. other than you shuffling on the couch to reach higher, the room was quiet — except for malleus’s little huffs every now and then. your fingers kept traveling lower, until you gently caressed the skin where his horns had grown from. careful hands followed the scales, eyes widening at the plethora of little ridges that adorned his forehead. “these were here all along..?”

“are you surprised, little human?” the fae chuckled, looking up at you. his cat-like pupils bore into your own, bright green irises making him all the more enticing. it was amazing how other worldly he was: you couldn’t believe that this wasn’t a dream. even with hair slightly disheveled, malleus still carried a powerful yet dreamlike aura to him. the dorm leader looked as if he stepped right out of a fairy tale.

“a little. i wasnt expecting them to be on your forehead, too.” malleus felt the corners of his lips curve into a smile, and before you knew it, he pulled you onto his lap. you gasped in surprise, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and moving you as if you were a feather, until you straddled him properly and looked down towards him. your face was red as the older man chuckled.

“you got to touch wherever you wanted, so surely you’d let me do the same to you, hm?” he laughed at your stuttering, speechless as his hands went lower. claws dug into the thick of your thighs before traveling back up, a careful index finger lightly traced around your crotch. he was teasing you on purpose. malleus would give you everything, but that didn’t mean he disliked being mischevious every once in a while, especially when your reactions were priceless.

“m-malleus—“ you tried to speak up, eyes scrunching shut when sharp nails circled around your crotch again. you were a toy in his hands, and that idea seemed to only spur you on even more. shaky breaths left your lips as he continued to rake and touch your frail frame.

soft lips grazed the shell of your ear before parting to speak. “sshhh, little human. you don’t want anyone to hear us, do you? some diasomnia students might still be around..” malleus chuckled, leaving a small kiss before nuzzling into your neck.

his body hunched over yours, as if he was caging you in his arms as much as he could. a hefty sigh made the fae relax, you scent letting him unwind.

on the contrary, the close proximity only made you feel even more antsy. never have you been this close to the dorm leader. what started as innocent curiosity led to something much more interesting, with you having no choice but to stay still and let him explore your own human body.

“i don’t want to waste any time, so behave, okay? let me really see how a human reacts to touch.”

[hoshifighting]

can't stop thinking about dumbification w wonwoo....he's one cocky mf and I just KNOW he'd be so filthy😩😩

what are your thoughts??

dumbification with wonwoo WARNINGS: smut, dumbification, fingering, squirting, dirty talk.

tbh you never expected this kind of shit to happen with him, least of all. wonwoo—who barely blinks when u flirt or tease, as if he's above it all. but now, fuck, he's got you on your back, legs spread wide and trembling, fingers pressing so deep inside you that your mind is starting to blank out, and all you can think about is how good it feels. you’re already a mess, whining and squirming, trying to catch your breath while he's got that stupid smirk playing on his lips like he’s enjoying every second of watching you fall apart.

“shit, look at the mess youre making of yourself baby girl, so fucking wet f'me” he mutters, voice raspy, fingers pushing in and out of you at a slow, agonizing pace. “can’t even think straight, hm?” you try to form a response, something snarky or witty, but all that comes out is a whimper, hips lifting to meet his touch, desperate for more. he’s dragging this out on purpose, you know it. trying to push you past the point where you can keep that sharp tongue of yours and turn you into nothing but a mess beneath him.

“wonwoo,” you manage to gasp, voice catching as he curls his fingers inside you just right, brushing against that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. “please—" he chuckles, deep and dark, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your neck as he leans in closer. “please, what?” he taunts, fingers slowing down to a maddening pace, just enough to keep you on the edge but not enough to push you over. “you want more? or are you already too fucked out to handle it?” you shake your head, trying to clear the haze, but it’s impossible. the heat pooling in your belly is making you splash, fever spreading through your limbs and making your mind go blank “answer me,” he commands, his free hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. “use your words, baby. or is that too hard for you now?”

your brain is a foggy mess, but you try to focus, try to form some semblance of thought. “fuck—more, please, i—” your voice cracks, the words barely coherent, but it’s enough for him.

“good girl,” he purrs, and his fingers speed up, pumping into you harder and faster, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the air. “see? you can be good when you try.” it’s embarrassing how fast you lose yourself after that. the pleasure is too much, too intense, and all you can do is lay there, legs twitching, hips bucking, completely at his mercy. you’re babbling now, words that barely make sense falling from your lips as you beg for more, beg for him to let you come, to end this delicious torture. “you like it when i make you stupid, huh?”

you can’t respond. not in any way that matters. the only thing you manage is a broken moan, hands clutching at the sheets like a lifeline as the heat builds inside you, threatening to consume you whole. you’re so close, teetering on the edge, and he knows it. “go on,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “show me how dumb i can make you. show me how fucking good i can make you feel.”

t hits you all at once. your vision goes white, body convulsing as the orgasm tears through you, so intense you barely register the flood of wetness soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. you’re shaking, gasping, unable to form a single coherent thought as the pleasure washes over you. wonwoo watches you fall apart, “fuck, that’s it,” he murmurs. “look at you. didn’t think i’d get you this messy.” u’re still trembling, still trying to catch your breath, and all you can do is nod weakly.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 7

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky’s gut had been gnawing at him for weeks, a familiar, nagging feeling whenever Ian was around. Something about the man didn’t sit right, and Bucky couldn’t shake the sense that he’d seen this behavior before. His instincts kicked in, and he ordered someone to dig deeper into Ian’s past.

The brown envelope arrived the next day. Bucky sat at his desk, his eyes narrowing as he tore it open. Inside were the results of the investigation—pages that painted a much darker picture than he’d anticipated. As he skimmed the documents, his jaw clenched, and a low curse escaped his lips, “Shit.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next day, you and Bucky arrived at a shelter for single mothers, a stop on the campaign trail. The women inside had experienced hardships most people couldn’t imagine, fleeing from abusive partners and trying to rebuild their lives. Their stories of survival hung in the air, unspoken but palpable in their tired eyes and wary smiles.

You moved through the room, serving food and making small talk with the women, trying your best to offer some comfort. As you handed a plate to one woman, you said softly, “I understand what kind of psychological torment you’ve been through. I hope you stay strong.”

The moment the words left your mouth, what you’d meant as a word of encouragement didn’t land the way you’d hoped.

Later that night, a video of the conversation went viral. It was clear someone had recorded the interaction and released it online. Bucky knew this had to be the work of his opponents, seizing the opportunity to discredit you—and by extension, him.

You watched the video, feeling a pit form in your stomach as the comments poured in:

"Stay strong? She doesn’t seem like someone who’s ever been through what we have."

"She wouldn’t understand. She lives in a happy home. How could she possibly know what it’s like to run from someone who’s supposed to love you?"

Their words cut deep, slicing through your carefully constructed image. They didn’t know the truth—that your marriage to Bucky was its own kind of prison. Pretending to be the perfect wife had taken a toll on you, but no one saw behind the curtain.

You froze, feeling exposed, as if they’d somehow sensed the cracks in your façade. You had become so good at lying, at convincing the world that you and Bucky were happy, that now, faced with these women who had lived through real pain, you felt like a fraud.

Furthermore, you wanted to tell them that you understood, that you too had felt trapped and powerless. But the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you smiled for the cameras, playing your part, knowing that your life was being documented as an example of “happiness.”

Then your eyes landed on a comment that sent you reeling:

"If they’re so happy, wouldn’t they have a kid by now?"

The question hung in the air, mocking you. They didn’t know the truth—how could they? And yet, their words seemed to pierce through the mask you’d been wearing for so long.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The silence between you and Bucky was heavy, almost suffocating. You hadn’t said much since the shelter incident, and Bucky could sense your stress in the way you barely touched your food or drank any water. You sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the untouched plate in front of you.

Bucky watched you for a moment before stepping closer, his brow furrowing with concern. He gently touched your forehead, his fingers warm against your skin.

“You have a fever,” he said, his voice low with worry.

You immediately pulled away from his hand, your body instinctively recoiling. Your stress had a way of manifesting physically, and whenever you were overwhelmed, your body shut down. This was no different.

“Don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice hollow.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew this would happen, knew how your body responded when you were pushed too far. Without a word, he slipped his arm around you, supporting you as he guided you toward your room. You didn’t resist, too tired to fight.

“Just leave,” you said once you reached your room, your voice barely above a whisper.

But Bucky ignored your words. He sat you down on the edge of the bed, gently lifting your feet into his lap. You stiffened in surprise as his hands began to massage your aching feet. The familiarity of the gesture caught you off guard—he used to do this all the time when you were together, especially on nights when you came home exhausted, too tired to even think.

Your face grew warmer, though not just because of the fever. The tension between the two of you was palpable, a mix of unresolved emotions and unspoken words hanging in the air. Bucky’s touch, once comforting, now felt like it held the weight of all the things left unsaid.

“I’ll bring the medicine,” he said after a few moments, his voice softer now.

You didn’t respond, too lost in the swirl of emotions flooding your mind. The way his hands moved, the care in his touch—it was all too familiar. It made your chest tighten with memories of when things weren’t this complicated.

As Bucky stood to leave, you finally spoke, your voice quiet and raw. “Why are you doing this?”

He paused, turning back to face you. “Because I care. I always do” His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it was as if the walls you’d built between you both cracked, if only just a little.

You didn’t respond, not knowing what to say. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy as the exhaustion of the day and the fever pulled at you. Bucky noticed, his eyes softening. Without another word, he pulled the blanket over you and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You lay there, your mind racing despite your body’s exhaustion. His touch, his words, they lingered long after he’d gone. You hated that he still had this effect on you. And yet, deep down, there was a part of you that wanted to believe him, wanted to let your guard down. But after everything, how could you?

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You woke up, feeling the weight of exhaustion still clinging to your limbs, but something was different. The fever that had clouded your mind the night before was gone, leaving you with a sense of relief. Slowly, you sat up, glancing around the room. Bucky wasn’t here. It was the first time you’d been alone in the apartment since arriving.

The quietness felt strange, almost eerie. For a moment, you simply sat there, trying to shake the grogginess from your mind. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to explore the space. The apartment was large, meticulously designed, but there was a personal touch to it that reflected both of you. You wandered through the rooms until you stopped at his office.

The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open. His office was a mess—papers and law books were scattered across the desk and shelves, as if he’d been too busy to organize anything. But something caught your eye, an area that was surprisingly tidy amidst the chaos: his vinyl collection. It was neatly arranged, displayed with care, each record in perfect order.

Bucky loved collecting vinyls. You remembered that about him. As you approached the collection, your eyes scanned the spines of the records. Most of them were from artists both of you used to listen to. Your fingers grazed over the albums, a nostalgic pang in your chest.

Then, something unusual caught your attention. Tucked between the vinyl sleeves was a piece of paper, slightly worn. Frowning, you pulled it out and realized it wasn’t just any paper—it was a letter.

You stared at the handwriting, your heart skipping a beat. It was Bucky’s handwriting. Slowly, your eyes widened as recognition dawned on you. It was a letter he never sent. A letter to you.

Your pulse quickened as a rush of emotions hit you. Should you open it? Guilt twisted in your stomach, but then that familiar voice—the devil on your shoulder—spoke louder. He wrote this for you. He never sent it, but it’s yours.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you quickly hid the letter under your shirt, glancing around the office as if someone might walk in at any moment. Your heart raced as you hurried back to your room, the letter burning against your skin like a secret you weren’t supposed to know.

Once in the safety of your room, you sat on the bed, staring at the letter in your hands. The room felt smaller, your breaths shallow. Was this right? Should you be reading this? But you couldn’t stop yourself.

With trembling fingers, you opened the first letter.

It was short, written in Bucky’s familiar scrawl.

"I’m sorry. I know everything we went through must have been painful for you, more than I ever realized at the time. We were close, but we never truly communicated. I knew you were hurting, and I did nothing to stop it. That’s my fault. I’m the one to blame.

One day, if we ever meet again, I hope you’ll give me another chance. You deserve happiness, and I wish you the best of luck in finding it, even if it’s not with me."

You blinked, feeling a lump form in your throat. You hadn’t expected this. An apology. Words you thought you’d never hear—or read—from him. Your hands shook as you carefully unfolded another letter.

"I read your article. It’s really good. I always knew you’d make a great writer. You’ve always had a way with words. I’m proud of you. I hope you have a safe journey."

The words blurred for a moment as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You never knew he was following your work, that he cared enough to read what you wrote. It felt like a secret window into a part of him you thought had closed off to you long ago.

With a deep breath, you opened the final letter, bracing yourself.

"I’m worried about you. Going to a war zone as a journalist—it’s dangerous, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Please be careful. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. I pray every day that you’re safe."

Your chest tightened as you finished reading, the rawness of his words washing over you. Bucky had been worried about you all this time. His concern, his pride—it was all there, hidden in these letters you were never supposed to find. And yet, here you were, holding the pieces of his heart in your hands.

It was overwhelming. You didn’t know how to feel—angry, confused, touched. All you knew was that the walls you had built to protect yourself were starting to crack, and you weren’t sure if you could put them back together.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You and Bucky met Greg again to prepare before heading to the TV station for the debate. Greg, always thinking ahead, was pacing as he went over the final details. His sharp gaze darted between you and Bucky, trying to ensure everything would go smoothly.

As the minutes ticked by, Greg suddenly paused, his face lighting up with an idea. "Perhaps," he suggested, "before Bucky heads out for the debate, you could give him a peck on the cheek. You know, for the cameras. A little show of affection can go a long way."

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, your expression neutral. "Okay," you agreed simply. The decision seemed easy enough—just a small gesture for the public eye. However, from the corner of your eye, you noticed Bucky’s brow arch slightly, a glint of surprise crossing his features.

Bucky glanced at you, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "How about a kiss on the lips instead?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your exasperation. "Shut up," you muttered, though the warmth of the moment lingered between you. Bucky chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the brief banter as Greg scribbled down notes, already planning how to work this into the media strategy.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The day of the debate finally arrived. The room buzzed with tension as cameras were positioned, reporters whispered amongst themselves, and the stage was set. You stood backstage with Bucky, watching as the other candidates made their entrances. Edgar, running for president, was calm and composed, the very image of a seasoned politician.

Then there was Brock, another candidate for vice president—and Bucky’s long-time rival. The two had been at odds for years, their competition fierce and personal. The air between them crackled with animosity as they took their places.

As the debate began, the moderators threw sharp, pointed questions at the candidates, each probing their policies and character. Bucky was in his element, answering each question with practiced ease. His words were clear, his tone confident, and his delivery flawless. Every question thrown at him was met with a precise, well-thought-out response.

Moderator: "Mr. Barnes, what would be your first priority in office?"

Bucky: "My first priority is to address healthcare. Ensuring affordable and accessible healthcare is the cornerstone of a strong nation. We must invest in preventive care and make it easier for families to access the support they need."

The audience nodded in agreement, and even the other candidates seemed to respect his answer. Brock, however, was struggling. Every time he tried to match Bucky’s eloquence, he stumbled, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to make a point.

Moderator: "Mr. Rumlow, what is your stance on education reform?"

Brock: "Well, uh, we need to… to invest in schools, yes, but we can’t just throw money at the problem. We need accountability, and we need… um, better results."

His answer lacked the conviction and clarity that Bucky’s did, and you could see the frustration in Brock’s face as the debate went on.

The tension between the two men simmered, especially as Bucky continued to outshine him with every answer. But just when it seemed like Bucky had the upper hand, Brock saw an opening—and took it.

At the height of the debate, Brock's voice cut through the air, sharp and malicious. "You talk a lot about honesty and integrity, Barnes. But what about your brother? Didn’t he hit someone and never face any punishment?"

The room fell silent, a heavy, uncomfortable stillness filling the space. From your spot backstage, you could feel the tension roll off Bucky in waves. His muscles tensed beside you, his jaw clenched tight. This was his darkest family secret, one he’d hoped to keep buried. But now, here it was, dragged into the spotlight in front of a national audience.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his eyes narrowing as he shot Brock a cold, hard glare. For a moment, it looked like Bucky might lose his composure. The silence stretched on, the entire room holding its breath, waiting for his response.

But then, with a deep breath, Bucky straightened, his voice steady but laced with restrained anger. "My brother's actions were reprehensible, and there is no excuse for them. But unlike my opponent, I believe in accountability—and my family has taken steps to address that privately. This debate is about the future of this country, not digging up personal attacks to avoid talking about real issues."

The room shifted as Bucky’s calm yet pointed response cut through the tension. Brock, visibly thrown by how easily Bucky had deflected his attack, fumbled for his next words, but the damage had been done. Bucky had taken control once again, leaving Brock at a loss.

Backstage, you watched the scene unfold, a mixture of relief and pride swelling within you. Bucky had handled the moment with grace.

But you knew you couldn’t rest. With Shawn’s dark secret now exposed, it meant that your marriage to Bucky could be the next scandal to surface.

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A Heartbeat Between Us II

Summary:

Aemond learns about his impending fatherhood as things get a little heated in his office with Y.N and he seeks the support of his brothers before he confesses all to Alys.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Features a Flashback Memory, Swearing, Fingering, Alcohol Consumption, Infidelity, Mild Violence, Kissing, Oral Sex (F & M Recieving), P in V.

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 7177

A.N - I used Zac Gabriel as the face claim for Daeron.

A.N - Most of the story is already written, as I start a new job on Saturday :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood

Y.N stepped into Aemond’s office, her breath catching at the sight of him sitting on the edge of his desk, arms folded, his head cocked slightly to the side, a smirk playing on his lips.

Gods, look at him.

His fitted black suit clung perfectly to his lean form, the eye patch and his long silver hair tied half-up in that effortless way. Her eyes flicked down to his lips-those lips and the way they-

No. Not here. Not now.

“Y.N. What a pleasant surprise,” Aemond greeted, his voice smooth as he gestured toward the leather sofa. She smiled nervously, walking past him, aware of his gaze lingering on her.

She crossed her legs as she sat, and Aemond's eye darkened briefly with memory—of how her skin felt beneath his fingers, the taste of her, the way she came undone in his arms.

The way those perfect tits of hers bounced as she rode him.

His cock stirred involuntarily, and he had to shake his head to rid himself of the thoughts.

Aemond took a deep breath and sat next to her, trying to maintain composure. Silence stretched between them, the tension palpable.

“Y-You have a nice office,” Y.N. said, breaking the silence.

“Thank you-” Aemond replied, his gaze never leaving her. “-So what can I do for you?” His tone was light, but she could sense the underlying curiosity.

Oh gods. Here we go.

Y.N. took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I-I’m p-pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unmistakable. Aemond stared at her, stunned into silence.

His usually sharp mind blanked as he tried to process what she had just said to him.

He sat there, motionless, expression unreadable, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“Aemond?” Y.N. waved her hand in front of his face, concerned. “Did you hear me?”

Aemond blinked, snapping out of his daze. “D-Did you just say-that you’re pregnant?”

“Y-Yes” replied Y.N.

“How?” asked Aemond cringing internally at his own idiocy as he knew how babies were made.

What a fucking moron you are Targaryen.

 “Well, we didn’t use protection,” Y.N said quietly.

Aemond groaned in frustration, running a hand down his face. The reality of his actions settled over him like a weight.

That night had been intoxicating—too good, too overwhelming for either of them to think clearly. The alcohol didn’t help, and neither did her tight wet cunt wrapped against his cock. He had lost all control.

He was utterly shameless in his need to feel her like that again, but now wasn’t the time for that.

He took her hand instead. “Forgive me for asking, I know you and Jace broke up, but was there any-”

“-It’s not Jace’s,” Y.N. interrupted quickly. “I’m eight weeks along-and I haven’t been with Jace in months,” Y.N. continued. “-I haven’t been with anyone else either. You were the last”

A possessive thrill shot through Aemond, knowing she hadn’t been with anyone else since their night together.

Aemond swallowed, still trying to wrap his head around it.

A child. Their child. A piece of him and her together. Growing inside her right now. His seed had taken root inside her womb.

Fuck he was getting hard.

“I came to tell you because it’s the right thing to do,” Y.N. said, her voice steady. “But I won’t force you to be involved. If you don’t want anyone to know, then I’ll keep it a secret.”

