#masterlist female green eyes

[kaciidubs]

Talk Dirty [Like You Need Love]

This song has me thinking heavily about expanding this into a fuller fic, so if people end up liking it, maybe I'll go ahead and finish it further! ✧ Summary: Chris was a great friend, picking you up from work whenever you had a late shift - so, it was only fair that you wanted to repay him. ✧  ✧ Word Count: 3.5k ✧ Warnings: Biker!AU, friends to ???, smut, slight dom! Chris, open ended ✧  ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧  ✧ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as Baby, Good Girl, Pretty, Chris is referred to as Baby, Channie ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

The streetlights came and went in intermittent strobes, passing over the two of you as his motorcycle hummed along the sparsely occupied street.

Your arms were wrapped securely around his waist just as he’d taught you, the warmth of your body against his back combating the chill of the crisp night air - he really wished he hadn’t forgotten his hoodie in his rush to pick you up.

“Are you cold?” 

As if reading his mind, your voice floated through the comms of his helmet and he shook his head, “I’m alright, baby - don’t worry about me.”

Of course, you weren’t easily swayed - it was a quality he loved about you, no matter how much he preferred to be the one to look out for everyone else, you were always there to double back on him with undeterrable determination; proved by the way you leaned a little more against his back.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about your sweet gesture if it weren’t for the shifting of your arms, your hands slowly splayed against his torso.

“I always worry about you, Chris…” Your voice was soft, dripping with sweet honey as your right hand wandered its way higher, following the soft defined path of his chest underneath his shirt. “It’s hard not to, if I’m honest.”

He took a short breath, unsure if this was truly happening or if his mind was playing tricks on him and twisting your intentions to fit his deep seated desires.

That is, until your left hand carefully danced its way to his thigh, sitting nicely against the cotton of his sweatpants.

“You always do so much for everyone else- do so much for me,” your hand flexed, nails pressing lightly against his thigh, “I just wanna do something for you in return, you know?”

The bike slowed to a roll as you reached a stoplight, Chris keeping the balance with his otherwise unoccupied leg while taking the opportunity to hold onto the outside of your own thigh.

“Be careful with your words, baby - you might give me the wrong idea.”

“Are my actions not enough?” You murmured, inching your hand higher, fingertips brushing along the inseam of his sweats, “Should I do more, Channie?”

His hand left the brake clutch to wrap around your wrist, electricity flowing through your veins like a completed circuit. “You shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t do this.”

“But I want this, I need this.”

Your hand squeezed, your voice filling his head like the intoxicating lull of a siren’s call.

“I need you.”

Green.

Chris tapped your thigh, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine when you seamlessly went back to holding onto him just like he taught you; arms around his waist, your body against his back.

The ride to his apartment felt like second nature with you - much like other things he did with you, if he were honest with himself - and the moment he pulled into his parking spot, his movements only felt more natural.

Switch engine off. Kickstand down.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping his shoulders as you eased yourself off of his motorcycle, and by the time your touch left him, Chris hopped from his seat with learned grace - his hands unbuckling and taking off his helmet in record time.

By the time your own helmet was off, cradled in your arms, his intense gaze caught your eyes, locking you in a stare off that said more than words could convey, yet their true meaning would be lost to memory with what left his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” He breathed, “Tell me right now and I’ll take you home, and we can pretend none of this happened - just, tell me.”

“Chris,” his name fluttered from your lips like butterfly wings, “I meant every word, I’m sure, I’m so sure-”

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours - the warmth of his palm settling on your cheek in a hold that dared your knees to give out from underneath you - but as fast as they’d appeared, they vanished, leaving you dazedly blinking up at deep brown eyes.

“C’mon.”

The journey up to his apartment was a blur; the melodic chime of the front door’s lock welcoming you to the final stage of your decision as he ushered you through the doorway.

Shoes haphazardly kicked off next to another pile of pairs and helmets stored on a shelf, the empty living room was graced with your presence for what felt like half a second before you were finally where you needed to be.

Chris’s room was a place you’d only been inside of a handful of times, if not to stick your head in to announce your arrival when hanging out with his roommates, then to visit whenever he had a new snippet of a song he wanted to share; there wasn’t a chance for a tour then, and there certainly wouldn’t be a tour now.

With a subtle flick of a switch, the once dark room was suddenly bathed in a dim glow from the led lights lining the ceiling - warm and welcoming, much like the arms that wrapped around you from behind, followed by a soft pair of lips you were quickly getting used to pressing against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His hold grew tighter as his lips ventured higher - a dotted line of kisses, a brush of his breath against the back of your ear, followed by the ghost of his lips along the shell. 