Aemond’s grip tightened around her hand, his eyes flashing with anger. “You want me to forget you’re carrying my child?” His voice was low and dangerous. “That’s not happening”

“I can do this on my own,” Y.N. replied firmly. “I’m perfectly capable.”

“So, you’re keeping the baby?” Aemond asked, and Y.N. looked hurt by the question.

“Of course I’m keeping the baby,” she snapped, her eyes stinging with emotion. “Would you rather I have an abortion?”

“No!” Aemond quickly said, his tone softening. “That’s not what I meant-I just-I never thought I’d have children. And now-this-” He ran a hand over his face, overwhelmed.

His composure slipped as he reached up and wrenched off his eyepatch, throwing it on the sofa.

Y.N. stared at the sapphire in his eye socket, her breath hitching at the sight of him.

Even in this vulnerable moment, Aemond was breathtaking. His raw beauty had always left her speechless.

“We should get married,” Aemond blurted out.

Y.N. gasped, shocked. “We can’t. What about Alys?”

Aemond stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the office, frustration rolling off him in waves.

Damn it. He was in a relationship, and not only had he cheated, but now Y.N. was pregnant.

“I’ll tell Alys-” Aemond said, taking a deep breath. “But I want to be involved. In everything. The baby, the appointments, all of it. I won’t run away from my responsibility-”

Y.N. nodded, relieved that he wanted to be there. She reached into her handbag and pulled out the scan photo. “I only have one copy-” she handed it to him.

Aemond stared at the tiny figure, a smile tugging at his lips.

Their baby. His baby. A tiny person that he helped to create.

He handed back the scan photo as Y.N. took out her phone and seconds later, his phone buzzed with a message. He opened it to find a picture of the scan.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I mean it, Y.N. I want to be there. For you and our baby”

Y.N smiled and stood up, slowly smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt.

“Where are you going?” asked Aemond.

“I’ve said what I needed to say. Now, I’m starving, and I need pickles.”

Aemond grimaced “Pickles?”

 “The baby makes me want them” laughed Y.N

Before she could leave, Aemond reached out, gently placing his hand on her stomach. Y.N. smiled at the touch.

They were so close, and Aemond couldn’t resist as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a slow, passionate kiss. His hand slid around her body, pulling her close as the kiss deepened.

He slowly backed her up against the door, lifting her slightly as she moaned into his mouth, feeling the hardness of his cock pressing into her.

His hand slowly moving under the fabric of her skirt, skimming the soft flesh of her thigh before his fingers rubbed her pearl over the cotton material of her knickers.

“Already so wet for me” groaned Aemond.

“A-Aemond” breathed Y.N.

“Does it feel good baby?” asked Aemond.

“Oh-Aemond-yes-please” whimpered Y.N as he moved her knickers aside and slid two of his long fingers inside her.

“It’s been so long since I last felt you” whispered Aemond as he curled his fingers inside her.

“So long-oh yes” replied Y.N moving her hips in time with Aemond’s fingers.

“Are you going to come already? I can feel you clenching” muttered Aemond, his fingers still moving inside her.

“Yes-Yes. I-I’m going to-” whimpered Y.N

“Shhhh-” urged Aemond as he surged forward his lips on her muffling her scream as her peak exploded, her cunny clenching around Aemond’s fingers.

A sudden knock at the door broke the moment, and they pulled apart, breathing heavily.

Aemond lowered her gently back to the floor, his forehead resting against hers for a brief second.

“Let me if you know if you need anything,” whispered Aemond as he removed his fingers and then put them in his mouth, his tongue swirling around his fingers, savouring the taste of her.

“I-I w-will” muttered Y.N as Aemond pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

Aemond watched as she smoothed out her clothes and left the office a little wobbly legged.

Once she was gone, Aemond poked his head out of his office and barked at his assistant, “Hold my calls for fifteen minutes.”

With a heavy sigh, he pulled out a bottle of whisky from his desk drawer, taking a long drink.

Holy shit. He was going to be a father. Y.N. was the mother of his child and he'd just fingered her in his office.

What the fuck was he doing?

Aemond sat alone in his office, staring out the window at the sprawling city below, but his mind was far from the towering skyline.

His fingers drummed idly on the armrest of his chair, the familiar hum of work barely registering.

Instead, memories of that night played out vividly in his mind, as if they had happened just moments ago-

He leaned against the lower bar at the Dragon's Den, swirling his drink, trying to convince himself he was here to unwind.

Aegon and Daeron had practically dragged him out, insisting he needed to loosen up after weeks of work.

He had reluctantly agreed, not because he wanted to, but because the constant pressure at Targaryen Inc. had left him worn thin.

It was actually Helaena’s text that had first piqued his interest. She had casually mentioned that she was going clubbing with Y.N.

He hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now, as he scanned the room and his eye landed on her, he felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

Gods, that dress-those legs. He wondered what it feel like to have his head between them.

She looked absolutely incredible, more beautiful than he remembered. His heart stuttered in his chest, and his grip tightened around his drink.

He had known Y.N. for years, ever since school. At first, she had been just Helaena’s annoying friend—always around, always talking.

He couldn’t stand her back then. Or so he’d told himself.

But then one day, something shifted. She stopped being annoying, and he found himself thinking about her far too often.

A stupid, insecure kid who hid behind sarcasm and cruelty because he couldn’t handle the fact that she made him feel something.

His eye injury had left him insecure about his appearance, and he’d been too much of a coward to admit how he really felt. Instead, he was a prick to her.

Always keeping his distance, always lashing out. But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her constantly.

Didn’t stop him from fucking his fist at the thought of her, imagining what it would be like to touch her, kiss her, have her.

So pathetic.

But she’d gone off to a different college, and by the time she came back, everything had changed. He’d started working at Targaryen Inc., and Alys had entered the picture.

She had gotten involved with Jace, his strong-bastard nephew. Aemond clenched his jaw at the memory, the bitter taste of jealousy rising in his throat.

Of all the people she could have been with, it had to be him-

Aegon elbowed him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Stop staring at Y.N.,” he laughed, clearly enjoying Aemond’s discomfort.

Aemond scowled, pushing Aegon away. “I’m not staring at anyone. Get lost.”

But Aegon wasn’t buying it. He smirked, clearly amused by the whole thing. A group of girls walked past them, giggling, shooting flirtatious glances in their direction.

Daeron, who had been quietly sipping his drink, sighed. “There are some lovely women here tonight.”

Aemond barely registered his younger brother’s comment. His gaze flicked back to Y.N., who was still across the room, laughing with Helaena.

She looked radiant, so effortlessly beautiful it hurt. He wondered if she’d noticed him, or if she was too wrapped up in whatever she was talking about.

Daeron leaned closer. “Aren’t you with Alys? I’m not sure she’d approve of you staring at other women.”

Aegon chimed in with a chuckle. “You know Alys is all wrong for you.”

Aemond sighed heavily, the conversation grating on him. “Give it a rest.”

His brothers never missed an opportunity to remind him of how ill-suited Alys was. Maybe they were right. Maybe they weren’t.

It didn’t matter, not when Y.N. was here, looking like that, making it impossible for him to think of anything else.

Then Daeron had to open his mouth, “Isn’t Y.N. dating our nephew?”

Aemond muttered an insult under his breath, something about Jace’s strong parentage.

Aegon, ever the instigator, laughed. “I don’t see a ring on her finger.”

Aemond drained the rest of his drink, rolling his eyes. “Just because you have the morals of an alley cat doesn’t mean everyone else does”

But even as he said it, his gaze wandered back to Y.N. Then, their eyes met—across the dancing crowd, over the flashing lights.

For a moment, the noise of the club faded away. She looked at him, really looked at him, and the connection between them was instant.

There was something in her eyes, something that made his pulse quicken. And then he smirked, unable to help himself.

Daeron, clearly enjoying the scene, downed the rest of his drink. “Watch and learn brother” Before Aemond could stop him, he was already making his way over to Y.N., striking up a conversation.

Aemond watched, feeling the familiar surge of jealousy tighten in his chest as Daeron led her to the dance floor.

Damn that dress and how she looked in it.

All Aemond could think about was what she might be wearing underneath it—if anything at all.

He wanted her. Badly. Wanted to pull her close, kiss her, feel her body pressed against his, sink his cock into her.

Aegon leaned in, laughing. “Daeron seems to be making progress.”

Aemond scoffed, unable to tear his eye away from Y.N. “Not for long.”

He had seen it—her glances, the way she looked at him over Daeron’s shoulder. That look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

Finishing his drink, he set the glass down with determination. He wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines any longer.

As Daeron danced with her, Aemond pushed his way through the crowd, locking his gaze on her.

That night, every sense of control he had possessed was gone. That carnal, desperate urge overtook him, and Alys—everything else—became a distant memory.

It was reckless, it was wrong, but he didn’t regret a damn thing.

The next morning, as he watched Y.N. walk around her kitchen in her little shorts and tank top, that fire ignited in him all over again.

Sure, he could blame the alcohol, but deep down, he knew the truth—they had always had something.

Something more than physical attraction. Something that went deeper, beyond lust.

She had always matched him intellectually, always pushed him, always knew how to get under his skin.

Even back in school, when she critiqued his every answer in class or challenged him, she had ignited something in him no one else ever had.

Not even Alys.

When he first started dating Alys, the allure had been there—an older woman, the mystery of it all. But it had eventually soured.

He’d wanted to end things, but his grandfather Otto had convinced him to keep her around, considering her ties to Larys Strong.

His feelings for Alys were muted and shallow. He’d settled because he never thought he’d have a real chance with Y.N.

But now, everything had changed. Y.N. was pregnant with his child. They’d kissed and gods help him he’d fingered her in his office, and if they hadn’t been interrupted, he was sure he would have had her bent over his desk.

She had infiltrated his mind, his body, his every waking thought.

Gods, he was so screwed.

Aemond sat across from his brothers at the dining table in his penthouse, the three of them surrounded by hastily opened containers of Chinese takeout.

For a while, they ate in silence, the occasional clatter of forks and slurping of noodles the only sounds in the room.

“So,” Aegon began, leaning back in his chair, “-What was the big emergency that you needed to invite us over for?”

Aemond finished chewing and wiped his mouth with a napkin, eyes flicking between his brothers. He let out a slow breath, bracing himself before speaking. “Y.N. is pregnant.”

Daeron, mid-swig of his beer, sprayed it everywhere in shock, while Aegon choked on his spring roll, coughing violently.

Aemond sat there, watching as they both struggled to recover, stone-faced.

When Aegon finally caught his breath, he croaked, “Are you being fucking serious?”

Aemond nodded. “Yes.”

Daeron blinked, wiping his mouth. “How did that happen?”

Aemond gave him a deadpan look. “Surely I don’t have to explain the dynamics of sex to you, little brother.”

Daeron wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Eww, no thanks-”

“So, she’s pregnant?” said Aegon his face a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Aemond, clearly growing impatient, shot up from his seat. “Yes, she’s pregnant! There’s a baby growing inside her, and I’m the fucking father!”

Daeron, still processing, blurted out, “Haven’t you heard of condoms?”

Aegon burst into laughter, nearly knocking over his plate. “Oh, for all the lectures I’ve had to endure from our mother over the years about safe sex, and it’s my little brother who didn’t wrap it before he tapped it. Now he’s having a baby out of wedlock—Mother is going to kill you.”

Aemond narrowed his eye at Aegon. “Try not to sound so happy about it.”

“I’m going to enjoy it because, for once, it’s not my fault,” Aegon shot back with a grin, leaning forward in his chair, clearly enjoying himself.

Daeron, laughing now, pointed at Aegon. “It was your idea to go to the club, so technically it is your fault.”

Aegon jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “Shut up”

Daeron, still grinning, shifted the tone. “It’s not just mother you should worry about. What about Alys?”

Aegon jumped on that immediately. “Maybe mother will be happy to have a grandchild, especially knowing Alys isn’t the mother.”

Aemond shook his head, not wanting to think about the impending confrontation with Alys. It was a situation that grew more complicated by the second.

Daeron’s expression turned curious as he asked, “Is that why Y.N. was at the office today?”

Aemond’s eyes sharpened. “How do you know she was at the office?”

“I saw her leaving,” Daeron shrugged. “She seemed a little flustered.”

Aegon’s face lit up, noticing the shift in Aemond’s expression. “What happened?”

“N-Nothing,” Aemond muttered, eye narrowing in warning.

Aegon, giddy with excitement, leaned forward, voice teasing. “Did you fuck in your office?”

Daeron, now laughing along with Aegon, added, “Did you?”

Aemond took a long swig of his beer, then sighed. “No. We didn’t, but we almost did. We kissed—and I may have had my hand under her skirt, but we were interrupted.”

Aegon raised his beer in mock sympathy. “Aww, how unfortunate for you. But come on, you can admit it now—you’ve got a thing for her.”

Aemond’s patience snapped. “I do not!”

Daeron chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, you do. You’ve had a face like a wet weekend since you slept with her, and now you’re positively glowing. Just admit it.”

Aemond set his beer down a little too forcefully. “I like that she’s intelligent and I like her smile.”

Aegon scoffed, almost choking on his drink again. “That’s not the only reason you fucked her. Let’s face it—she’s better for you than the wicked witch of the west.”

Aemond ignored Aegon’s jab, reaching for another beer with a sigh. “Hurry up and finish your food. Alys will be round soon, and I’d rather not have an audience when I tell her.”

Aegon made a dramatic face of mock horror. “Don’t be a spoil sport.”

Daeron nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you could at least video it, so we have enough evidence to give the police when she kills you.”

Aemond growled at Daeron, but his younger brother just exchanged a look with Aegon before the two of them burst into laughter.

Aegon shook his head, grinning wide. “I’m not rushing my food and giving myself indigestion just so you can panic over telling your girlfriend you’ve knocked up another girl—oh man, I can’t believe I said that. It’s so scandalous.” He laughed harder. “You dirty dog!”

“Aegon, duck!” warned Daeron.

Aegon moved just in time to avoid the remote that Aemond hurled at his head.

Laughing even harder now, Aegon got up, grabbing his jacket. “Perhaps we should go, Daeron. Mr. Sensitive over here looks like he’s about to have a hernia.”

Daeron stretched and stood up, finishing his beer. “Fancy a quick stop for a stronger drink before we head home?”

“Sure, why not?” Aegon slung his arm over Daeron’s shoulder as they headed to the door. “After Aemond’s baby bombshell, I think we both deserve one.”

Aemond, fists clenched, shouted after them, “Get out!”

Their laughter echoed through the hallway as they left, waiting for the lift, still teasing him as the door closed behind them.

Aemond stood in the middle of his penthouse, his heart racing as he received a text from Alys: “On my way over, be there soon. Can’t wait to see you. xx”

Panic set in immediately. The place was a mess after his brothers had left, the takeout boxes still scattered across the dining table and the remnants of their impromptu meal cluttering the space.

He could already hear Alys’s voice in his head, scolding him if she arrived and found the place looking like a pigsty.

Plus she would likley nag him about eating take out and not eating the proper food to keep his body fit, even though he worked out regularly.

Without wasting a second, Aemond rushed into action. He grabbed the empty takeout containers and tossed them into the trash, wiped down the table, and hurriedly washed the dishes.

The sounds of clinking plates and running water filled the otherwise silent kitchen. He could feel the pressure mounting, not just from the impending arrival of Alys, but from everything that had built up over the past few days—weeks, even.

Once the place was spotless, he sat down on the edge of the sofa, bouncing his leg anxiously as he waited.

His thoughts raced. How would he tell her? How could he possibly explain what had happened, not just with Y.N., but the baby?

He barely had time to dwell on it before he heard the familiar ping of the lift doors opening, followed by the clicking of heels on the polished floor.

The door unlocked, and in walked Alys, arms laden with shopping bags. Aemond immediately stood up, hurrying over to take the bags from her.

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips in gratitude and moved to sit on the sofa. Aemond placed the bags down beside her before asking, “Did you enjoy your shopping trip?”

“I did,” Alys replied as she slipped of her heels “I saw Helaena.”

Aemond’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, right. Everything okay?” He tried to sound nonchalant, but panic surged through him.

He prayed that Helaena hadn’t mentioned anything about Y.N. His sister didn’t know about the baby-yet, but she did know that he’d spent the night with Y.N.

“She was-muttering to herself and walked off before I could say hello,” Alys said, her tone dripping with mild annoyance. “Honestly, she’s so weird.”

Aemond’s patience, already stretched thin, snapped. “You know I don’t like it when you insult my sister.”

Alys smiled, standing up and walking over to him, her hands moving slowly over his chest as she offered an apology.

“I’m sorry darling” Her hands slid lower, and she pressed her body against his. “You seem-a little out of sorts. Maybe I can help with that,” she whispered before kissing him.

He kissed her back out of reflex, but it felt wrong, his mind, traitorously, drifted to Y.N.

Aemond remembered how she had looked in his office when he had his hand in between her legs, how wet she was and the sounds she made as she climaxed.

A flash of heat surged through him, and his cock began to get hard, and Alys mistook his sudden flare of arousal as desire for her.

She managed to undo his belt, but the instant her fingers began fiddling with his buttons, reality snapped back into place.

Aemond recoiled, pulling away from her.

“What’s wrong?” Alys asked, her voice sharp as she watched him hurriedly button up his trousers and wrench off his eyepatch.

He caught the brief look of disgust she gave when she glanced at his sapphire eye—so different from Y.N., who had told him he was beautiful, making him feel seen in a way Alys never had.

But he couldn’t think about Y.N. right now, not with Alys standing in front of him, waiting for an explanation.

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of what he had to confess. Turning to the drinks cabinet, he pulled out a hidden pack of cigarettes, lit one quickly, and took a long drag.

“I thought I told you to quit that,” Alys said, her voice tinged with irritation.

“I need it” Aemond muttered, exhaling smoke, trying to calm his nerves.

“You’re acting strange,” she noted, suspicion creeping into her voice. “What’s going on?”

Aemond took another drag before stubbing out the cigarette, steeling himself. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Alys crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

He exhaled slowly, avoiding her gaze. “Do you remember when you were in America with Larys?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice guarded. “Why?”

“I went out with Aegon and Daeron while you were gone,” Aemond began, feeling the weight of the confession build in his throat. “Helaena was there-with Y.N.”

Alys’ expression darkened at the mention of Y.N. “What have you done, Aemond?”

He swallowed hard. “I had too much to drink. Alys, I’m sorry, but I-I slept with Y.N.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Alys stood frozen, processing what he had just said.

Then, in a flash of fury, she picked up a vase and hurled it at him.

“You did what?” she screamed.

Aemond ducked, the vase smashing against the wall behind him.

Before he could react, she grabbed another smaller vase and hurled it at him, her eyes blazing with rage.

“How could you do this to me?!”

He dove behind the sofa, barely dodging the second vase as it shattered on the floor.

“It was a drunken mistake,” he lied through gritted teeth.

The truth was that it hadn’t felt like a mistake at all.

It had been incredible, and he’d thought about it every day since. He wanted it to happen again, even though he knew it was wrong.

Gods, he was a terrible person.

Alys’ voice cut through his thoughts. “Do you have feelings for her?”

Aemond stood slowly from behind the sofa, his gaze hard. “No.”

Another lie.

He did have feelings for Y.N. He always had, even before Alys.

Alys stepped closer, her voice trembling. “Was it just once?”

“Yes,” muttered Aemond.

Another lie, he had his hand between her legs today.

She took a deep breath, her anger momentarily subsiding as she considered the situation.

“Maybe we can-work through this-”

Aemond cut her off, his voice low. “-There’s something else I have to tell you.”

Alys’s eyes narrowed in suspicion again. “What else could you have possibly done?”

Aemond took another breath, the words heavy on his tongue. “Y.N. is pregnant.”

In anticipation of Alys throwing something else at him, Aemond instantly dropped to the floor, hiding behind the sofa again.

He peeked over the back of the couch and saw Alys standing there, her face drained of colour.

“How do you even know it’s yours? She’s seeing your nephew.”

Your nephew too, if the rumours are true.

“No, she’s not,” Aemond replied as he stood up, feeling his frustration rise. “They broke up months ago. The baby is mine.”