“Are you still sure?”

Your eyelids fluttered, your lips parting to sigh out words evoked from the fantasies of your deepest desires, “I’m yours.”

He turned you around, and for the first time you were able to truly appreciate the feeling of his lips against your own - soft, likely from the myriad of lip care products your friends tease him for, a sensation you could find yourself craving every day and never growing tired of in the end.

You kissed him back with fervor, taking the liberty of cupping the line of his jaw with one hand while the other cradled the back of his neck, the faint curls of his hair tickling your fingertips.

Chris was the first to pull away, gifting you a fleeting peck when you tried in vain to follow him, just to reach overhead and tug his shirt up and off before unceremoniously dropping it to the floor. However, he barely gave you the chance to admire the view as his hands went to help you out of your hoodie while your own hands hastily went to tug up your shirt in the messy, frantic process.

Two articles down, the warmth of his hands were now free to meet your waist and his lips were on yours once more; his hold tightening as he took a step forward, nudging and guiding you backward until the backs of your legs met the edge of his bed. Obliging to his silent request, you sat down, using the strength in your arms to wiggle yourself up enough to lay comfortably on the full sized mattress and welcome the weight of him on top of you until it wasn’t.

Looking up, you were met with his heated stare, all but devouring you with his eyes as he took in the view - though, you figured you fared the same way when your eyes ventured down, following the strong slope of his shoulders before taking in the sight of his chest.

It wasn’t a view you hadn’t seen before thanks to his aversion of shirts in his own home - granted, it was his apartment, so you couldn’t fault him for the times he’d come out of his room to see you happily chatting away with his roommates unbeknownst to him - but you could now appreciate the details you wouldn’t have taken in otherwise such as defined pectorals and the smallest beginnings of abs against his otherwise soft stomach.

Ending the unintentional standoff, Chris lent forward, his fingertips just barely grazing your lower stomach as they went to the button of your jeans, “Can I?”

“Please.”

The corner of his lips ticked up but he ducked his head before you could see the smirk blossom, though you couldn’t find yourself to care once your jeans were undone, lifting your hips to help him shuffle the garment down the length of your legs and watching him give them the same fate as your shirts.

“These too?” He mused with a teasing lilt, eyes flicking from your own to the plain black panties you wore.

A short huff brushed past your lips, an unamused pout pursuing them. “Chris.”

The sound of his delighted giggles bounced off the walls, reducing the heat of arousal to a nice simmer that your nerves greatly appreciated - that is, until his fingers hooked underneath the waistband and slowly pulled them off; the sensation of his knuckles dragging along your thighs drawing a soft gasp from you.

It wasn’t long until they were down your legs, past your feet, and dropped off the edge of the bed, leaving you entirely bare from the waist down.

“Fuck…” He breathed, propping his knee on the bed as his hands slid up from your calves to the backs of your knees, caressing your skin before gently bringing them up and out - exposing your pussy to his pure delight. “Look at you, pretty girl.”

A wave of heat washed over you followed by an embarrassed whimper, “Chris, don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Looking up, he cocked his head slightly, “You said you were mine, which means I’m allowed to compliment what’s mine, yeah?” He bent down, maintaining eye contact as he kissed your knee softly, “You belong to me, right, baby?”

Your heart jumped to your throat, his words working like a spell against your lust addled mind.

“I belong to you.” You breathed softly, melting into his hypnotizing gaze.

A pleased hum vibrated through him as he dipped his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his lips brushing against your skin, “Good girl.”

His kisses trailed higher and higher, growing messier and messier as he went - a nip here, a suck there, open mouthed and worshiping until he reached your pussy.

Just as he was about to dive in face first, your hand tugged at his hair, effectively breaking him out of his tunnel vision to give you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna stop? I can-”

“No! God, no - it’s just…” You took a deep breath, your bravado escaping you the instant you stopped him, “I want you to eat me out, but I wanna suck your dick too. I wanna make you feel good too, Channie”

“You wanna suck my dick, pretty?” A shiver ran down Chris’s spine at the mere thought, his dick painfully straining underneath his boxer briefs and sweats. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? Words like that coming from a mouth like yours - you’re a fucking dream.”

His presence left from between your legs and part of you felt silly for missing it until you saw him reaching for his sweatpants - even through the black fabric you were able to make out the noticeable bulge tenting the front - the waistband of Calvin Klein nudging you in the right direction of what he wore underneath.