Alys’ expression twisted with disgust and hurt. She pulled on her heels and reached into her bag, pulling out the keys to his penthouse, and throwing them onto the floor.

“I’m leaving.”

“Alys, I’m sorry. It was an accident—”

“Oh, what happened?” she snapped sarcastically. “You tripped, and your cock  just happened to land inside her?”

Aemond grimaced, unable to respond.

Alys’ voice cracked as she asked, “Is this because I can’t have children?”

Against his better judgment, Aemond stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “No, that was never an issue.”

She buried her face in his chest, sobbing. “How could you do this to me? I love you.”

Aemond rolled his eye, his inner voice immediately chafing at her words.

Loves my name more like.

After a moment, Alys pulled away, her face hardening.

“It’s over,” she said, her voice shaking but firm as she gathered her shopping bags and left without another word.

Aemond winced as she slammed the door.

Well, there’s no going back now.

Y.N. sat curled up on her sofa, watching Jaws on the television, the tension building in the movie as she readied to take a bite of her pizza.

Just as the shark loomed on screen, a loud knock at the door startled her, making her jump. She quickly checked the time—8:30 PM.

“Who the hell is visiting at this time?” she muttered under her breath.

If it was Jace, she swore she was going to kill him. She was sick of the barrage of text messages he’d been sending.

One moment, he was apologetic and sweet, the next, angry and demanding. She hadn’t replied to a single one all day.

Peering through the peephole, her stomach flipped when she saw long silver hair on the other side of the door.

“Oh, bugger,” she mumbled, her hand hesitating on the door handle.

What was Aemond doing here?

She opened the door, and before she could say a word, Aemond blurted out, “I told Alys.”

Y.N. blinked in surprise. “Oh-you’d better come in, then.”

Aemond stepped inside, and as he passed, she wrinkled her nose at the faint odour of whiskey that clung to him.

He didn’t seem drunk, just tense and slightly dishevelled. He flopped onto the sofa, immediately eyeing the pizza box.

Without asking, he reached over and snagged a slice.

“Oi! That’s mine,” Y.N. scolded.

“But I’m hungry,” Aemond shot back with a smirk.

“You have a perfectly good penthouse. Bugger off and get your own pizza.”

Aemond’s lips curled into a lazy grin. “Yeah, but you’re not in my penthouse.”

Y.N. couldn't help but smile at the awful attempt at whatever the hell that was supposed to be.

She sat down beside him, shaking her head. “Don't steal my chips.”

Aemond pouted dramatically. “Aw, come on. Don’t be stingy.”

With a smirk, Y.N. poured a generous amount of garlic sauce over the chips, thinking it would deter him.

Aemond laughed, stuffing a handful into his mouth. “Joke’s on you. I like garlic sauce.”

He licked the sauce off his fingers, and for a moment, Y.N. stared at him, feeling unexpectedly flustered.

She quickly cleared her throat. “So, uh-how did Alys take the news?”

Aemond sighed, leaning back against the sofa. “She threw a couple of vases at me-and then ended things.”

Y.N. felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Aemond shook his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who pursued you, even though I had a girlfriend.”

His gaze shifted to the flowers sitting on the side table. “Who are those from?”

Y.N. sighed. “They came today. From Jace.”

At the mention of his nephew’s name, Aemond’s eye narrowed, a spark of irritation flashing across his face.

“What does that twat want?”

“He keeps asking me to get back together with him,” Y.N. said, rolling her eyes. “-he knows about the baby-just not who the father is.”

“Oh, really?” said Aemond smugly.

 “Don’t you go telling him either.”

“Would I?” laughed Aemond wriggling his eyebrows.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how that conversation will go-” Y.N. sighed. “It’s not like I can call him up and say, oh, Jacey, you know that I’m pregnant? Well, your uncle Aemond is the father. Yeah, the same uncle who’s eye your brother carved out when you were kids, and the same uncle who you got into a fight with five years ago at a family dinner because he made a strong toast”

Aemond sniggered, remembering the altercation with Jace and the satisfying feeling of breaking his nephew’s nose.

Y.N. glanced at him and then at the pizza. “Want another slice?”

Aemond shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

Y.N. cheered and immediately began eating with gusto, “I’ve. Just. Been. So. Hungry. Lately” each word followed a bite of pizza.

Aemond sat there, watching her with a soft smile, thinking about how lovely she looked—even with a smear of pizza sauce on her cheek.

When she finished, Aemond grabbed the empty boxes and tossed them into the bin. When he returned to the sofa, he was chuckling softly.

“What?” Y.N. asked, confused.

“You’ve still got tomato sauce on your cheek,” Aemond said with a smirk.

Before she could wipe it off, Aemond leaned in and kissed her cheek softly, running his tongue over the sauce.

The unexpected gesture made Y.N. gasp, and when she looked at him, their faces were mere inches apart.

The air between them grew thick, hot, and charged with unspoken desire. There was no hesitation—no denying what had been building between them.

Their lips collided in a passionate, heated kiss. Aemond wrapped his arms around her, lifting her easily into his lap as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

Y.N.’s fingers tangled in his silver hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, fiery and intense. Aemond stood, still holding her, and carried her effortlessly toward the bedroom, their mouths never parting.

Aemond’s lips never left Y.N.’s as he lowered her onto the bed, their breaths ragged and hurried, the heat between them building to a fever pitch.

His hands roamed her body eagerly, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of her p.j shirt before slipping underneath.

Y.N. gasped into his mouth as his touch sent shivers racing down her spine, her own hands moving to tug at the hem of his shirt.

In a flurry of movement, Y.N. pulled his shirt up, and Aemond broke the kiss just long enough for it to come off before their lips met again, more demanding this time.

His own fingers worked quickly on riding her of the strappy shirt she wore. The cool air hit her chest as her shirt slid off her shoulders, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of Aemond’s body as he pressed closer to her.

Y.N. arched into him, her hands moving with purpose, her fingers deftly unbuckling his belt, pushing it aside with urgency.

Aemond groaned, feeling her touch so close to where he needed her, but his focus was on her now.

His hands slid down to the waistband of her shorts, pushing them down in one smooth motion, her legs helping to kick them off entirely.

Fuck she wasn’t wearing any knickers.

The intensity in his gaze as he looked at her, bare beneath him, made her heart race even faster. She pulled at the waistband of his trousers, and he quickly complied, standing just long enough to let them fall to the floor, his shoes kicked off hastily.

As soon as he was back over her, their bodies pressed together, skin to skin, Y.N. let out a low moan at the feeling of his warmth, the weight of him against her.

His lips moved to her neck, kissing and nipping gently, while his hands slid down her sides,

“Let me take care of you” muttered Y.N as she placed kisses along Aemond jaw and then down his neck, making sure to gently nip and suck his skin as she went.

She carried on moving down, pausing as she reached his chest, she grinned as she took one of his nipples into her mouth, her tongue teasing it before she bit down.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Do you like that?” asked Y.N as she moved across and gave his other nipple the same

“Oh. Gods-” whimpered Aemond as she moved further down his body, her tongue and teeth grazing his pale skin.

When she reached the trail of hair from his belly button down to his cock, she pressed her nose against him and giggled when she felt the hair tickle her skin.

Aemond lost his senses the moment Y.N’s warm, wet mouth quickly wrapped around the head of his swollen cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Y.N!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

Y.N ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond knew it would push the limits of his control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Y.N’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.

Her head moving back and forth, her perfect pink lips stretched around him.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted.

Y.N smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

Y.N responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of Aemond’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his balls.

“Shit-Y.N. I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

Y.N took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Y.N’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking?” asked Y.N.

“Y-Yes. Now get up here and ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond.

“Are you sure?” whispered Y.N

“Get up here-now” ordered Aemond, his cock already twitching with interest.

Y.N hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty pussy" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Y.N’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Y.N her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it. Let me hear you” 

“YES. It feels so good” whimpered Y.N.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond-just like that” shrieked Y.N.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Y.N, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Y.N "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds, his nose bumping against her pearl.

“Oh" whimpered Y.N; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.

“That’s it, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond.

Y.N was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that surely her neighbours would hear.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. Come for me baby, come for daddy” moaned Aemond.

Finally, he felt Y.N’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Y.N’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at Y.N’s centre as she came.

After a few minutes, Aemond gently urged her to move down, so she was hovering above his cock.

Her hand wrapped around him, running the head of his cock along her warm wet folds.

“Your such a tease” moaned Aemond as his hips jerked involuntarily.

“But it feels so good” replied Y.N as she slowly moved down on his cock, so only the tip of him was inside her.

“P-Please” whimpered Aemond.

“Uh-uh” said Y.N shaking her head from side to side.

After a few minutes Aemond couldn’t take it anymore and seized Y.N’s hips, before sheathing his hard cock into her soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Y.N.

"Gods. You feel so good-missed you-missed this-" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Y.N, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of Y.N squeezing his cock.

“P-Please” whined Y.N as Aemond began teasing her pearl with his thumb.

“That’s it-take all of me”

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Y.N.

“You like that?” groaned Aemond his other hand grasping her hip.

"Faster, please" begged Y.N.

“Like this?” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Y.N.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Y.N" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Y.N "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me”.

Aemond knew exactly what Y.N was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Y.N wanted faster, and he was going much faster now, his feet planted on the bed to give him more leverage and his pace increased with every filthy word that dropped from Y.N’s luscious lips as he thrust into her.

“Aemond-I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Y.N.

Y.N looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond then withdrew, ignoring Y.N’s whimper of protest as he rolled her onto her back and quickly sheathed himself inside her again.

She wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, drawing him closer as he began to thrust inside her, his cock reaching deep inside.

“I-I’m going-to come” moaned Aemond.

“Yes-oh don’t stop-please Aemond” whined Y.N.

That, combined with how glorious Y.N felt, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed.

Aemond shifted slightly, adjusting his position so he could wrap an arm around Y.N.'s waist, pulling her closer.

His hand instinctively splayed across her stomach, fingers resting gently against the tiny curve there, a silent acknowledgment of the life growing inside her.

He stared down at her in the dim light, watching as her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing softening into the slow, rhythmic pattern of sleep.

For a moment, Aemond couldn't move. He could still feel the lingering electricity between them, the intensity of their passion moments ago still hanging in the air.

But there was something more now—a quiet sense of peace as he held her, his thumb absentmindedly stroking small circles on her stomach.

His mind wandered to the future, to the child they were now tied together by, to the uncertainty of what would come next.

Y.N. shifted slightly in her sleep, turning toward him, her head resting against his chest. Aemond closed his eye, letting out a slow breath, feeling the weight of everything, yet feeling more grounded than he had in a long time.

He held her a little tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before resting his cheek against her hair.

TBC

[olivianott]

BRAIN CHEMISTRY

Tell me I’m not the only one happily not recovered from the deatheatertok (yes that’s why I’ve been MIA😬) and the Lorenzo Zurzolo gifs from the other day? 😭 I could not help myself with this one.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION, OCTOBER CAME EARLY TO ME.

ꕤ 1.6k words 

ꕤ deatheater!Theo Nott x fem!reader

ꕤ warnings: toxic ex, deatheater Theodore, pure smut, unprotected sex, explicit content, not for minors, 18+

ꕤ all characters are adults

You knew you were in trouble. That you fucked up. You somehow found yourself at a party in an unknown manor. You and your friend got talking with some people at a pub and now you are surrounded by glimmering Death Eater masks. Everyone is acting as if they are just having fun at a party. But you see their eyes following the two of you everywhere. 

You already know what is going on at these parties. You heard stories, awful stories, from him. You wonder if he is in attendance. No. Stop thinking about him, he didn’t want you anymore. He is one of them after all. 

You try to think of a way out for you and your friend. Get drinks, but don’t drink them, discreetly inch towards the entrance while smiling and acting like you’re having the time of your life, getting through the door and the few steps over the anti-apparition wards and poof, you’re both safe. 

That was the plan. Everything went smoothly, until just before getting through the door, your path is crossed by a tall Death Eater with an overly decorated mask. “Hello, beautiful.” He says while you watch your friend successfully execute the plan and disappear with a crack. 

You turn around and try to escape the lewd gaze of the big Death Eater, but there is another one in your path and you realize you are surrounded. Fuck. This is not good. No, don’t panic, don’t panic.

You panic.

Your vision starts to blur and you can’t seem to think straight. Heart in your throat, the ground becomes unsteady. Another mask enters your field of vision, too close to your face. This mask looks elegant, not overly decorated, but with artistic lines strategically curved around the planes of the artificial face. He grabs you by the upper hand and starts to drag you away from the crowd that formed around you, barking something to the other Death Eaters. You try to fight him off but it’s not working, his grip tightens and when you don’t stop, he loses patience with you and puts his wand under your chin. It doesn’t hurt but the threat makes you tremble in fear.

The man leans down next to your ear and hisses: “STOP IT.” The voice is so hard and threatening but at the same time familiar. 

You momentarily freeze and that gives him time to drag you through the hall and into a bedroom. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He closes the door after you and you finally have time to compose yourself, because he goes to the other side of the room, leaving you alone. While he locks the room with his wand, your mind clears slowly. You suddenly realize why the voice is so familiar. 

Theodore Nott. 

You’ve never seen him in his Death Eater robes and a mask before, but now you can’t stop looking at him. 

Theodore turns around, throws his mask on the bed, and stalks to you so fast, you actually step back in fear until your back is against the door. “Why the fuck are you here?!” He spits in your face, his eyes are feral and full of anger but also fear. 

“It was an accident, my friend thought it would be a good idea to-“ 

“To what? To enter a devil’s lair full of fucking Death Eaters that enjoy killing too much and don’t ask for permission to do anything? Don’t you fucking know what’s going on at these gatherings? Fucking hell!” He is talking quietly but with so much anger, you can actually feel his magic vibrating between you. 

“What’s it to you? You’re one of them now, you look like you’re right at home at this vile party, huh?” 

“Do you really think I like it? That I wanted this? Do you even know where you are?”

“In some nasty pureblood’s manor?”

“Yes. Welcome to the Nott manor.” His sarcastic smile falls off his face as he looks down and backs off of you, finally letting you breathe air. 

Oh. Nott manor. It’s his home. 

“Are you actually hosting this party?”

“Well, as I said, those people don’t ask permission for anything, so here we are. But now you are here and you made this night even more difficult for me. They have set their eyes on you now and they are hungry, in more ways than one. The Death Eaters need their food, and they like to play with it before eating.” 

He says this so matter of factly it takes a while for your mind to catch the whole truth of what you’ve casually walked into tonight. 

“You’re a Death Eater too now.”

“Exactly.” He smirks. 

You’ve missed him so much. His scent brings back memories, and you feel your body heat up despite his arrogant behavior and attempts to scare you off.

“What- what are you going to do to me?” You say breathlessly. Without your permission, your mind shows you pictures of you and him from the past, the little bit of fear just heightening your excitement. 

“Oh please, you know I’m not like-“ he stops himself mid-sentence and focuses his glare on your throat, pulsing with blood rushing through you, your red cheeks, your trembling hands, the rise and fall of your chest. 

“Now I remember.” His mouth curves in this arrogant smirk and his eyes look mischievous at the same time as dangerous. 

“You like danger… you like being scared, amore? Does it turn you on? Tonight you bit more than you could chew though, princessa. And now…. You are trapped in here. With me.” 

You can’t respond to him, but your body does. Your breathing gets more labored and you can’t help your gaze falling to his lips. 

His hand starts roaming down your body while again hovering over you, leaning against the door, the height difference between you more obvious than ever. 

“I- uhh…-“ you are unable to say more. But you close the distance between you and crash your lips against his. 

Theodore groans loudly, takes both your hands in his, and slams them against the door above your head. 

“Oh princessa, you don’t know what you just started, do you?” His hard kisses resume and your mind is filled up with sensations. 

The feel of his body against yours, the hardness of the door digging into your back, his teeth biting your lips, dragging against your throat, his lips sucking on your pulse point. 

Your eyes are closed, but you feel your feet leave the ground as Theodore picks you up and sends you flying on the bed. While crawling over you on the bed, he picks up his mask and puts it on his face. 

Fuuuuck. 

You can barely see his eyes staring down at you from behind the mask, in between the short strands of hair falling down around it. 

The world is a blur now, clothes start flying off of you, his hands tracing your curves. Suddenly he loses patience and flips you over, on your hands and knees on the bed. With his hand under your chin, he makes you look up. A mirror. Your moan is embarrassingly loud. The vision of him in his mask behind you, admiring you through the mirror, hand grabbing your throat… you’ve never seen anything hotter. With his other hand he traces your wetness and groans into your ear: “So ready for me princessa, you really do get turned on with fear and danger. How nasty of you. Was this your plan all along? To get fucked by a Death Eater?”

You can only manage to shake your head no, since he is already opening his Death Eater robes and taking out his beautiful cock. 

“I bet you were hoping to find me here, right? Wanted to make me take you back? Make sweet love and be together forever?“ He chuckles condescendingly at that thought. „Look at you now, writhing under me, dying for me to fuck you like this, with my mask on. Scream for me, princessa.” You can’t see the expression on his face since he is wearing his mask but his words are so degrading and harsh. And still, your eyes roll back into your head. 

And you do scream for him, you can’t help it, you are overwhelmed with sensation, his hands, his cock, his scent. After a while, your arms give out and he pushes your chest down into the bed, holding your hands crossed behind your back, you can’t even move. You are completely at his mercy and the feelings in your head are so confusing. You feel pathetic, under him like this, your body getting rocked by his trusts, but still, the way his cock feels inside you, the way he seems so powerful and in control of you and your pleasure with the way he manipulates your body and mind creates a fog inside your brain. Surrounded by his grunts, you realize he is using you for his satisfaction, seemingly oblivious and uncaring about your comfort or pleasure. You being completely naked, with your face in the mattress while he is still fully clothed behind you is just another layer of the humiliation. But your fucked up brain makes you love it so much that with his whimpery moans in your ear you finally lose control as you feel him lose the rhythm and push all the way inside you, so incredibly deep,  as he spills himself inside you. 

There is no cuddling after. He unceremoniously pulls out and sits in his bed propped up against the headboard, a trembling hand bringing a cigarette to his mouth, while you try to find your clothes and dignity on the floor. 

“Nice show. You were loud enough, so now they know you’re mine and hopefully leave you alone. Doesn’t change anything between us though. You can use the floo to get out of here and I hope to never see you at these things again, you understand me?” He says all of this so coldly and without even looking at you at all, so you quickly throw on your clothes and leave through the floo, throwing a “you’re still the same asshole” at him over your shoulder. 

Sitting on your sofa two days later, you are replaying everything that happened that day in your head. Your brain keeps getting stuck on the fear in his eyes when he dragged you to the room, a shaking cigarette in his hand after the sex, a slight tremble in his voice while he kicked you out of the manor after fucking you into oblivion. 

Maybe everything is not as he wants you to believe. He saved you from them after all. 

As always, thank you for reading, hope you liked it. I’m not done with deatheater!Theo though 🤭.

moodboard

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ Your principessa ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚

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[cheriladycl01]

Crash into my life - Lance Stroll x Civil Servent! Reader

Plot: You work in a fancy government job, pretty boring 9-5 but Lance Stroll and his insurance claim makes your job that little bit better

Your job wasn’t exactly fun, wasn’t exactly boring. It was one of those jobs that you’d got it at a young age and worked your way up through the ranks as you’d got better and better and because it was safe and something you were good at you stuck with it.

To keep it short and sweet you were a civil servant. Not like 007 kind of crazy stuff but you did work for MI6 in their fraud, tax and insurance department.

You basically took over insurance claims that were over a certain threshold and had to go through the government for … whatever reason whether they are a foreign National claiming in the UK or something.

Usually it was boring matters such as Chelsea Football Club claiming compensation for things as simple as water damages etc. You didn’t even really get to see anyone, you had the data and you analysed it against the scenario and hey presto you made your pay out.

Your favourite time of the year was winter. More claims came through and life was more unpredictable thanks to the whether. Delayed train into London St Pancreas? No tubes working so you have to make the 20 minute walk to your office building from the station. Slipping on ice, it was the only excitement you got in life which was honestly kind of sad.

For you it started at as a normal Monday. You woke up at 7am, brushed your teeth, got into a nice corporate appropriate outfit, got on the train, got a coffee from Pret before heading into your building.

That was your routine, and you didn’t often differ from it unless you had holiday booked. But working a 9-5 Monday - Friday often meant that you

But it felt like there was a different buzz today around the building like there was something going on.

When you all went into the morning briefing for the cases you’d get today, everyone was way too excited for 9am and the start of the day. You sat down next to your office buddy Shiv and looked around confused.

“What in earth is going on with everyone?” You ask looking over at Shiv who’s typing away on her laptop taking in information.

“Apparently there’s some really interesting cases to work on up for grabs today” she explains and you nod knowing once every blue moon some exciting things would crop up and have the whole office acting like kids on Christmas.

You’re all still waiting for the department boss to come in, joining in conversations about what could possibly be happening today.

“Ladies and Gents please take a seat for the meeting to commence. Thank you. Thank you” he offers smiling and everyone gets comfy.

“So we’ve got some exciting stuff today. I’ve formed a team to deal with the Train Networks Claim, that’ll be Shiv, Brayden and Ravi” he says and they all nod writing in their pads what tasks they’d have to do today.

He went through all of them apart from you, before dismissing the meeting. You were slightly confused and therefore packed up yours things a little slower than everyone else to see if you could stay behind and ask why you hadn’t been given an assignment.

“Y/N could you stay behind so I can talk to you for a moment” he asks and you nod, going to the end of the long conference table where he was stood.

“I like you, you’re young and learn quickly and I want you to progress more than you already have so I’m giving you a really important case. You’ll actually get to meet the said person affected, he’s … of high value so be considerate of your wording when talking to him. Alright thank you, here’s the case! Have a report to me by Friday” he offers and you nod happily. You take a seat opening up the material seeing the name of the claimer immediately.

Lance Stroll

You read through the facts, apparently he crashed his Aston Martin driving down the M1 to get to Silverstone into some sort of government van.

After analysing some of the data yourself, a knock comes on your office door from one of the younger interns.

“Erm, Y/N there’s two men in suits here to see you?” She asks rather than tells you, it wasn’t common for people to come in and out of the building due to the confidentiality of the work conducted here.

“Send them in please, but before you do ask them if they want anything. Tea, Coffee, Water” you smile and go back to reading another report from a police officer who was on the scene of the accident.

You watch as two men walk into your office space. One looking younger maybe the same age as you and one looking significantly older which you assumed was the dad.

“Good morning” you smile lightly before going back to some data on your computer. They took a seat, patiently waiting for you to address them.

Lawrence, who you’d just read about in the report who was indeed the father, cleared his throat as if to get your attention.

“Give me one minute Mr Stroll and I’ll be right with you” you smile, still nose in your computer.

“We’ve come all this way to the city centre to see you it would be appreciated if you didn’t waste our time” he huffs and even just from this reaction a bubbling of excitement started in you, just at the promise of actually seeing a client and talking to them in the flesh.

“I understand that, but I won’t be able to tell you much unless I see all the data” you say looking up at them through your glasses. This time you notice Lance and how he’s just sort of staring at you.

“Can I help you Mr Stroll?” You ask looking over him.

“No, I’m all good. Take your time” he smiles and you nod. In 5 minutes you believe you’ve combed through enough data to talk to them.

“This is awfully interesting I almost never get to see the people behind the claim” you smile happily and they both nod.

“Okay so so far from what I can see is there was a crash in your vintage Aston Martin that was for an event at Silverstone, the race track and that you got into a collision with a government van trailing a foreign national?” You ask.

“In short terms, yes … but” Lawrence tries to declare.

“And you weren’t present Mr Stroll” you say looking in the direction of the older man.

“No I wasn’t” he huffs out.

“Okay, then I will ask you to just step out my office while I get an account of the events from your son, if that’s alright with you. Just down the corridor there’s a waiting room there, help yourself to the food and drink in there” you smile hoping to butter him up a little to get him out.

“Alright” he says before taking his leave.

“Okay Mr Stroll lets…” you start but he interrupts you.

“Lance, please just call me Lance” he offers and you nod.

“Well Lance, it’s not … looking great” you start of slowly and he looks at you shocked.

“What do you mean? Your guys went into me?” He says raising his voice slightly and you give him a stern look that has him sinking into his seat.

“Don’t come into my office and raise your voice when I’m doing my best to help you!” You exclaim placing a pad in front of him.

“Sorry it’s just that my dad isn’t happy already that i totalled a car that was needed for race day” he sighs rubbing his temples.

“Ahhh so you’re an F1 driver. Or is it NASCAR because of the accent?” You ask and he looks shocked as if you were supposed to know who he was.

“Er F1” he offers and you nod.

“You any good?” You ask writing done some more notes as you watch the camera on the government vehicle as Lance’s car didn’t have one.

“Excuse me?” He chokes out and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I mean im currently looking at your claims for a super car that you totalled and so I can’t help but ask if your any good” you tease and once he heard the tone he gets it and just rolls his eyes.

“Oh haha laugh it up” he says and you do.

“Im sorry but this is quite possibly the most fun I’ve ever had in this job. It’s rather boring most days so I’m just making the most of it” you smile and he smiles back.

“Okay I can see that they did in fact turn into you. And of course I’m here for the people. The issue is where your Canadian. I can pay out what the car was worth when you originally brought it, but 50,000 for the fact that it was an accident on our part” you say and he thinks for a moment.

“No” is all he says and you look over at him in shock.

“Sorry? What do you mean no, no is my final decision” you say crossing your arms.

“I would like to add something else to the 50,000 on top of the car value” he smiles and you nod, wondering what it could possibly be and admiring the boldness of his statement.

“Id like to take you out to dinner” he smirks and your head shoots up from your laptop.

“I- i cant do that… it’s not professional. I could get told off. I could loose my job.” you admit knowing that if people were to find out about your payout and think it was bad then they’d be asking questions to you.

“Oh come on it’s just dinner to say thank you for being so … helpful” he smiles leaning forward in his seat and you shake your head.

“Fine, dinner it is” you smile.

That was the start of something way bigger than just dinner.

y/user

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y/user: Work has been rather interesting lately 👀🏎️

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lance_stroll: thank you for having another look for me 👍🏼

-> y/user: 🫣you’re welcome Mr Stroll

-> lance_stroll: you’re making me feel old ☹️

user: is that whose car I think it is bestie?

-> y/user: it sure is 🏎️

user: need to catch up soon babe, Pret tomorrow morning?

-> y/user: sure thing!

user: Civil Service < Serving Cu*t 🥰

Instagram Story Caption:

Back in the Office wiv Shiv 🌸

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[krirebr]

Luck Be a Lady

Pairing: soft!dark Curtis Everett x female reader

Word Count: ~10.1k

Summary: Desperate for money, you accept a job as a cocktail waitress at an underground casino. You think you know what you're doing, but when you meet Curtis, will you realize you're in over your head?

Warnings: Mob AU, violence, allusions to murder, explicit language, dubcon touching, noncon touching (not Curtis), willfully oblivious reader, SMUT - facefucking, dirty talk, light d/s dynamics, praise kink, other explicit sexual content. This is definitely on the darker end of the soft!dark spectrum, so proceed with caution! All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Masterlist

A/N: And here it finally is! This is my first real attempt at soft!dark. I hope I did it right! 😂

This was inspired by two things: 1) me going to a rep screening of Goodfellas and spending the entire time wondering why I hadn't done a mob au yet and 2) @bigtreefest saying "enforcer!Curtis Everett and mob boss!Andy Barber" in my general direction. Thanks for the inspo, friend!!

And big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who not only came up with Curtis's name for reader but also offered heaps of encouragement and was a great sounding board. And thanks to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how exactly we'd get to the smut. Thanks Siri!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Please come scream at me about this! 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You fruitlessly tug down your very short skirt as Holly talks at you. You’re both standing in the corner of the bar’s basement waiting for the night to start in earnest—your first night.

“Lloyd’s not so bad,” she says of your boss, the man who runs this little underground gambling ring. “You’ll have to split your tips with him at the end of the night, but he doesn’t take that much, and you’ll make enough that you won’t really notice. As long as you do that, he’ll mostly keep his hands to himself.”

You nod along, glancing at the mustachioed man conferring with the bouncer at the door. The interview process for this job had boiled down to a thorough once-over that’d made you feel naked in your jeans and t-shirt and a “You’re not too stupid to take a drink order, are you?” and then you had the job.

Holly had vouched for you. Neighbors for almost half a year, she’d come home early one morning last week and witnessed you trying to convince the landlord that you were good for your past-due rent. She’d taken you for coffee and told you she might be able to help if you were good at keeping your head down and mouth shut. And now you were here.

“The customers, on the other hand,” she continues, smacking her gum, “you’ll have to let them touch, at least a little bit. Within reason, you know? But if anything gets out of hand, you can just tell Jake at the door and he’ll take care of it.”

“Within reason?” you ask, voice shaking, just the littlest bit, as the pit that started forming in your stomach when you agreed to this grows a little more.

The look she gives you verges on exasperated. “Well, you want to make money, don’t you?”

Yes, you do. Very much so. It’s a need, not a want. So you nod and try to listen as she keeps giving you the rundown. 

Before you’re ready, the first patrons start trickling in and then you’re off to the races. It’s not too bad. No one’s orders are too complicated, mostly just bottles of beer and glasses of straight whiskey. The bartender, Colin, is friendly enough, although you learn that he’s another person you’ll need to split your tips with. 

As for the touching, there are hands on your hips, pats to your ass. But you’re rewarded with folded-up bills held up between fingers or tucked into the strap of your top. Or, twice, slid behind the waistband of your skirt. Once you realize that the majority of these bills aren’t ones or fives, but twenties, you care about the touching that comes with them much less. Plus, you’re too busy to really think about it that hard. 

You can’t believe how busy it is for a random Tuesday night, multiple games of poker, craps, and who knows what else all going at once. But when you mention that to Holly, she just laughs and shakes her head. “This is nothing,” she says. “On the weekends there’ll be three more of us and another one of Jake. Things get wild.” 

You don’t have time to decide whether that makes you nervous or excited before someone is signaling for your attention again. You manage to suppress your grimace when he slides his arm around your waist to tell you what he needs from the bar. You’re rewarded for your troubles by a wad of twenties. You aren’t sure who these men are to tip so freely, but you know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It’s an hour or two later that Lloyd calls you over to where he’s speaking to a large, impossibly broad man, dressed in a soft-looking henley under a leather jacket with dark jeans. There’s dark ink all over his hands that disappears up his sleeves and reappears on his neck in intricate lines. He’s got close-cropped hair and a full beard that’s neatly trimmed. His deep blue eyes drill into you right away and you do your best not to shiver.

“Got a new girl tonight, Everett. Still learning the ropes, but she’ll take good care of you, won’t you, Cupcake?” 

“Yes, of course,” you say, before Lloyd wanders off to check on one of the poker games.

The man, Everett, lets his eyes rove over you. “Cupcake, huh?” His voice is deep, gritty, but there's something there that's much gentler than you expected.

You give him what you hope is a coy smile. “Sure. If you want.” Lloyd was treating him like he's important. You hope important means deep pockets.

He hits you with a penetrative stare, so strong you almost have to take a step back. “No,” he finally says. “I don't think so. I'll find something more fitting.” Then he turns and starts to walk away, before calling over his shoulder. “I'm gonna get dealt in. Bring me a whiskey once I'm settled.”

You watch him go for just a moment, and then head to the bar, asking for a whiskey. 

“This for Everett?” the bartender, Colin, asks. When you nod, he grabs a fancy bottle off the top shelf. “This is all he drinks. And he doesn't pay for it, alright? Don't ever think about giving him a bill.” 

You look back at the man in question, seriously looking at the cards he’s just been dealt. Who is he???

You collect his whiskey and move back to him. As you set it down, he turns to you. “How about this?” he asks as he holds up a crisply folded hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes widen at the money. All you’ve done is bring him one straight pour. “There’s another one of these in it for you if you make sure I never see the bottom of this glass tonight. Sound good?” And then he folds the bill one more time in his thick fingers, before sliding it under the low-cut neckline of your blouse. Your skin tingles where he brushes against it.

“Yeah, you got it,” you just breathe out, a little shocked you’re able to form words. He gives you a smug smile that you can only describe as shark-like before turning back to his cards, and you understand it as the dismissal that it is. 

You move around the room, collecting empties, getting refills, trying to goodnaturedly accept unsolicited touches. The whole time you feel eyes on you, but whenever you glance Everett’s way, he’s focused on his poker game.

Eventually, a down moment finds you catching your breath against the wall. The moment Holly sees you standing still, she’s quickly making her way to you. “You need to be more careful around Curtis,” she hisses, lowly.

You look at her, confused. “Curtis?” Jake’s at the door. Colin’s behind the bar. You don’t know a Curtis.

“Curtis Everett!” You glance at the man at the poker table. He’s running a poker chip across his knuckles mindlessly. Then he looks up and you briefly make eye contact before you quickly look away. Holly is staring at you and she looks worried. But the name still doesn’t mean anything to you, so you shake your head and shrug. She groans as quietly as she can. “He’s Barber’s top enforcer!”

This whole conversation feels so out of the blue that it takes you a minute to catch up. Barber. Andrew Barber. The most feared mob boss in the city. Probably the state. Maybe even more. Ruthless and exacting was how the papers described him. He’d been the subject of multiple stings and taskforces and whathaveyou but nothing ever stuck. “He works for Andrew Barber?” you ask, shocked and a little appalled.

Holly stares at you in a way that you can only describe as dumbfounded. It takes her a few moments to find her words, then, “Bitch, you work for Andrew Barber!”

Everything stops. “What?” you gasp.

“Oh my god,” Holly groans. “This was such a mistake. It’s an underground card game in his city! Who did you think was running things?”

“I– I don’t know,” you stutter, stupidly. The god’s honest truth is that you’d never really stopped to think about it. You’d been staring down an eviction, struggling to afford groceries. Unable to make ends meet no matter what you did. When Holly told you about this job, all you saw were dollar signs. You didn't think about anything further. Of course, you’d known these games were illegal, but it seemed so minor in the grand scheme of things. You hadn’t connected it to anything bigger because you just hadn’t wanted to.

But now– Now that you know the truth, what are you going to do? You know what you should do. You should walk out the door right now. You should find some other legitimate way to pay your bills. It’ll be safer. It’ll be better. It’ll be so much harder.

As you bite your lip, trying to process all of this information, Holly continues. “Listen,” she says, “still get him drinks, be friendly, whatever you need to do. But keep your distance however you can. Don't encourage him. He's just– He's really dangerous. They don't call him Barber’s attack dog for nothing, ok?”

“Yeah,” you say. You start to look back in Curtis’s direction but stop yourself. You think about the hundred you already have and the one promised to you at the end of the night. You think of how empty your pantry is. But then you see the genuine fear in Holly's eyes. You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I got it. Thanks.”

“He doesn't even come in here that often. I'm surprised to see him tonight, so I'm sure it’ll be fine,” she says, but you can tell she’s nervous.

You nod, absently, finally letting yourself glance over at him. His drink is getting close to the bottom. “Shit,” you mumble. “I gotta get him his refill.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Holly asks. 

You should let her do it. You absolutely should. But you just can’t give up on that tip. You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine. But thanks.”

You head back to the bar and grab Curtis’s top-shelf whiskey of choice from Colin, then make your way to his table. You set it down next to him, hoping to move away without him even noticing, he’s so engrossed in the game. But as you take a step back, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. He holds it tightly until you meet his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you can’t help the sharp intake of breath or the way you feel his words in your knees. He strokes his thumb down the inside of your wrist, then abruptly lets go, pushing his chips to the middle of the table. You step away, gathering yourself as subtly as you can, and get back to work.

The rest of the night goes quickly. The crowd gets a little rowdier as they drink more, but you find that it’s nothing you can’t handle. The reality of who these people are, what they’re connected to, never leaves your mind. But really, they’re not so bad. None of this feels so bad at all. And soon, people start heading out. You’re beginning to clean up, when a recognizable voice rings out, “Bambi!” You turn and lock eyes with Curtis. He crooks two fingers at you and you quickly make your way over to him.

“Bambi?” you ask.

He grins at you and it feels more than a little predatory. You’ll never admit how much you like it. You try to keep Holly’s warning at the forefront of your mind. “Wide eyes and just getting your legs under you,” he says. You instinctively duck your head at that, which earns a dark chuckle. “Here,” he continues, as he pulls a genuine, fat money clip out of his back pocket. You’ve never seen something like it in real life before. He peels off two bills and holds them out to you. “This is what good girls get,” he says, a low rumble in his voice.

You swallow as you take them from him. Two hundred dollars. Twice what you were expecting. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He shakes his head. “You earned it.” Then, after one last long look at you, he turns around and leaves.

You stand and stare after him. You don’t doubt anything Holly said, but three hundred dollars, just for bringing him drinks. He doesn’t seem that bad, not really. A little intense maybe, but there’s some sort of interest there, and it can’t be that bad to encourage it, just a little if it earns you these sorts of tips, can it??

Any hesitance you have about this entire endeavor completely disappears as you count your money at the end of the night.

Your first week flies by. You're starting to get the hang of the job. You get along with your coworkers. You get to know the regulars. You like it. Even Lloyd isn’t so bad as long as you give him his cut at the end of every night.

And you’re making so much money.

In your downtime, you pay your landlord what you owe him. You go grocery shopping without scouring for coupons first or calculating exactly what you can afford beforehand. You make a Pinterest board of what you want your apartment to look like now that you might actually be able to buy things to fill it. For the very first time, you’re thinking about things you actually want, not just desperately trying to figure out how you’ll pay your bills. You’ve never felt this calm, this relaxed, this free before. It’s an incredible feeling.

And Curtis. Despite Holly’s reassurances that you wouldn’t see him much, he seems to be there whenever you are, trying to capitalize on his winning streak at the poker tables, you assume. His tips are still insanely generous. You don’t think he carries anything less than hundred dollar bills. 

And there’s just something about him. The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. It’s not like the other men here. His touch is like fire, warming from the inside. There’ve been times when his hand on your hip has almost made your knees buckle. That doesn’t happen with anyone else here.

But you’re being smart and you’re being safe. You are. You’re going to set a savings goal, you think. And once you hit that number, you’ll be out of here, onto something more legitimate. And until then, you’ll just keep your head down and mouth shut, like Holly said. You haven’t even really seen anything. It’s a good plan. It’ll be fine.

She’s right that the weekends are wilder. Even with three additional girls working the room, you’re kept running. You do your best to keep an eye on Curtis’s drinks, but it’s much harder than on weeknights. And you aren’t really able to pause when you drop them off. It’s one of these times, as you’re pulling away from the table as soon as you’ve set his glass down, that you’re stopped short by his hand on you. He pulls you back in by the wrist and says, “They’re just running you ragged tonight, huh, Bambi?”

You smile and shrug. “It’s busy.”

He holds out a bill and you try not to smile even wider as he slips it into the waistband of your skirt. “For all your hard work.”

You bat your lashes a little. “You spoil me.”

“I like spoiling you,” he says, lowly. 

“You’re too sweet,” you say softly. Then, pulling your arm away with a wink, you add, “Gotta run,” and you’re onto the next table.

You’re getting good at this, figuring out what level of harmless flirting is just enough to keep the money flowing. And you’re having fun. You’d never expected that.

Holly and two of the other girls, Jane and Kristi, are congregated at the end of the bar, waiting for drinks, when you join them. They’re all watching you warily. “So, uh,” Jane starts quietly, “you seem to be getting pretty cozy with Curtis.” 

Before you can respond, Holly scoffs behind her. “I’ve tried to warn her but she won’t fucking listen.”

You roll your eyes. You’re tired of hearing this. “I seriously don’t get what the big deal is. He’s nice and he tips well. It’s harmless!”

Kristi just gapes at you. “He’s nice?!”

Holly slams the drinks she was waiting for onto her tray. “Whatever,” she grumbles. “It’s her fucking funeral.”

You shake your head as you watch her go. It’s fine. You can take care of yourself.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. You don’t get much of a chance to talk to Curtis, but you feel his eyes on you before he disappears a little before closing.