Pushing both articles past his hips, your eyes were immediately glued to the dips in his pelvis - the Adonis belt, a fitting alternate description of his v-line until your attention jumped to a scattering of hair beneath his navel leading to seemingly maintained pubic hair.

However, your peep show was obscured by his head as he bent forward to take his clothes off the rest of the way, giving you the chance to mentally prepare for the grand reveal. By the time he stood straight again, you couldn’t help the audible gasp that left you, your eyes widening as you took him in all his glory - all of the jokes his friends would make now having validity behind their digs.

“I hope that’s a good reaction…” Chris spoke sheepishly, his ears as red as a tomato as he averted his eyes to the side, one hand twitching to cover himself while the other anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Chris,” your soft call was enough to bring his eyes back to you, just in time to see you undoing your bra and tossing it to the floor, “I really want you in my mouth, baby.”

The air of shyness quickly left him as he smirked, making his way back onto the bed, “Say please.”

Reaching forward, your fingers danced along the underside of his jaw before you whispered, “Please?”

It was almost instantaneous in the way you found yourself straddled over his face, his hands massaging the plush of your thighs as if he couldn’t get enough of the way they squished and jiggled under his hold.

You leaned forward, eyes eagerly taking in his dick from the new angle; he was thick, probably an inch over average if you had to guess, with the prettiest veins that begged for your tongue to trace them.

“Don’t force yourself to take me, okay?” He called from the other end, the feeling of his breath against your cunt sending chills down your spine. “I know I’m… y’know, big, so I don’t want you to hurt yourself to make me feel good - you letting me do this is more than enough, baby.”

“I can do it Channie,” spitting into your palm, you graciously took him into your hand with a slow stroke, “I’ll be okay.”

A low groan escaped him, your sudden touch sending him into the stratosphere, “Just- Be careful for me, alright?”

Humming in agreement, you wasted no time in littering his tip in butterfly kisses and kitten licks, slowly getting yourself used to the bittersweet taste of his precum.

“Shit…” Not holding himself back any longer, Chris slid his hands up to your hips before pulling you back onto his mouth, his tongue eagerly diving between your folds as if it were an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

The action made you jolt forward, though you barely moved an inch thanks to his hold on you, your lips parting to let a moan float through.

“Mm, not too loud, baby,” he spoke against your pussy, kissing the hood of your clit, “don’t wanna wake up my roommates, yeah?”

As much as the idea called to something daring within you, you shook your head, using this as an opportunity to take the first few inches of his cock into your mouth; just enough to have the weight settle on your tongue while your hand stroked what you hadn’t gotten to yet.

“There you go.”

With that, he went back to exploring your pussy with his tongue, dipping past your walls every now and then before going back to dancing around your clit - his hands enjoying their new home on the curve of your ass.

To say the feeling of his mouth on you was mind numbing would’ve been the understatement of a lifetime - it was as if he was eating you out in the most respectfully disrespectful way, the sounds of his lips sucking your clit paired with low, breathless moans before he went back to lapping up your arousal was pure debauchery.

You tried your best to be diligent, bobbing your head in time with the curls of his tongue against your slit while your fist used whatever drool that dripped from your lips as lubricant to keep each stroke smooth and slick - your efforts not going in vain by the way his thigh would flex, or the twitch of his hips - but you were quickly falling victim to the pleasure.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he mouthed against your pussy, as if moving even an inch away would be detrimental to his psyche, “could stay here forever.”

The thought had you moaning around his cock, pulling away to give your lungs the reprieve of a full breath, only for a whined exhale to follow suit. “C-Chris, please.”

“Please, what?” Flattening his tongue, he licked a fat stripe up before giving your clit the lightest kiss imaginable, “Gonna come for me, pretty? Is that what you want?”

“N-No,” dropping your face to his thigh, you focused all of your energy into keeping your hand moving, “w-wanna make you come first, just- shit, just slow down a little!”

Chris hummed, feigning deep consideration, “But what if I want you to come for me?” His right hand slid further between your legs, his index finger stroking your fluttering walls with the promise of something more, “You said you wanted to repay me - so, let me make you come.”

Your hips bucked, muscles yearning to press back against the pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering over. “But-”

“Baby,” the velvet drawl of the pet name earned a pitiful hum in response, “you wanna make me feel good, don’t you?” He felt your head nod against his thigh, huffing out a short chuckle before continuing, “You wanna ‘repay’ me for everything I do for you, right?”

“Yes.” You sighed out, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thumb replacing his finger in favor of toying with your clit.