At the end of the night, once you’ve helped clean up, you cash out with Colin and Jake and then go to find Lloyd in his office. You think it’s kind of ridiculous that you’re basically paying him to work there, but it is what it is. And Holly was right, you’re making so much that you barely even notice. 

Lloyd is sitting at his desk, looking a little more disheveled than you’re used to. He startles at your approach, which is also new. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, with slightly rounded eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You look at him, a little confused. “Just here with your cut,” you say as you hold out his money.

His hands immediately fly up to his chest, palms out. “No, no,” he says. “You made that fair and square. You just– you keep what you make from now on, Cupcake. Sound good?”

You swallow and nod, preparing yourself for whatever other price you’ll have to pay for keeping your job, mentally calculating what you’re willing to do. But Lloyd doesn’t do anything, doesn’t make any move to get closer to you. Just stays there at his desk, turning back to his work. “You have a good night,” he says, clearly dismissing you. 

You leave confused, but richer, telling yourself not to question it too hard.

Things go so smoothly for a few weeks that you’re a little shocked when the bubble bursts. 

It’s a relatively quiet weeknight. There are a few games going, but nothing compared to the weekend. The pace of the night feels leisurely. It’s nice.

It’s maybe the first night you haven’t seen Curtis there. It feels weird. He’s become such a part of this place for you. A fixture, like the bar or the carpet. Just one of the elements that make it what it is. But it’s fine. Of course, he doesn’t come every night. He probably has a whole life outside of this. He must’ve gotten bored of playing cards. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

You’re passing the time talking to one of the regulars at the bar, Vinny. He’s in his fifties, you think, with gray hair and laugh lines. He’d gone bust at the poker table (or maybe it was craps tonight) earlier and then had moved to the bar to drink away his sorrows and bad luck. That was how his nights tended to go.

He’s sitting on a barstool, his arm around your waist where you stand next to him. He’s a little close for comfort, but he’s always just been a friendly guy, so you’re alright. Which is why you’re so surprised when, in the middle of a story about the good old days of the Copa Cabana, his other hand suddenly finds its way between your thighs. You freeze. For just a second. Then you force out a laugh and try to push his hand away. “Bad boy,” you try to tease, your voice shaking. His hand will not move. What is happening? “Come on, let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

Instead of doing what you’ve asked, his thumb briefly brushes the inside of your leg and then his whole hand begins moving higher. You stop breathing. You push again but he won’t budge.

“You’re such a pretty doll, aren’tcha?” he says. 

Tears start to gather in your eyes. You look around wildly to see if anyone’s noticing what’s happening. Colin’s busy making drinks. Jake and Lloyd are talking by the door. Everyone else is engrossed in their own business. “Vinnie, stop, please,” you whisper. You don’t know why you can’t get your voice to work, can’t get your body to move.

“Come on,” he cajoles, “I’m being nice, aren’t I?” 

Then his thumb brushes against your panties and your entire body jolts into action. You wrench your leg out of his grasp and take several steps away from him. Your whole body is shaking now. “I gotta–” you start, trying to keep your tone casual and failing miserably. “I gotta get back to work, Vinny.” Then you grab your tray off the bartop and walk away as fast as you can.

You don’t really have a destination in mind. You pick up a few empties as you wander between tables. You can feel his eyes on you, following you. You try to take a deep breath, calm yourself down. It isn’t very helpful. You look up to see Jake by himself now. You make your way over to him, Holly’s words on your first night in your ears. That was out of hand, wasn’t it?

He looks up as you approach. His big golden retriever smile on his face. “Hey, what’s up?” Then he actually takes you in and his smile drops. “What happened?”

“Um, Vinny, he, uh–” You feel a few tears fall down your cheeks and you just shake your head.

Jake’s face darkens. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No, uh, he– he just–” You shake your head again. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Jake doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at you. There’s something about the way he does it that makes you think he understands everything you just can’t say. He nods once. “Alright. I’ll take care of it. You go take your time in the back. Do what you need to do. He’ll be gone by the time you’re done.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, thank you,” you say so quietly. Then you get yourself to the back room as quickly as you can.

It’s really more of a hallway than a room, small and narrow. All of the storage space for the building is in the legitimate bar upstairs. But there’s enough room for you to crouch down, your knees pulled up tight to your chin. You bury your face in your thighs and let the tears you’ve been holding in finally fall. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re fine. 

You don’t know how long you’ve spent trying to calm yourself down when a large shadow suddenly looms over you. It takes you a moment to gather your strength to find out who it is. You hope it’s Jake telling you Vinny’s gone. You’re afraid it might be Lloyd, here to tell you to get back to work. There’s a slowly building terror that it might be Vinny himself.

After a deep breath, you look up to find Curtis staring down at you, concern on his face and fiery anger in his eyes. “What happened?” he growls.

You shake your head and turn away. He crouches down in front of you. “Are you alright?”

A humorless, uncontrolled laugh escapes you. Once you finally stop, you ignore his question and ask your own, “Why are you here?”

It takes him a very long time to answer. He just looks at you seriously for several moments. Then, finally, “Jake called me.” While you try to figure out why on earth Jake would do that, he continues, “I'm sorry I wasn’t already here.”

“Why?” you blurt out without thinking. 

He looks away without saying anything. You both just sit in the silence for a few moments. Then, you try to change tactics. “Where were you?” you ask out of morbid curiosity. You can't imagine what his life is like outside of here.

“Working,” he says curtly. He plays with a ring on his middle finger and the movement draws your eyes to his hands, specifically his knuckles. They're scraped and caked with dried blood. 

You swallow and you catch how his eyes track the movement. His eyes are always on you. He catches everything. 

“Someone touched you?”

“Lots of people touch me,” you say, flatly. “It's part of the job. You touch me.”

His eyes narrow at that. “But this was different.” It isn’t a question.

You look down at your hands in your lap and don't say anything. 

“Tell me who it was.”

“No,” you say instinctively, something about the moment feeling incredibly dangerous. 

He huffs in frustration. “Are you trying to protect him?”

“No!” you say, sharply. “I’m protecting myself.”

“You don’t have to do that. Not from me. Not ever.”

You don’t know how to tell him that every atom in you knows that that isn’t true. You can’t explain it, and it wasn’t until the moment he joined you in this little closet, but you’d swear that he’s a danger to you. You just can't articulate how, but you feel it in your bones. And still, here you stay.

At your silence, he grits out, “If you don’t tell me who it was, Jake will.”

Jake probably already has, that’s what you’ve figured. “Great,” you say. “Then you don’t need me to say it.”

“Bambi,” he lets out in an exasperated growl. “I'm trying to help you.” 

You just look at him and then figure you may as well ask the main question that's on your mind. “Why did Jake call you?” 

He ignores you and stands up. “Come on,” he says and extends his hand, “I'm taking you home.”

You just blink up at him. “My shift isn't over.” 

He shakes his hand at you impatiently. “It is now. Come on.”

You shake your head. “Curtis, this is my job. I can't just– Lloyd will–”

“I'll take care of Lloyd. Let’s go.”

You think about going home. About sitting alone in your small apartment. At least here you'll have something to do, things to focus on, to keep you busy. At home, there'll be nothing to think about other than that hand between your legs and– “No,” you say as firmly as you can manage. “I'm staying here. I'm finishing the night.”

His jaw ticks but he doesn’t say anything, just tries to stare you down. You stare right back. You will not concede this. 

Finally, he exhales through his nostrils, then growls out an unhappy “Fine. But I'll–” He's interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket. He takes it out and glances at the caller ID and sighs. “I have to take this.” He steps away as much as he can in the tiny area and answers with a curt “Everett.” There's a slight pause. “Yeah, I took care of it.” Another pause that has him glancing at you. “No, something else came up.”

You don't wait to hear the rest of the conversation. You take the opportunity to go back to the main room and get back to work. 

You don't see Curtis again that night. You don't spare much thought to where he might've gone. You're too focused on getting through the remainder of your shift. When it's done, Jake insists on seeing you home. You don't ask why. You already know who's behind it.

The next few days are fine. You try to put what happened behind you, doing your best to ignore it. But that becomes impossible when three days after the incident you watch Vinny walk in. You can’t help the little burst of panic you feel as you warily watch him sit down at his usual table and get dealt in. 

As subtly as you can, you make your way over to Jake. You don’t even say anything before he’s looking at you, chagrined. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I had to let him in. I promise it’s all going to be taken care of. It’s just– You can ignore him tonight, ok? Just trust me. You don’t need to worry about him. I promise.”

“Ok,” you say reluctantly, trying to resist looking back at Vinny. “I just– I didn’t think I’d have to see him again.”

“I really think that after tonight you won’t,” he says sincerely.

You don’t really understand what that means, but you nod anyway. “Ok,” you say. “I, uh, I should get back to work then.” 

He just nods after you, looking a little concerned and a little sad. But the room is filling up, so you don’t have time to delve into it.

Sometime later, as you’re taking a brief moment to idle by the bar, a strange hush descends over the room. You’re facing away from the door, away from the rest of the room, but you see Colin take in whatever it is that’s caused this. His face pales and he lets out a quiet, urgent, “Shit.” 

You turn around to see what on earth could be going on and you immediately freeze. Curtis is here. But that’s not what’s garnering all of this attention. Well, not all. Because he’s not alone, there’s a man with him. A little shorter, not quite as broad. But you’d be able to feel the power radiating off of him, even if you didn’t recognize him. Soft dark hair, thick beard, an immaculately tailored suit. You’ve seen him in the papers, on the news, but in real life, he’s even more intimidating. Andrew Barber.

Barber leans in close to say something to Curtis, who nods, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. Your breath catches, but luckily Colin calls your name behind you and you have an excuse to turn around. He places two glasses of dark liquor on the bar. “Everett,” he says, gesturing to one, then “Barber,” while waving his hand over the other. “Got it?” You nod and place them on your tray. They’re identical to your eyes except for the fact that Barber's has a muddled black cherry at the bottom of the glass.

You carefully bring them over, trying to force yourself to breathe. Curtis intercepts you and grabs the drinks when you're a few steps away. “Thank you, Bambi,” he says, lowly. 

Barber perks up. “This is Bambi? Really?” He extends a hand and you have no choice but to take it. “Andy Barber,” he says with a disarming smile. “It's a pleasure to meet you finally.”

His handshake is firm, demanding. He is terrifying in his friendliness. And he knows who you are. Has known, for who knows how long. You glance at Curtis, but he's just calmly drinking his whiskey. You don't know what to say, what are you supposed to say?? So after too long a pause, you practically whisper, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

He chuckles lightly as he takes back his hand. To Curtis, he says, “You're right, Bambi does suit her.” Then he turns back to you and adds, “Andy, please.”

“O– Okay, Andy,” you say, with what you desperately hope is a benign smile. You look over at Curtis, you’re not entirely sure why, but out of these two dangerous options, he, at least, is familiar. “I should get back to work.”

Curtis is staring at you, but it’s Andy who answers. “Mmm, and we have a game to join, don’t we?” Curtis nods but still doesn’t break his gaze. Andy smirks, “No rest for the wicked.”

You have no idea what to do with that sentiment, so you take the opportunity and get out of there. You walk through the tables, checking to see if anyone needs anything, but the mob boss’s physical presence seems to have ground all action to a halt. The room is collectively holding its breath. 

You go back to the bar for want of anything else to do. Colin is standing ramrod straight, coiled in case he needs to spring into action. Lloyd is sitting down at the end of the bar, drumming his fingers, eyes moving all around the room. You settle next to Holly, who looks just as scared as she did that first night when she was trying to warn you off of Curtis. “Is this,” you start to ask, your voice shaking. “Is this normal? Does he come here a lot?”

“No, never” she shakes her head. “Why would he come here? He has real clubs and restaurants. He doesn’t need to hang out in a shit hole like this.” She shakes her head again. “He’d only come here for a reason.”

You turn your head back to the room and find that Andy and Curtis have settled at Vinny’s table, joining his game across from him. Your heart lands in your throat. That can’t– No. You’re just some cocktail waitress. Even with Curtis’s obvious interest in you, you aren’t important enough to bring the most powerful man in the city here. You’re nothing. He must have other reasons.

The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop as everyone waits for something to happen, which is why when Andy does start speaking, you don’t have to strain your ears to pick up every word.

He looks at his cards carefully, then over at Vinny. “You know, Vinny, you’re a hard man to track down.” His voice is so calm, it sends a chill up your spine. “You don’t go home, we can’t find you at work. I was starting to get worried.” He runs a few chips through his fingers before tossing them into the center of the felt. “That’s why, when I heard you were showing up here, I sent my best man to investigate,” he nods towards Curtis, “just to make sure you were ok.” 

You don’t have a great view of Vinny from where you’re standing, but you can see how stiff he is, how silent. But he still calls when it’s his turn.

“You can imagine my relief when I found out you were alright. Except,” he raises again, a few more chips into the pot, “you’re losing a lot of money, aren’t you? Now, this upsets me. Not because you’re losing your own money. But because it’s mine, isn’t it?”

Vinny finally tries to pipe up. “Andy, hold on. I can ex–”

“You owe me $150,000, Vinny. With interest, that total’s climbing every day. And yet, you sit here and you just keep losing, don’t you? At my own game. What would you do if you won, huh? Would you really try paying me back with my own money? I thought maybe you’d at least have the smarts to cross the border and try this at one of Roger’s casinos. Huh? Paying me back with my enemy’s money, at least that I could respect. But no, it’s only me you think is stupid enough to fall for your bullshit. So now I’m here to give you the chance to fucking do it to my face.” With that, he violently pushes all of his chips into the center of the table. 

Everyone else has folded. It’s just Barber and Vinny now. You’re not sure Curtis even actually played. He’s just staring Vinny down, although occasionally his eyes will flick up and meet yours. You hate feeling like you’re a part of this, but you don’t know what else to do besides watch it play out.

Vinny is just spluttering, while Andy calmly looks on. It’s all the expected, cliche stuff you’ve seen in gangster movies. He’s got the money, he swears. He just needs a little more time. Andy has to know he’s good for it! You want to roll your eyes right along with Andy.

“Call, Vinny,” Andy cuts him off, sternly. “That’s $150,000 I just put in the pot. Call. And if you win, we’re even. Your debt’s erased. But if you lose, well then that’s $300,000 you’ll owe me. And you know I won’t be able to tolerate that. So call. And let’s find out where we stand.”

You can’t see what Vinny’s doing, but you can imagine the way his fingers must be hovering over his chips, his eyes moving down to his cards to check, one more time, if they’re as good or bad as he remembers. You know there’s no way out for him either way. He’ll have to call. He’s just delaying the inevitable.

You feel like you can't breathe as you wait for him to just finally do it, but Andy cuts in again. “The thing I can't understand, Vinny, is why you kept coming here after Curtis showed up. Either you're very stupid or really fucking greedy.” He looks at Vinny carefully. “Maybe a little of both. I hear you've been touching something that doesn't belong to you.”

You gasp. No one notices, but you do. He can't be talking about you. He can't. He can't. 

Vinny seems even more confused than you. “What are you talking about? I haven't touched anything!”

Andy continues to ignore him. “So you're stupid and greedy. That's why you aren't afraid of him like you should be. They call him my attack dog, did you know? Have you heard that? Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you think he’s some puppy that follows me around. You’d be stupid to underestimate him, underestimate me. But maybe you only do that because you've never seen my dog off his leash.”

Curtis springs into action, lunging across the table to grab Vinny by the collar, and then slams his head into the felt. Before there’s even time to react, he’s stood and he's picking Vinny back up and hurling him onto the floor. Curtis comes around the table to stalk after him and the look on his face has you gasping for breath. You've never seen Curtis like this. There's a glint in his eye that might be the scariest thing you've ever seen. Who is this man? What is he capable of?

Vinny is dazedly trying to crawl away, but Curtis catches him easily. He grabs Vinny’s collar and hauls him back up, delivering two punches to his face in quick succession. The sound it makes. There's no other sound in the whole room. No one's saying anything, no one's doing anything. Everyone's just watching, hypnotized. You turn away, your stomach churning. Your eyes catch on Andy, sitting back in his chair, placidly drinking the whiskey you brought him, completely relaxed, like he's watching anything else. You can't look at him either. 

The room is completely silent except for the crunching of bones, Vinny’s whimpers, and Curtis’s grunts. You look up again to be startled by eye contact with Curtis. His eyes are wild, unhinged. Feral. But there's something else in it, like all of this is for you. That all of you are there, everything is happening, because Vinny dared to touch you. It takes your breath away. It’s mesmerizing.

Andy finally stands and strides over to where Curtis is holding Vinny up in the middle of the room. He looks down at Vinny, then spits in his face. “I'm tired of trying to draw blood from a stone,” he says. Then he turns to Curtis and finishes, “Get rid of him.”

Curtis gives you one last long look, his face unreadable. You feel it in your knees. Then he drags Vinny out, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

The moment they're gone, it's like the entire room can breathe again. “Lloyd,” Andy calls out. “How ‘bout a round for everyone? On me.”

Lloyd nods to Colin who hurriedly starts pouring drinks. And you, so grateful for something to do, instead of just standing there, shaking, start loading the glasses on your tray.

As you begin to pass them out, Andy of all people, pulls you aside. “Bambi,” he says quietly, “I hope you know now, we take care of our own.”

You gaze at him, shocked. It feels like a comfort and a threat. But why? It's not so much the implication that this all had something to do with you, but you can't for the life of you imagine what you've done to get yourself to a place where Andy Barber might consider you his, however distantly. It can't just be that you work here. You can't picture him doing something similar for Holly or Colin. Once again, this all feels so incredibly dangerous. 

While you're struggling to come up with anything to say to that, he grabs a drink off your tray and downs it quickly. Then, with a wink, he turns and leaves. You’re left staring after him until someone calls after you and you're scrambling to pass out drinks again. 

The night ends quickly. No one seems eager to stay and drink and play after everything that's happened. Not when there's still blood on the floor.

You do what you can to help clean up, but when you stare at the stain helplessly, Lloyd tells you not to worry about it. He's got a guy.

Colin walks out with you so you aren’t in the parking lot alone. You're grateful. You're still so shaken. As you approach your car, your beater that you still don’t quite have the money to replace, you see someone leaning against it. You stop short, looking to Colin for help, but he just keeps walking to his own car, his head down. That’s when you know it’s Curtis. 

You take a deep breath and then force yourself to keep walking towards him. You can't begin to parse how you feel to see him now. Your keys are ready in your hand like you might just get in and drive off without speaking to him. You know you won’t.

When you reach him, his voice is rough as he asks, “Are you ok?” He’s cleaned up. There’s no more blood on his hands, his clothes have been straightened.

You open your mouth to answer, even though you have no idea, so instead what comes out is “Did you kill him?”

“Did you want me to?” is his immediate reply.

It stops you in your tracks as all sorts of feelings come bubbling up, ones you can not, will not examine. This is about his propensity for violence, how terrifying he became, not– No. “Did you?” you insist. 

He looks at you carefully then shakes his head. “I don't think you actually want me to answer that.”

“But you've killed before?” You can't stop yourself from pressing, from pushing. You don’t know why. 

He just sort of smiles, gently almost, in a way that is deeply unsettling. “You need to stop asking questions you aren’t ready for me to answer, Bambi.” And it’s the way he says the nickname, like you really are that babe in the woods, just born with no knowledge of the world around you, that has your hackles rising.

“Andy called you his dog,” you say, like he should be offended.

To your surprise, he laughs, his head thrown back. Then he takes a step closer to you, and you take the opportunity to sneak in behind him, get to your car. You realize your mistake immediately when he turns back around and cages you in, your back pressed against the driver’s side door. “Everyone calls me his dog. Because he’s the civilized man in the designer suit, and I’m the animal just begging for a reason to slip my leash.”

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. You should get into your car. You should drive away as fast as you can. You should never come back. But you don’t. “You did it for him,” you say, mustering all the strength into your voice that you can. “You didn’t do it for me.”

He leans over you, the space between you shrinking rapidly. “Yeah, he asked me to do it,” he nods. “But if he hadn’t, I still would have done it. For you.”

 You try to shake your head, to tell him that that can’t be true, even as a wild, loud part of you starts to rise up and claw out of your chest. You try to tamp it down, deny it, but before you can, Curtis is leaning in further, his whole body pressing against you, and then he covers your lips with his.  

There’s a heat that comes up out of him that fills you, the instant his skin touches yours. His hands are on you, your neck, your hip. You can’t keep track, can only say that his hands are there, everywhere, that his body touches all of yours, that his lips and his tongue are demanding, unrelenting. You are burning up from the inside.

Too soon, but ages later, he pulls away. His eyes are on fire as he looks at you. Then he tears his gaze away, and hits the roof of your decrepit car twice, looking at it disdainfully. “You get home safe,” he says, then steps back to allow you the space you need to get into your car.

You do what he wants you to do. You get in your car, sit in the driver’s seat, and then stare blankly out the windshield. You’ve never felt so out of control in your life. How did this happen? You were flirting for tips, that was all! You encouraged it for money, that was it, and now– You press your thighs together, trying not to pant. You will not be unmoored. 

A slight movement in your periphery makes you notice that Curtis is still standing just to the side of your car, watching you. You turn your keys in the ignition and shift into drive.

It doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything, you chant to yourself all the way home.

It’s your next shift back, and everything seems to have changed. You don’t understand it. You keep doing laps of the room, keep sidling up to regulars you were so friendly with just a few nights ago, but now, they won’t even look at you, let alone touch you. No one’s ordering anything.

Or at least, they aren’t ordering from you.

Holly has been running around nonstop all night, basically having to take care of the entire room by herself. You watch man after man after man slip her little bundles of money. 

You want to scream. What the fuck happened? What did you do? What are you going to do?

You go to stand by the bar to wait for something you can do. Colin gives you a brief nod of acknowledgment but that’s it. He’s been cold, too. No. Not cold, distant. You don’t understand what’s changed.

You take a deep breath. It’s one weird night. Things will be better tomorrow.

Things don’t get better. The next night is the same. You’re starting to panic. This job was supposed to be your lifeline. Without it, without the money you were making, you’re not sure how you’ll survive.

Curtis comes in after a couple of hours of nothing. You could cry you’re so happy to see him. But terrified too. If he gives you the cold shoulder, this job really is over. But you have no idea how he’s going to act, not after what happened last time. You’re not sure how you’re going to act either. You can still feel his lips on yours.

You bring him his whiskey immediately and he greets you with an arm around your waist, pulling you in. “Hey Bambi,” he says quietly. Then he gets a good look at you. “What’s wrong?” 

You look at him carefully, not sure what to confide. You aren’t even sure what the problem is. You shake your head. “Not my best night,” you say with a tired smile. “But I’m fine.”

He stares at you for a moment, then stands up. “Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you to the little back room. You feel eyes on the two of you the whole way there.

Once he’s closed the door behind you both, he asks again, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “The last two nights have been weird here. I don’t– I don’t know. I’m just worried. I don’t know what happened but I’m not making any tips. No one’s treating me like they used to.”

“Mmm,” Curtis hums thoughtfully. “I think,” he says as he takes two steps closer to you, which in this small space is significant, “everyone else here has figured it out.”

It’s suddenly a little hard to breathe with him standing over you like this. His presence, his attention is always so much. “Figured what out?” you ask, confused.

“That I have lost my patience for watching other men touch you.” 

It hits you like a freight train. “What?” It comes out in a whisper.

“I’ve let this go on for too long,” he says, his voice is calm, casual. “I don’t want you working here anymore. This is done.”

“I– What? Curtis. What?! I have to work! I have to pay my bills! I don’t understand. I don’t–”

He takes one last step forward. You feel the heat coming off of him. “Shh,” he soothes, cradling your cheek in his hand. “It’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you. I take care of what’s mine.”

You pull your face away, even as the urge to nuzzle into him is so strong. You feel like you’ve missed something, a thousand things. You feel too many steps behind. “Curtis, I’m not– I’m not yours.”

Something comes into his eyes and you’re reminded of him standing over Vinny, covered in blood. His hand travels down from your cheek. He strokes your throat once, and then his hand closes around it. “Look me in the eye,” he growls, “and say that again.”

His hand is firm, snug, but it doesn’t tighten. But you can imagine so easily how it might. You look him in the eye. You open your mouth, ready to say it again. But then– then you see it. In the way he looks at you, the way he’s always looked at you. You feel it in his grip on you, now. You can’t deny it anymore. 

Curtis shoves you into his bedroom. You’re panting already. You need his hands on you, right now. You don’t have to ask for it. He gets you to the center of the room and yanks down your skirt, tearing it in the process. You step out of it and take your blouse off, throwing it on top of your skirt. Curtis’s eyes are cataloging your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out of your bra, your soft tummy, thick thighs. His gaze, as always, takes your breath away.

You reach out for Curtis’s shirt, but he grabs your hands. “I want you on your knees,” he growls and you immediately kneel for him. He throws off his shirt, revealing the expanse of his chest, the muted blacks and grays of his tattoos. You’re desperate to run your hands over them, trace the art, but instead, they just twitch at your side. He'll tell you what you're allowed to do.

He begins unbuttoning his jeans and your mouth drops open. He chuckles darkly. “Perfect little slut.” He takes his phone out of his back pocket and aims it at you, taking a picture as you gaze up at him under your lashes, your mouth wide open. “I've been dreaming of getting you on your knees for me.” He puts his phone on his dresser, then continues taking off his pants. “You ready to choke on my cock, baby?”

“Please,” you whine. You're practically salivating now. His bare thighs are as thick as tree trunks, the muscles corded. His abs ripple as he moves. His shoulders, his back. You want.

He frees his cock and rolls his black boxer briefs down his legs, stepping out of them. It's long and thick, just like the rest of him. Your breath catches. You don't think you've ever taken something that big before.

He takes a few steps so he's completely in your space, his cock bobbing right in front of your face. He takes it in one hand, the other firmly on the back of your head and slowly feeds the tip into your mouth. You taste his musk on your tongue. As he rocks into your mouth, going a little further each time, your hands come up to grasp his thighs. On his next thrust in, you run your tongue along the underside of his dick. His movements stutter just a little and then he looks down at you, a smirk overtaking his face. It's just a touch mean, in a way that has you soaking your panties. “You ready?” he asks, his voice rough. And then without waiting for the answer, he thrusts in all the way, making you take him deep in your throat.

You flail, slapping his thigh as you try to swallow around him, breathing frantically through your nose. After holding you there for a moment, he sets a brutal but steady pace. It takes you a moment, but you find your rhythm, your panic subsiding. Once you feel steady, you lift one hand from his thighs and bring it up to cradle his balls. “Fuck, Bambi,” he grinds out. “You're gonna– I– fuck!” His hand moves from the back of your head down to the back of your neck, which he grips firmly, pulling you off his cock. As you cough and splutter on the floor, he growls, “The first time you make me come is gonna be inside that perfect cunt.”

He helps you stand on wobbly legs, then shoves his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy over your panties. “Shit, fucking soaked just from deepthroating me?”

You let out a needy little whine, trying to push further into his hand, but he withdraws it, instead settling on your hip. “Well,” he grins, “if they’re ruined anyway…” then uses that hand to rip the black lace down the side, letting them fall to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra as well, then takes a step back and sighs, “Shit, Bambi, look at you.” It’s the reverence in his voice and on his face that has you launching yourself at him, unable to keep from kissing him any longer. He lets you, quickly taking control, letting you feel all his hunger, the want he’s kept barely bottled up since he first laid eyes on you. You understand it all now. His erection brushes against you, and now it’s his turn to whine, just a little. 

He pulls away, brushing a hand down your cheek, then says “Get on the bed, on your stomach.” You quickly comply, laying in the center of the bed with your knees pulled up and spread beneath you. He brings his hand down on one asscheek harshly and you can’t help the lewd moan that escapes you. He chuckles, “Oh, I will definitely remember that for later.” He grabs your hips and cants them up, then whistles at your exposed cunt. “I knew it. Absolutely beautiful.” Then he unceremoniously shoves two fingers into your hole and you choke on nothing. “Shh,” he coos. “You can take it. My cock’s gonna be a lot thicker.” 

As he starts scissoring his fingers inside you, you can’t hold it in any longer and start babbling. Mostly a combination of “please,” and “Curtis,” and “I need,” over and over.

“I know, baby,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. “I’ve got what you need right here.” You have a brief moment to feel the tip of his cock on your pussy lips before he’s thrusting it into you, as far as he can go without making it hurt. 

“Oh my god,” you cry, pressing your forehead into the mattress and balling his dark blue sheets in your hands. You feel so full. It’s so good. He’s working himself into you as quickly as he can, desperate now. You both are. Once he bottoms out, fully seated in you, he pauses. Then with one hand on your stomach and the other around your neck, he pulls you up onto your knees, your back flush to his chest. You cry out at the new angle; he’s somehow even deeper now. He starts thrusting up into you at a punishing pace. You’re bouncing up and down in his firm grasp. The hand on your neck turns your head to face him, his lips brushing against yours. He holds eye contact with you as the hand on your stomach snakes down your pelvis so his thick fingers can begin circling your clit. “Fuck! Curtis, please!” you shout. 

“Yeah, come on,” he breathes, “you can let go. You can do it. Come for me like a good girl.” It’s those words that send you careening over the edge, your cunt pulsing around his cock, squeezing him until he’s coming too with a grunt, filling you up until both your cum is leaking out around him. 

He holds you there, on your knees, as you both come down, your twin pants all you can hear.

You wake up slowly, the sun shining on you through the soft drapes. You start to shift then groan at how stiff you are. The night before comes back to you. Curtis took you two more times before you both collapsed in satisfied exhaustion. He’s still out like a light beneath you. 

You take a moment to look at him. It’s odd to see him so peaceful, so still. There’s nothing of the feral predator he projects to the world. It makes you feel oddly close to him, seeing him like this.

You carefully get up without disturbing him and begin collecting your clothes. You put on your bra, but there’s no saving your panties. Same for your skirt; it’s ripped along the seam. So instead you pick up Curtis’s t-shirt from last night and put it on. It smells like him. You breathe it in shamelessly knowing there’s no one to witness it.

You savor the soreness as you move out of the bedroom. It’s like you can still feel him inside you, how much he wanted you, needed you. It makes you feel a little powerful, having that effect on a man like him.

You make your way into his living room. You didn’t really have a chance to look at his house last night, as determined as he was to get you into the bedroom. If you’d ever thought to picture it, this wouldn’t be far off. It’s all rich blues and greens and grays, leather and dark wood. Masculine. It suits him. 

As you’re admiring the room, you hear footsteps behind you and then two big arms are encircling your waist, pulling you into him. “Good morning,” he rasps. 

You turn your head to him. “Good morning,” you say with a smile.

“Fuck, Bambi, you’re even hotter in my shirt than you were last night.”

You smirk at him even as your face heats. “Mmm,” you hum. “It’s comfy. You might not get it back.” He nuzzles into your neck as you continue. “I was hoping you might have something I could wear for bottoms, too. You destroyed my skirt.”

His beard roughly drags against your skin as he asks, “Why the hell would I let you wear bottoms?”

You laugh. “Because I have to leave the house, Curtis.”

“No, you don’t,” he says as his hand begins to move between your thighs.

You playfully swat him away, even as you feel yourself getting wet again from his attention. “I have to go home.”

“Why? You’re staying here.” It’s how certain he sounds that has you turning around in his arms.

“What?”

“I don’t like your building. It isn’t safe enough. Now that I finally have you, of course, I’m going to keep you here with me.”

Once again, you feel too many steps behind. You just blink at him, confused. How does he even know where you live??

He takes your chin in his hand, his fingers gentle. “I told you, Bambi, I take care of what’s mine.”

Tag list

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @midnightramyeoncravings

[whorediaries-09]

hey there love, congrats on ur upcoming bday although i do hope i'll be able to congratulate on the actual day) <3

my request is with your mind wants to leave ✒️ and slow morning sex with sirius, like cozy af, under the sheets, with rain outside, aftercare, the good stuff (i just want proper autumn already) please and thank you 🧡

hello darling, thank you for sending in a request and the wish hehe!

bed chem

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- 18+ content, fluff. a/n- blame sabrina carpenter for the fic title ☝️

little train. join my celebration!

you don't wake up to the raspy voice of sirius this morning. you wake up to the sound of rain pattering on the glass windows. he's unnaturally close to the warmth of your body, his tatted arms wrapped tight around your body. his chin his tucked in the crook of your neck. you feel his slight stubble tickling your skin.

you rake your nails over his cold skin, in an attempt to wake him up. he grips you tighter, pulling you closer to his naked torso. the sheets soft on your bodies sleepy bodies.

'sweetheart,' you whisper, turning your head to look at his sleepy form. he groans, hiding his face deeper within the crevice of your neck.

'i've got to go to work,' you say, trying to gently move his grip around your body. if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't really want to go to work. you'd rather just stay at home, soaked in the warmth of your boyfriend's heat, away from the gloomy, rainy weather outside. and make some love, too.

'i don't want you to go today, love,' he says, voice cold and raspy after a good night's sleep. 'stay today. i'll make you breakfast just the way you like it, and i'll make you tea too,'

'just breakfast and tea?' you tease, completely turning your body around to face him. he smiles, as your fingers remove scattered locks of hair from his face.

'maybe love too,' he says, sliding his hand under your sleeping shirt, fingertips cold against your hot skin. you let out a soft chuckle at his words, tension clearly developing between the both of you, but none wanting to make the give in and make the first move.

he traces his finger on your waist, curving down to your torso, watching as your breathes become slow and bothered, your hot skin picking up goosebumps from his cold touch.

'don't be such a tease, sirius,' you warn, fingers intertwining with his locks, as you pull him closer to your lips, least bothered about morning breath. he smiles against them, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. he hooks his finger on the waistline of your (his) boxers, slowly pulling them down.

'i'm not being a tease, sweetie,' he says, smirking. he flips you on your back, towering over you, his body between your spread legs. he bends down, placing his hot lips on your thighs, leading towards your core.

'so wet for me already,' he says, rubbing his thumb on your clit. his stubble scratches the soft skin of your inner thighs as he kisses them. you wrap your legs around his head, pulling him closer to your hot core. he slides between your legs, lips trailing all over your body, before he's positioned perfectly, his hardening cock at your slit.

'come on, sirius,' you whine. he smiles, running his fingers through his hair, putting the locks behind his ears. he enters into you slowly, feeling the warmth of your cunt pulling him so perfectly.

'oh fuck,' he gasps, as he starts moving in slowly. he pulls you closer to him, wrapping his hands around your waist as he does so. he thrusts and pushes into your slow and sweet, feeling you completely. your lips lock with his, moans and groans swallowed. you feel his tongue interlock with yours, as he slowly increases his pace, and pulling you impossibly closer.

you dig your nails into his back as he hits your sweet spot, the coil of orgasm bubbling in you. your walls convulse around him. you feel his thrusts go sloppy, and you bend your back, revealing skin for him to mark. he sinks grazes your skin with his lips.

'fuck, sirius,' you groan, as your orgasm hits, and your walls convulse and you release yourself around his cock. it stimulates his own, and you feel hot coils released inside you.

'you were so good,' he says, laying you down, not pulling himself out just yet. you feel his cock soften inside you and you moan softly, still sensitive. he lays down behind you, wrapping you tight with his arms, and pulling you closer. he trails innumerous kisses on your arms, neck and face, burying his face within the crevice of your neck. you sigh, contently, cradling his face in your palms, eyes raking over his beautiful face,

'i love you so much,' he pecks you on your lips, tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear,

'i love you so much more,'

****************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

[veronicaphoenix]

all that's left | noah sebastian

noah sebastian x reader | tags & triggers warnings: pure angst and pain, mentioned car crash, mentioned coma, implied death | words: 900ish

͢ all that's left

Jolly sat in the hard plastic chair, staring at the floor, tracing the same crack in the linoleum with his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time. His fingers twitched in his lap, restless with the things he still couldn’t make sense of, the things he didn’t know how to say to her.

It had been two weeks since the accident. Two weeks of waiting for her to wake up, to open her eyes and remember. Two weeks of trying to accept reality and trying to find the right way to tell her the truth—truth that he still couldn’t accept himself. 

A deep, hollow ache tugged at him as he glanced toward her motionless form in the bed. Machines hummed softly around her, cables trailing from her body like vines trying to hold her down to this world. Her face was pale beneath the harsh hospital lighting. It was hard to reconcile the vibrant girl he remembered with the frail figure lying in front of him now.

He hadn’t left the hospital much since the crash. Couldn’t. Her uncle hadn’t come, as expected, but there had been friends and other relatives that had come to check on her, that had cried when they’d seen her, that had cried even before stepping into the room, once the news had reached them. 

None of it changed a thing. 

A faint groan, barely audible, broke the silence in the room. Jolly’s heart leapt into his throat as he snapped his head up.

Her eyelids fluttered.

For a moment, he froze, unsure if he had imagined it. But then her fingers twitched, her lips parted in a faint gasp, and her eyes—those eyes—opened, unfocused and wide with confusion.

He pronounced her name in a questioning tone. Jolly leaned forward, his voice shaky but hopeful, like it might shatter at any moment.

She blinked slowly, trying to focus, her gaze darting around the room in a frantic haze. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts. Her body seemed stiff, uncooperative, like it wasn’t hers anymore. She stared down at herself, at the tubes snaking into her arms, the bandages, the bruises, the weight of her broken body sinking in.

“Wh–where…?” Her voice was raspy, as if it had been buried somewhere deep, far away. Panic flickered in her eyes as her hands instinctively pulled at the wires tethering her to the machines.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jolly said quickly, standing now, reaching out but not touching her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re fine.”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, her gaze finally locking onto him. But there was no recognition there, only fear.

“J-Jolly?” she whispered, her lips barely moving.

He nodded, forcing himself to breathe, to stay calm. “Yeah, it’s me. Hold on, I’ll get the doctors.”

He stumbled to the door, calling for a nurse, for anyone. It wasn’t long before they flooded the room—nurses, doctors, people in scrubs with voices too loud and movements too fast. They surrounded her, checking vitals, speaking in hushed tones meant to reassure, but her confusion and panic only deepened.

Jolly stood back, hands shoved into his sweats’ pockets, watching helplessly as they worked. This was it. This was the moment he had dreaded, and it was happening too fast. He wasn’t ready. But it wasn’t about him—it was about her. And Noah.

After what felt like forever, the doctors finished their examination. One of them—a tall man with kind eyes—placed a hand on Jolly’s shoulder as they left.

“She’s stable. It’s good that she’s awake. Take it easy, okay? She’s going to be confused and disoriented. We’ll be back in a while to check on her again. ”

Jolly nodded mutely. Easy? There was nothing easy about this.

The room was quieter now, just the two of them again. She lay back against the pillows, her brow furrowed in confusion, but calmer. She turned her head—even that simple movement hurt like hell—. Her eyes landed on Jolly.

“What… happened to me? Why… why am I here?”

Jolly took a slow breath, pulling up the chair beside her bed. His hands were trembling slightly, but he tried to steady them as he clasped them together. “You were in an accident,” he said softly. “Two weeks ago. A car crash.”

She blinked, processing. Her gaze dropped to the cast encasing her leg, the bruises staining her skin, and the machines still connected to her. She swallowed hard, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. It made sense, even if it didn’t feel real. 

“Two… weeks?” she whispered, almost to herself.

Jolly nodded. “Yeah. You’ve been in a coma. But you’re awake now. You’re going to be okay.”

She didn’t respond right away, staring down at her hands. Her face twisted as if she was trying to pull memories from the darkness, but it was like sifting through fog. Then, slowly, she looked back at him.

“Jolly…” Her voice broke a little. “Noah… He was with me. He was in the car too.”

Jolly’s heart clenched, and he felt the blood drain from his face. 

He opened his mouth, but no words came. Just the crushing weight of what had to be said, pressing down on him as he tried to gather the courage to speak.

Her eyes widened as the silence stretched on, and the air between them growing impossibly heavy as her heart succumbed to the most horrifying panic she would ever experience; her eyes, unblinking, filling with tears. 

“Jolly… where’s Noah?” 

[geotjwrs]

Hey is it possible if you could do Jenna x male reader based off the song Dark Red by Steve Lacy? Thank you

only you babe

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The faint sound of music hummed in the background, barely loud enough to be heard over the quiet tension in the room. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, his phone clutched in his hand, his eyes staring blankly at the screen. It had been an hour since Jenna had texted, and her silence felt louder than anything else in his life right now.

"I think you know that I miss you…"

The lyrics echoed in his mind, but all he could focus on was the gnawing feeling in his gut—the one that told him something was wrong. He hadn’t heard from her since their last conversation, and now every passing second felt like a countdown to something he didn’t want to face.

He stood up, pacing the small apartment. He’d always had this fear, deep down, that Jenna might slip away. That one day, she would realize she didn’t need him. And lately, that fear had started to feel more real. The way she’d been distant, the way her messages came less frequently, it all pointed to something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

"Something bad is ’bout to happen to me…"

The words from the song buzzed in his head, like a warning he couldn’t ignore.

Y/N ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of everything bearing down on him. He knew he should call her, talk to her, ask her what was really going on. But every time he thought about it, that voice in the back of his mind whispered, What if she’s done? What if you push her away?

Just as he was about to give in to the anxiety, his phone buzzed. A message.

Jenna: “Can we talk?”

Y/N’s heart dropped. He stared at the screen, his hands shaking slightly. Those words—“Can we talk?”—were never a good sign. He could feel the blood draining from his face, and the room suddenly felt too small, too hot.

He sat down again, his mind racing with every possible worst-case scenario. She was leaving, wasn’t she? She had found someone else, or maybe she had finally gotten tired of him. Y/N’s thoughts spiraled out of control, and before he could stop himself, he typed out a response.

Y/N: “Is everything okay?”

The seconds stretched into minutes, and still no response. Y/N stood up again, pacing even faster now, his palms sweaty as he waited for her reply. He couldn’t breathe. His mind was clouded with every possible thing that could go wrong.

"I think I’m losin’ it…"

He looked around the apartment, his gaze falling on the little things that reminded him of her. The jacket she’d left hanging on the back of his chair. The coffee mug she always used. The picture of the two of them sitting on the shelf, smiling like nothing in the world could ever come between them.

But now, Y/N wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t been sure for a while, and it scared him more than anything.

Finally, his phone buzzed again. He snatched it up, his heart pounding in his chest as he read her message.

Jenna: “Yeah, but… I just feel like things have been off between us lately.”

Y/N closed his eyes, feeling a lump form in his throat. He had known this was coming. He had felt it in every silence, in every missed call, in every time she had looked at him like she was seeing someone else. But hearing her say it, seeing it in black and white on his screen, made it real.

Y/N: “I know… I’ve felt it too.”

He didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to tell her how scared he was, how much he loved her, how the thought of losing her made him feel like he was drowning. But he didn’t. Instead, he just waited, feeling like the walls were closing in around him.

An hour later, Jenna showed up at his door. She stood there, her arms crossed, looking at him with those dark eyes that had always been able to read him like a book. There was something different in them tonight, though—something he couldn’t quite place.

Y/N stepped aside, letting her in. They hadn’t talked in person for a couple of days, and the air between them felt heavy, loaded with everything left unsaid.

“Hey,” she said quietly, her voice almost fragile as she walked past him.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, his throat tight. He closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a second before following her into the living room.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, the space between them feeling much bigger than it had ever felt before. Y/N fidgeted with his hands, trying to come up with something to say, but his mind was blank.

Jenna looked at him, her expression soft but serious. “Y/N… I don’t know what’s been going on with us lately. But I can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong.”

Y/N swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to tell her everything—about how terrified he was of losing her, how he’d been feeling this weight of uncertainty pressing down on him for weeks. But instead, he just nodded, afraid that if he said the wrong thing, he’d make everything worse.

“Me too,” he finally managed to say. “I’ve felt it too.”

Jenna sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t want us to fall apart, Y/N. But lately, it feels like we’re not even on the same page anymore. Like we’re both just waiting for something bad to happen.”

Y/N’s heart sank. That was exactly how he had been feeling. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to say she was done with him. He hadn’t realized she was feeling the same way.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N said, his voice cracking slightly. He hated how vulnerable he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. This was Jenna, the girl he had loved for longer than he could remember, and the thought of her walking out of his life was unbearable.

Jenna’s eyes softened at his words. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. “I don’t want to lose you either. But we need to figure this out, Y/N. We can’t keep going on like this, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Y/N nodded, squeezing her hand tightly. “I know. I just… I’ve been so scared, Jenna. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize you didn’t want this anymore. That you didn’t want me.”

Jenna’s expression softened even more, and she moved closer to him, her hand still gripping his. “Y/N… that’s not it. I love you. I always have. But we can’t keep letting fear control us. We need to talk to each other, not shut down every time things get hard.”

Y/N closed his eyes, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. She wasn’t leaving. She didn’t want to leave. But the fear, the doubt, had been eating him alive for weeks, and now that it was out in the open, he realized just how much it had been affecting them.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own head that I didn’t realize I was pushing you away.”

Jenna shook her head, her thumb gently brushing over the back of his hand. “We’ve both been doing it. But it doesn’t have to be like this. We can fix this, Y/N. We just need to be honest with each other.”

Y/N nodded, finally meeting her gaze. “I want that. I want us to be okay.”

Jenna smiled softly, leaning in to press her forehead against his. “We will be. But we have to stop letting fear get in the way.”

They sat there like that for a while, their foreheads touching, the weight of their unspoken fears slowly lifting. The tension between them wasn’t gone, but it felt lighter now, more manageable.

As the night wore on, Y/N realized that the dark cloud that had been hanging over them for so long was starting to fade. There were still things they needed to work through, still conversations they needed to have, but for the first time in weeks, Y/N felt like maybe they could make it through this.

And as he held Jenna close, he knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t going to let fear take her away from him. Not again.

[clairewritesandrambles]

Scott needily grabbing your ass when he’s cums when you’re on top… 🫢 those hands 😩

Anon. ANON. Please, I am not strong enough for this today.

He doesn't let you get on top often. He prefers seeing you underneath him, either fucking you into the mattress from behind or watching your cock drunk face while you're a mess for him. So when he does? Oh, it's even hotter to him than usual.

Note: I wrote this with a plus-sized reader in mind, because my body is the exact reason why I actually hate being on top in my own sex-capades.

This spiraled. I started thinking this would be like 100-200 words. It's almost 1300. I hope it's good.

CW: Spanking (once), breeding, talking of body insecurity, Scott being sweet for once?, Claire talks too much

"That's it, baby. Nice and slow. I want to see you shaking from how bad you want my cock." Scott was reclined against his stack of pillows, one arm obnoxiously tucked behind his head while the other hand rubbed soft circles into your thigh.

"Scott... Please just fuck me." Your voice was soft, unable to hold his hungry gaze as he took in your form straddling his thick thighs. You felt too exposed, even with your hands resting on his chest allowing you to obscure some of his view of your body.

Shaking his head, he took the hand under his head and used it to caress your hip. "You're not getting out of this that easily. I wanna see you fall apart on my cock before I even think about having you under me." Seeing the uncertain look in your eyes, he threaded his fingers through yours as a soft, reassuring smile touched his lips. "You can do it, beautiful."

"Scott," you whined, "please." You shifted uncomfortably on him, thoughts running through your head a thousand miles a minute. Thoughts of your face from his point of view, the look of your body, and the feel of your weight on his hips and chest. Would he be turned off by it? Would it feel good for him? Not for the first time, you worried about Scott seeing the flaws you saw in yourself and realizing what he has gotten himself into.

You're jostled from your thoughts by Scott readjusting himself to sit up to your level, the concern on his face indicating he'd recognized the look of overthinking on your face. He always teased that he knew you better than you knew yourself and in moments like these you believed him.

"Talk to me. What's wrong?" He bumped his forehead against yours, giving you no option but to look into his eyes while his strong arms held you close.

"I just..." You trailed off, considering playing it cool before you saw him raise an unimpressed eyebrow, already a step ahead of you. "It feels good, right? I'm not too heavy or anything?"

A large hand snakes its way to cup your jaw, making you instinctively lean into his warmth. You always loved it when he used his hands on you, seeing them flex as he held and touched you, and the warmth they provided.

"You always feel amazing, baby. I could spend the rest of my life with you on top of me, letting me see that beautiful body of yours, and I'd feel completely at peace." He whispered these words like a sacred promise, his thumb dragging on your bottom lip as he softly angled his head even closer to yours. "I am so fucking in love with all of you."

Your entire body heated at his words, your hands grabbing at his face to join his mouth with yours. His tongue licked into your mouth, stealing your sighs as one hand slipped around your back while the other trailed down your jaw to land at your throat.

"Now," he said, breaking the kiss, "ride my cock like a good girl." He leaned back as his hands encircled your hips, his hair falling into his lust-filled eyes.

"Yes, sir," you mocked, leaning forward to brush his hair back into place as you pressed one last kiss to his lips. Your hips lifted on his cock before you sat back, drawing a heavenly moan from his lips, the sound mixing with his words and touch to spur confidence into you.

His grip was bruising as you rode him, profanities mixing with praises as you bounced on his cock. You knew you'd wake up with marks tomorrow, Scott's fingers brushing over them with a satisfied sigh as you two dressed for the day. 

"You feel so fucking good, baby." He breathed, thumb brushing over your clit. Your pussy clenched in response, a strangled sound escaping Scott's mouth as he threw his head back in pleasure. "Come on, beautiful. Come for me, I wanna feel you fucking leaking down my cock, you can do it."

You didn't even have time to react before your orgasm washed over you, making you cry out his name and clench around him. He shot up to a half-sitting position, catching you as you collapsed on his shoulder. "Fuck, good girl. You're so fucking good for me."

With his hand behind him providing more leverage, Scott started thrusting into you, fucking himself even deeper into you than he already was. All pretenses were dropped as he desperately chased after his orgasm, his other hand gripping your ass as he pulled you down to keep as much of him inside of you as he could.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you feel so fucking good. So fucking tight, I can't wait to fill you." He mouthed at your neck, your fingers grabbing onto the hairs at the base of his neck as he sucked a mark onto a sweet spot. Praises fell freely from his mouth now, his grip on your ass tightening before crescendoing into a firm smack. "Gonna fill you and get you fucking pregnant."

His words drew out a sound that didn't even sound human, making you clench around him once again as a second orgasm rocketed up to settle as a tight ball in your stomach. You could hear his smirk as he continued: "You want that? Want me to pump you full of cum until you can't take anymore? You'd take more though, if I told you because you're so fucking good for me." You weren't even in control of your own body at this point, hips desperately meeting his thrusts. "God, I'd fucking love to see your body while you're pregnant. Nice and full of me, wearing little loose dresses around the house so I can fill you over and over again. Fuck I'll keep you nice and bred every day."

His words rip a second orgasm from  you, your body spasming as you kiss him again, all teeth and tongue through the rush of passion. More filthy words continued to escape against your lips, Scott losing coherency in the throes of his building orgasm. He fully straightens up, both hands grasping your hips to push you down onto him as his cock twitched and filled you. Deep grunts filled the air as he continued minuscule thrusts, the aftershocks of his orgasms continuing to go through him. As he came down, he mouthed at your jaw, dropping down your neck and chest before finalizing with a soft kiss in the valley of your breasts.

Satisfied, he leaned back against the pillows, more strewed on the bed than before. You moved to lay beside him, causing a discontent sound to come from his throat as he pulled you back down onto his slowly softening cock. "It's not going to stick if you get up right away. Gotta make sure it works." He spoke like he couldn't believe you'd think of getting off.

"How stupid of me." You rolled your eyes, taking in how good he looked with a sheen of sweat glistening off his skin and curling his hair.

He smirked knowingly at you, seeing you take in his appearance. But his words didn’t match the arrogant expression, instead reflecting only the soft look in his eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too. You're going soft, Miller." You taunted, reaching out once again to brush a hair off his face when he caught your wrist.

"Only for you," he conceded, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point and pulling you to lay on his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

[scary-grace]

Somewhere in the Crowd- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Tomura tells himself he's content with singing backup in the band he founded, and most of the time he is. But when he takes a song request from you during the biggest concert the League of Villains has ever played, he realizes that there might be a few advantages to claiming the spotlight. 4.1k words, no quirks, band au. the League sounds like Lord Huron because I want them to and all songs referenced are from LH's discography.

this fic is for the lovely @scarlettcryptid's birthday! she offered me free rein to write a Shigaraki x reader fic, and true to form I have produced a band AU. happy birthday Scarlett! sorry it's a little late.

Even midway into his second tour with the band he started, Tomura still hasn’t fallen for the supposed romance of being onstage. It’s hot under the lights. The entire venue smells like sweat. And if it wasn’t for the earpiece jammed in one ear and the earplug jammed in the other, he wouldn’t even be able to hear what the rest of the band is doing. Not Twice on drums, not Toga on violin or musical saw or whatever weird instrument she dug up, not Dabi on piano or Spinner on guitar, and definitely not either Dabi or Spinner’s singing. Without the goddamn earpieces, the League of Villains would fall apart.

And at the same time, Tomura doesn’t hate it quite as much as he used to. Since the League got signed with Deika Records, they’ve been playing sold-out shows in increasingly larger venues. Tonight’s venue has three thousand people. Three thousand people paid money to get in, and some number of them paid more money to meet-and-greet with the band afterwards, and right now, all of them are focused on the stage.

They’re mainly focused on Spinner and Dabi, who are singing, or on Twice, who’s always doing something weird and destined to go viral, or on Toga, who’s better at playing to the crowd than anybody else in the band. Tomura, off to one side of the stage with his bass and a mic in front of him, might as well be an afterthought. And that’s fine with him. He’s the one who formed the band. He’s the one who writes the songs. His music is in the spotlight. That’s good enough.

They’ve just wrapped up a crowd favorite, one of the songs from the first album, and they’re officially in the back half of the set. Tomura glances down at the set list, sees the blank spot, and feels a wave of apathy sweep over him. It gets even worse when Spinner, his handpicked lead singer who’s all about keeping things fair, steps up to the mic and announces it to the crowd. “We’ve got space for one more request, so send it on over to Shigaraki! It’s his turn to pick.”

When it’s Dabi or Spinner picking the request, people rush the stage, and people rush it this time, too – so they can try to get the poster they made or the picture they want signed right up and personal with Spinner and Dabi. Tomura sidles awkwardly over to the edge of the stage, wondering if anyone will try to request something from him. Tonight there are two dozen or so, all with big posters asking for the band’s most famous songs. Someone wants a deep cut, one that Dabi sings solo, and Tomura’s feeling like an asshole, so he skips that one on purpose. And then he spots something else.

It’s not a poster or a photo for signing. It’s a piece of folded-up notebook paper, held up by someone who doesn’t look like the type to be right up front at a League of Villains concert. It’s hard to get a good look at your face with all the posters in the way, and somebody keeps bumping into you, almost knocking you over. You keep your arm up, your piece of notebook paper flapping, and Tomura reaches out to the absolute edge of his balance and snatches it from your hand.

“We have a winner,” Toga calls out, and a bunch of people cheer – because it’s Toga talking, not because Tomura grabbed a request. “What’s it gonna be, Tomura-kun?”

Tomura unfolds the piece of paper. Three words. Play your favorite.

He knew he grabbed the right one. “Lost in Time and Space,” he announces, to the tune of a collective “huh” from the audience. “Spinner. Move over.”

Spinner’s grinning as he steps away from the center mic. “We haven’t done this one in forever,” he says, too quietly for the crowd to here. He swaps his guitar for Tomura’s bass. “Whoever did the request must be a fan of yours.”

Tomura doesn’t think you are, really. He’s not even sure you’re a fan of the band. If you were, you’d have requested a specific song, not just requested that Tomura play his favorite song. Tomura feels a surge of nerves as he gets set at the center mic, then pushes them aside. Just because he hasn’t sung lead in a while doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how. Everyone might rather look at Spinner or Dabi, but for the next three and a half minutes, they’re going to have to put up with looking at him. Tomura cues the rest of the band, adjusts his grip on Spinner’s guitar, and plays.

It’s an old song, off the League’s first LP. That LP became their first album, with the weird character songs and story arcs the League is famous for, but neither Spinner nor Dabi wanted this song. Tomura doesn’t blame them. He was pretty depressed when he wrote it, and it’s a little too mopey for the LP and for what the League usually plays. But it’s his damn song. He hasn’t played it on tour at all. He’s going to enjoy it.

He does enjoy it. Not enough to make him miss singing lead or being the star of the show, but he enjoys getting to play a song that’s his, one he didn’t write to play to anybody else’s strengths. And at the end of the song, once he’s stepped away from the center mic and gone back where he belongs, he picks up the notebook paper off the stage and tucks it into his pocket. Whoever you are, he hopes you got what you were looking for out of the show. As he slogs through the rest of the set, Tomura wishes he’d gotten a good look at your face.

After three encores – a record – Tomura and the rest of the band get a break, hanging out in the green room before the meet-and-greet. Toga beelines for the fridge, but instead of opening it, she hauls out a can of air freshener from the floor next to it and starts spraying it everywhere. Twice gets a blast in the face and sneezes through his mask. “Hey, what the hell? That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled and it sucks!”

“It smells like boy sweat in here,” Toga says. “I love you guys, but you stink. The girls at the meet and greet won’t like that.”

“Some of them are into it,” Dabi says, and smirks. Spinner grabs the air freshener from Toga and sprays both armpits. “Quit simping so hard for your fans, lead singer. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“They paid to come talk to us. We shouldn’t tear-gas them with our body odor.”

“So you’re going to tear-gas them with air freshener instead?”

“They’re his fans. He can do what he wants.” Tomura shakes his head when Spinner offers him the can. Deodorant exists, and it’s not like anybody’s going to want to talk to Tomura anyway. “That goes for everybody. Do what you want. But if you break Magne’s rules, you’re on your own.”

Magne’s been the tour manager since halfway through their first tour, and she’s strict as hell. In fairness to Magne, they earned it. Halfway through their first tour, one meet-and-greet turned into one party and turned into five separate scandals, one for each of them. Spinner’s was the smallest and Twice’s was pretty funny, but Dabi and Toga both spent a night in jail over theirs, and although it upped their cred with the fanbase, it also tanked a possible record deal. Kurogiri showed up to bail them out, and he brought Magne with him.

The door to the green room opens, and Magne steps in, like Tomura somehow summoned her by mentioning her name. “They’re all lined up,” she says. “I’m sneaking you in the back way. Does everybody remember the rules?”

Tomura mumbles agreement along with everybody else. Magne’s smile takes on a dangerous glint. “There are only three important ones,” she says. “First: The bus leaves when it leaves, regardless of who’s on it. I don’t care how hungover you are. Get your ass on the bus.”

When Tomura’s hungover, he usually sleeps on the bus, just to make sure it doesn’t leave without him. “Second,” Magne continues, “remember that whatever you do with a groupie is going to end up all over the internet. And don’t bring any groupies on the bus unless the rest of the band okays it.”

That’s happened exactly never. Tomura uses the bus trips for writing or for naps, and too much groupie bullshit makes it hard to do either. “And finally,” Magne says, “if I find out that any of you were hooking up with a groupie in a goddamn koi pond again, I’m taking you to the vet and having you neutered before you sober up.”

“That was one time!” Twice protests.

“Yeah, and we’re still getting therapy bills from the fish,” Tomura says. Toga cackles. “Can we get this over with?”

“Yep! Right this way.” Magne leads them out the door and down a hallway, then ushers them through the door into the venue’s VIP lounge. Tomura’s last in line, and she grabs his arm before he can go in. “I got a call from the big boss at Deika. He says to try not to look like you’re in pain the entire time.”

“Tell him to stop looking at me, then.” Tomura shrugs her off, steps through the door, and skulks over to the far corner of the room. “Nobody else is.”

Back before he made it in any capacity, Tomura used to daydream about meet-and-greets, getting all wound up over the idea that people would pay to talk to him about his music. A few years into his career, the reality’s set in: Meet-and-greets are for photos and autographs and fans throwing themselves at the artists, and nobody throws themselves at Tomura. Kurogiri thinks it’s his stage presence, or the fact that he doesn’t interact with fans on social media, or that he doesn’t look very approachable. Tomura’s pretty sure it’s about how he looks, period. With a face like his, approachable doesn’t matter.

The fans start filtering in, beelining for the others, and Tomura digs his notebook out of his pocket. He might as well write a bit.

Compress, who handles production and merchandising on the tour, swings by at one point to give Tomura the figures. They’re doing well, which is a surprise. “Even the new stuff?”

“The K-pop strategy is working,” Compress says. He lifts his mask to take a sip of water, then lowers it down again. “Everyone’s trying to collect them all – the photo cards, the different editions of the albums, the replica costume pieces. The fans on Twitter are competing to see who can get an autograph on every piece of merchandise first.”

The fans on Twitter are really stupid. “If it works, it works.”

“It’s working very well,” Compress says. He pauses. “Somebody did come by looking for something I didn’t have. They wanted a copy of Vide Noir. Not the album – the LP.”

“The LP? Why?”

“Because the album doesn’t have Lost in Time and Space on it,” Compress says. “I’m not kidding, Shigaraki. Those were her exact words.”

Tomura has a hard time believing that. He’s pretty sure Compress is saying it just to build him up, because they’re halfway through the meet-and-greet, and nobody, not even the autograph hunters, has come to talk to Tomura. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Tomura didn’t start writing music so people will talk to him. That’s what he’s been insisting on since he started the band. Midway through their second tour, it’s almost the truth.

Compress leaves, and Tomura keeps writing, scratching away at a verse that’s not coming together. He’s just starting to wonder how much longer this thing is supposed to go on for when a shadow falls across his notebook page. “Um,” a girl’s voice starts. “Hi. Are you Tomura?”

“Dabi’s over there.”

“Yeah, I saw,” the girl says. “Are you Tomura?”

“I’m Shigaraki.” Tomura doesn’t look up. “You want to talk to Spinner? He’s over there. He likes the shy ones.”

Tomura’s not sure if Spinner likes the shy ones or if he’s just less scared of them than he is of the others. For a lead singer, Spinner’s unusually spooked by his fans. “Is Spinner the one who writes the songs?” the girl asks. “I wanted to talk to the person who writes the songs. If the liner notes are anything to go by, that’s you.”

Tomura looks up at tonight’s misguided, irritating fan, and stops at chest height when notes the lack of a backstage pass around your neck. He notes your breasts, too, and the fact that you’re not showing them off. “Nice work on sneaking in here without paying. Dabi will be impressed.”

“I didn’t sneak in,” the fan says. “The woman at the door let me in when I showed her this.”

Tomura doesn’t look up, and the fan sticks a notebook into the middle of his eyeline. A notebook with lined paper and the remnants of a torn-out page still clinging to the binding. Tomura fumbles in his pocket for the request he took and unfolds it, lining it up to match the torn edge of the page. The request is a little crumpled, but when Tomura smooths it out, he can see that the edges match.

His heart skips an awkward beat, then another. He’s not talking to a random fan. You’re the one who gave him the request. He hands you back the notebook without the request sets his own notebook aside, and gets to his feet, so he can finally get a look at your face. You’re pretty, and you’re dressed like you came here straight from an office job, and you came to talk to him – and he’s been a dick. “Sorry,” he says, the word feeling awkward and unwieldy as it forces its way out of his mouth. “Thought you were here for somebody else.”

You shake your head. “I was hoping to talk to you,” you say. “Sorry about the first-name thing. That was – awkward.”

You used Tomura’s first name, and Tomura was a jackass to you. That makes it even, in his opinion.  “What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to thank you for taking my request,” you say earnestly. You remind Tomura of some of Spinner’s fans. “And I wanted to know why you picked the song you did.”

Now you sound more like one of Dabi’s fans. Dabi’s fans get kind of direct when they want something. “I’ll tell you that if you tell me why you gave me that request instead of a normal one.”

You look at Tomura, and Tomura looks back. “Can we sit down?” you ask. “I took an elbow to the knee trying to get through the mosh pit, and my leg’s still kind of numb.”

Something about that strikes Tomura as funny, but he doesn’t realize what it is until you’re both sitting down on the floor, leaned back against the wall. “Did you just make a Skyrim joke?”

“Don’t get too excited. I only know the one.” You glance sideways at Tomura. “Want to see the bruise?”

Usually when Dabi’s fans ask him if he wants to see something, they mean their tits. Or their ass. Tomura nods, and you hike up your pantleg. Tomura gets kind of fixated on your ankle, then your calf, but then you pull the fabric up over your knee, and Tomura winces in spite of himself. “Are you sure it was an elbow and not a hammer or something?”

“Maybe it was. Your fans are kind of crazy.”

“The band’s fans,” Tomura corrects. You let your pantleg fall back, covering up your calf and your ankle, and Tomura feels weirdly disappointed. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“Why I gave you that request?” You tilt your head back against the wall. “You write all the songs, but you never sing lead, and songs sound different when they’re sung by the person who wrote them. I thought if I asked for your favorite, you’d pick one you sing lead on.”

And you were right. Tomura feels weird about that. Weird enough to answer your question before you can ask it again. “I picked that one because it’s the only one I still sing lead on. I have favorites for the band. But I always pick those. I just thought it might be – fun.”

“I liked it,” you say. “When Dabi and Spinner sing, they’re telling a story. It’s a good story, and they’re telling it well, but – when you sang it, it sounded like it was about you. Do you feel like you’re writing about yourself when you write songs?”

“Do you usually get this personal with people you just met?”

“I don’t usually meet my favorite songwriter,” you say. “So no.”

Your favorite. “I’m not your favorite. Don’t lie.”

“I don’t lie about stuff like that,” you say. “I wouldn’t take an elbow to the knee for my second-favorite songwriter.”

Tomura snorts. “I didn’t know people had favorite songwriters.”

“I’m weird,” you say comfortably. Now you sound like a Toga fan. Or one of Twice’s. Their fans don’t take themselves too seriously. “And I’m a writer, so I know the good stuff when I see it.”

“You write?” Tomura asks. He wouldn’t have guessed looking at you. Then again, he wouldn’t have guessed that you’d be at a League concert, either. “Poems or something?”

“No, stories,” you say. Tomura’s a little bit relieved. “Stories have arcs and plots, just like your songs do – and the band’s albums – but you do it in a lot less space than I have to work with, so you’re much more efficient. You can define a character in two lines, and it’s compelling. People connect with it. They must, or they wouldn’t dress up in those outfits.”

Tomura tries not to pay attention to the outfits. Sometimes seeing what people took away from his songs is a little upsetting. Listening to you talk about what you like about his songwriting style is a different kind of upsetting, the kind where he wants to believe it and knows he shouldn’t. “What’s your favorite?”

“Meet Me in the Woods,” you say without missing a beat. “I was kind of sad you all didn’t play it.”

“We need a female vocalist,” Tomura says. “We rented one for recording it, but Toga doesn’t sing, and Magne wouldn’t do it even when Twice dared her to. And Dabi said his balls shrink every time he puts his falsetto up that high.”

You laugh at that. Tomura likes what it sounds like. “Spinner says the song gives him the creeps,” he adds. “I sang lead in the studio.”

“You should sing lead for that one,” you say. “And find a female vocalist.”

Tomura shrugs. “Job’s open if you want it.”

Your face flushes instantly. “I bet you know better jokes than that.”

“Can you sing?” Tomura asks. You look away in a hurry, the flush deepening. Now you look like a Spinner fan again, but you’re not saying no, either. Now Tomura’s interested. He gets to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

Tomura holds out a hand to help you up, and after a long second, you take it. “Let’s go.”

Tomura doesn’t let go of your hand, and you don’t pull away. It’s not until Tomura leads you back out onto the stage in an auditorium that’s now lit only by a ghostlight that you put the brakes on. “No.”

“There’s nobody in here but me,” Tomura says. “You said it’s your favorite song. Try it.”

“Would you try it, if you were me?” Your hand is shaking a little bit. “Faceplanting in front of my favorite songwriter was not on my agenda for this evening.”

“I’ll sing, too,” Tomura says. “I could always faceplant in front of my biggest fan.”

Maybe that was a dumb thing to say. Maybe you don’t want to be Tomura’s biggest fan. He waits for you to protest. Instead, you take a deep breath. “Start singing, then.”

The first verse is Tomura’s, and his joke about faceplanting in front of you gets a little too real in a heartbeat. There’s something weird about singing in front of just one person, someone he can’t see even though you’re right next to him. It’s a relief when you join him on the tag at the end of the verse, even if you’re quiet. And Tomura was right – you can sing, at least enough to harmonize, and to match his tone so your voice doesn’t clash with his. The real test will be the chorus, if you can keep pace with Tomura there.

And you can. Tomura knew you could, but he’s surprised by how good it sounds. By the last line of the chorus, you’re confident enough to screw around a bit, putting a turn on the last three notes of the third line instead of hitting them straight. Tomura’s not projecting his voice all that hard, and neither are you, but the auditorium’s empty. There’s nothing for your voices to hit that will deaden the sound, and the acoustics bounce it back in an echo that sends chills down Tomura’s spine.

When the echo fades, it’s silent. Next to Tomura, you shiver. “Maybe this was a bad place to sing this song.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Tomura will admit the line about the endless night hit a little harder than it was supposed to. “Tomorrow night, try not to stare into the lights.”

“I told you not to joke.”

“I don’t joke about stuff like this,” Tomura says. Now you’re reminding him of Spinner, who took way too much convincing before he’d believe that Tomura not only wanted him in the band, but wanted him to sing lead. “I told you. The job’s yours if you want it. Do you want it?”

It’s quiet for a second. “Where’s your next show?”

“A couple hours from here. Are you worried about your job or something?”

“No,” you say slowly. “Tonight was the last night of a business trip. I’m remote most of the time.”

“So you can work anywhere as long as you have internet access,” Tomura says. He hears you make some kind of distressed noise. “It’s your favorite song. I’ll put it in the set list and I’ll sing lead. You just have to sing it with me. Are you in?”

“This isn’t why I came here,” you say. “I just wanted to meet you and talk about your songs. I wasn’t trying to, like – get on the bus or something.”

“That would be a hell of a long con,” Tomura says. “I don’t think you’d go for that. Too many moving parts.”

“Yeah.” You make that distressed noise again. It’s sort of cute. “Is there a reason we’re still holding hands?”

“Yeah. It’s dark in here and I didn’t want you to fall of the side of the stage.” Tomura starts back towards the wings, pulling you along with him and trying to get his stupid grin under control before he steps back into the light. “Look at it this way. Even if you faceplant tomorrow night, it’ll be something to write about.”

“Are you going to write about this?” you challenge. “You never told me if you feel like your songs are about you.”

Tomura doesn’t, usually. He writes about characters for a reason. Most of the things that happen to him aren’t worth writing about. You, though – you fought through the mosh pit to give him your request, and then you came to find him after the show, and you like him as a lead singer and you can sing and you sound damn good singing with him. And you’re still holding his hand. Most of the things that happen to Tomura aren’t worth writing about. He met you half an hour ago and you already are.

You don’t try to let go of his hand, and you don’t hit the brakes again until you’re just outside the meet-and-greet room. “I want to know,” you say. The shellshocked look you had on when you got back into the light has faded. Now you just look pretty and stressed, and like you’re not going to take no for an answer. Tomura likes that. “Are your songs about you?”

“This one will be,” Tomura says, and he pulls you into the room to meet the rest of the band.

[fxirybun]

🪷 PAC: your platonic soulmate’s personality

this is a collective reading ! take what resonates and leave what doesn't. i cannot guarantee 100% accuracy. take the pac reading lightly ჱ̒ ｰ̀֊ｰ́ )

ෆ⸒⸒ pile one 🥀

hello there pile one ! your platonic soulmate is someone who's giving a bad bitch energy and doesn't allow themselves to be taken for granted. whoever this person is i feel that they have a powerful energy within them , it's like if someone wants to bully you your platonic soulmate is more than ready to throw their hands at them lol.

i can see that their tongue is as sharp as a knife , a metaphor for how direct their words are and how others would think that your platonic soulmate is very harsh or domineering. they're outspoken and aren't afraid to voice out their opinions since they believe that their statement holds truth in it.

this person has a confident presence within themselves and i'm getting that they may be into manifestation. it's as if they can turn all their ideas into tangible plans because they have this inner willpower to create those opportunities and they have the right equipment to turn their desires into a reality. due to them having a wide variety of skills , people are jealous of them and would do the means to bring your platonic soulmate down.

this doesn't stop them though 'cause they're the kind of person who seems to thrive in a competitive environment. it allows them to exert more bold effort since your platonic soulmate wants to prove their enemies wrong.

ෆ⸒⸒ pile two 🪻

hi , pile two ! i'm getting a hint that your platonic soulmate may have gone through a terrible heartbreak in their life and how it brought them a baggage of emotional pain. this experience made them more cautious when letting someone enter their life. regardless of past wounds , they know how to deal with this lingering pain through means of healing. it also allows your platonic soulmate to be wiser and more empathetic.

i feel that they're someone who has a layered personality , similar to an onion. in addition , this person is presumably able to face any havoc that will come their way. they can be both compassionate and courageous simultaneously and how they are being perceived as a source of support for others due to their encouraging words.

they seem to be the kind of person who appreciates forming a mutual connection with others. i sensed that your platonic soulmate is currently in the process of learning to let go of the heaviness that they've been carrying in their back. whoever this person is , they seem to tend to take too many responsibilities that lead them to overcommit.

the good news here is that this person is releasing all this pressure that they're feeling because they're striving to create a balanced life where they are not overwhelmed. they garnered the strength to withstand the mist.

ෆ⸒⸒ pile three 🦋

hello , pile three ! i can see that your platonic soulmate is someone who just goes with the flow. their personality reminded me of that one student in class who's labeled as the "joker" due to how unhinged or funny their jokes are lmao. they love to spread positivity to the people around them including the environment itself , making them the kind of friend who is fun to be around.

this person is not afraid to explore the unknown just so they can go on board for new experiences , not allowing fear to gain control over them. despite their carefree personality , your platonic soulmate knows how to be serious when it is needed , especially in situations that are not for the fainted heart. this person is aware of balancing their free-spirited nature and their mature side when it comes to confidential matters.

i feel that your platonic soulmate is someone who cares deeply about their loved ones , especially those who are considered dear to them. they have this gentle approach and seem to know how to comfort someone in troubled times. this person is an expert in trying to connect to someone on an emotional level.

i kept hearing the lyrics "you've got a friend in me" from the movie toy story and how it resonates with this reading about your platonic soulmate. you can always rely on them , pile three ! as i'm getting this ride or die , bonnie and clyde , best friends for life dynamic.

[vitalverstappen]

How Do I Do This? - D. Ricciardo

summary: after a public divorce with your ex-husband (not danny), you found yourself learning to try again

pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x famous!reader

warnings: mentions of divorce, drinking, swearing

word count: 1.1k

The divorce was messy. There were disputes over literally everything: who got what, how much money both of you got, who kept the dog. And it didn’t help that the media got a whiff of what was happening. Your failing marriage was plastered on every single outlet. 

It was for the best that you hid away from the public for a while. The pieces of you had shattered on the floor, and you needed the time to put yourself back together. 

A few months later, you slowly began putting yourself back in the public eye. Small trips to the coffee shop, out to lunch with some friends, or a smaller awards show. 

During this outing, you found yourself out to lunch with your childhood best friend, Kelly. She had been there through the thick and thin of your marriage, and the resulting divorce. There was nothing about your life that she didn’t know. 

She knew so well that she could tell you were healed, and truth be told, you were. So it was no surprise when a mischievous grin formed on her face. 

“What’s that look for?” You asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be

“Soooo” Kelly started “There’s this guy I know. A good friend of mine.”

“Wow, you have friends other than me. I’m hurt” You joked as you took a sip of your drink. It was obvious what she was hinting at. 

“Yeah, believe it or not” She laughed “But I think they’re your type y/n. His name is Daniel.” 

Kelly flipped her phone around to show you a picture of the man. Dark curly hair, brown eyes, and a charming smile. As much as you hated to admit it, he was your type. 

Leaning back in your chair, you crossed your arms. It had been years since you dated. And honestly, it terrified you having to have a conversation about someone’s favorite color again. It terrified you to have articles written about you again. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready.” You admitted “I can’t even remember what it’s like going on a first date. My last one was back when I was 22.” 

“Oh come on, y/n. It doesn’t have to be anything serious. Just one date to test the waters. Get yourself back out there.” Kelly explained, “It can be in secret so the tabloids don’t write anything.” 

She was right. The date didn’t have to go anywhere. You could meet the guy, say you weren’t feeling it, and leave it at that. No attachments, no tabloids. 

“Fine,” You sighed, defeated. “Send the guy my number. I am not making the first move.”

You had honestly forgotten about the conversation with your friend. Days had passed and you hadn’t gotten a text from a new number. He probably didn’t want to text you. Or your agent had seen the text and thought it was spam. 

That is until one fateful night, your phone buzzed. 

Unknown: Hey y/n it’s Daniel. Kelly gave me your number

Amused, you picked up your phone. It took him long enough to get the confidence to text you.

You: Hey Daniel. I was starting to think Kelly forgot to lol

Only a few moments passed before your phone buzzed again. Another text from Daniel. 

Daniel: Lol that’s pretty much what happened. How’s your night going?

The two of you engaged in a bit of small talk over text. It was only a matter of time before he pulled the trigger on asking you out. 

Daniel: So I was wondering, are you free Saturday? I know a spot we could go - away from everything. 

Your fingers danced around your keyboard until you finally found a reply. 

You: Yeah I am! 

After rereading the text, you quickly deleted your response. It was just a little too desperate. 

You: Yup, I think so 

Again, you found yourself deleting the message. This time, too nonchalant. At least twenty different replies had to have been typed out before you finally gave up and responded with something simple and straight to the point. 

You: Yes

Immediately, you put your phone down, needing to connect back to your world. It was hard to fathom that you were back in the dating scene. Never did you think you would be back starting at square one. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone buzzing once again. 

Daniel: Great! I’ll pick you up at 7

And that’s how you found yourself panicking in your room Saturday evening. An excitement rushed through you that you hadn’t felt in years. It was like your teenage self was coming back to life. You and Daniel had texted off and on leading up, but today was the big day. 

Hours were spent digging through your extensive closet. Nothing that you had picked out seemed to be just right. Eventually, you landed on a little black dress that you hadn’t worn in years. 

Panic flooded your thoughts the entire time you got ready. What if you said something stupid? What if he brought up your divorce? What if it actually goes well?

Your thoughts were cut short when you read the clock: 6:52pm. Eight minutes left. 

You did the only thing you knew would calm your senses. Phone in hand, you called Kelly. One ring was all it took before her face showed up on your screen.

“Hey girl! You look hot!” She said as she picked up. 

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up” You admitted “I don’t know if I can do this” 

“Y/n, yes you can. It’s just a few hours of your life. Daniel’s a sweet guy-”

“Would it be wrong if I took a shot?” You blurted out, eyes on the bottle of vodka that stood on your kitchen counter. 

Through the phone, Kelly stifled a laugh. “I don’t think you need to, Danny’s an easy guy to talk to. But if you think it’ll help, be my guest.” 

Without a second thought, you twisted the cap off of the bottle and took a swig. The liquor burned your throat as you drank, but it was the reality check you needed. You were human, he was human. You’re going to be fine. 

“Better?” Kelly asked as you gagged 

Once you collected yourself, you said, “Better. I gotta go Kels. He should be picking me up any second.” As if on cue, you heard your doorbell ring. “Coming!” 

After one last quick look in the mirror, you found yourself at your door. Daniel was on the other side. This was it. One last inhale, then you opened the door. 

“Hey” Was all you were able to get out. Kelly had shown you photos of Daniel, but none of those could compare to how he looked standing in front of you. 

“Hi” He replied in the same breathy tone you had used only moments prior. A smile spread across his face. “You look amazing”

“So do you” 

Daniel reached out his hand, “M’lady, shall we?” 

Your lips parted into a smile as well as you laced your fingers into his, “We shall”