“Well, guess what?” Dragging his thumb up, he pressed it against your slit, “Watching you come for me- Feeling you come for me is all I could ever want from you,” slowly pushing his thumb past your walls, he ghosted his lips against your inner thigh, “show me how good I’m making you feel, baby - do it for me, please.”

He punctuated his plea by swirling his tongue around your clit once more, thrusting his thumb in time with each flick while his left hand held your hip tightly.

Your mouth fell open, a moan fighting its way through your vocal chords only to come out as choked gasps, “Ch-ah- Channie- Fuck- Channie p-please-”

Pressing his thumb in to the knuckle, Chris wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, humming out a low moan that proved to be the final straw to push you over the edge.

“Chris- C-Chris-!” Lifting your head, you put your mouth over your arm in hopes of muffling the airy moans escaping you, your vision blurring behind pleasure-fueled tears as he worked you through your orgasm.

His thumb slipped from your entrance to make room for his tongue to lap up your cum, drinking you up like a tall glass of water after a day in the sun.

It didn’t take long for you to catch your bearings, going to move away from his face until his hands tightened on your hips in silent challenge, a disgruntled grunt rising from your pure audacity of interrupting him.

“Channie, ‘s too much,” you whined breathlessly, wrenching your hand away from his - still hard - dick in favor of pushing yourself up onto your arms, “c-can’t take it, baby, please.”

Pulling away with a lewd slurp, Chris heaved a heavy breath, combating the lightheadedness of his tunnel vision while you carefully maneuvered yourself away from him - shuffling around to hover your head over a pillow before collapsing in the empty space, your body gratefully welcoming the cool sheets against your skin.

Bated breaths danced in the otherwise quiet atmosphere, Chris’s gaze locked on the ceiling as his lust-fogged brain tried to make sense of what just happened between the two of you.

“Channie?”

His heart fluttered at your soft call of his name, turning his head just to come across a sight that made his breath catch; you, his friend, laying beside him looking beautifully ruined with the golden afterglow of your orgasm that he gave you emanating from your body.

He tentatively licked his lips, goosebumps rising as your taste still lingered in his mouth, “Yeah, baby?”

“I still wanna make you come.” You murmured softly, eyes blinking at him so innocently it almost felt wrong that it made his dick twitch at the sight. “I still owe you, after all.”

Chris huffed out a chuckle, lifting himself onto his forearm before hoisting himself above you, settling his hips between your legs as he caged you in with his arms - this was a sight he could get used to.

“Instead of making this out to be you repaying a debt, how about we turn it into a ‘thank you’ gift, hm?” Leaning his head down, he brushed his nose against yours, “You thank me for the ride and the orgasm,” his lips ghosted against your own, “then I thank you for thanking me.”

“Chris, that won’t make any sense,” your voice was barely a whisper, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, “if you thank me, I’ll just thank you back - we’ll be in a loop.”

“We’ll work out the details later, then.” He murmured before leaning forward, catching your lips with his and sharing your taste off of his tongue.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @snowy-violet @bethanysnow

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[witchywithwhiskey]

this time of year

pairing: friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've kept your feelings for your friend, steve rogers, quiet for years—but when you're at the holiday market with your whole group of friends, some things come to light, and you don't think you can keep pretending you don't desperately want him anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, light angst, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), piv sex, protection, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, multiple orgasms, kissing, making out, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (sunshine), aftercare, happily ever after—this is probably the most vanilla sex i've written in a while but it's still porn with feelings.

word count: 11.9k

a/n: my first entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, and it's technically still december 1 where i live (just barely)!!! i used the prompt "Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?" and had an idea i really liked and just ran with it! i promise most of my december fics won't be 10k+ words—mainly because i don't think i'd survive it 😅 but i hope y'all enjoy this soft and sweet and smutty start to december!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Teasing tingles of chill danced across your skin as the crisp December wind brushed against your cheeks, making you huddle deeper into the warmth of your winter coat. You pushed your hands deeper into your pockets, but it didn’t do much. You’d forgotten your mittens, and your fingers felt nearly frozen. 

It didn’t help that you and your friends had been meandering through one of the city’s holiday market for more than a few hours, the cold of the evening sinking deep into your bones. Unfortunately, there were only so many cups of hot chocolate one person could consume before they made themselves sick, and you’d reached that limit. 

Still, you were having fun—too much fun to complain about the cold or to try to beg off early. That was why you smiled as you watched your best friend, Yelena Belova, duck into one of the market stalls, her green eyes going wide as they raked over the vendor’s display of knives.

You trailed a little slowly behind the rest of your friends—Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—beneath the pop-up tent, distracted by the chill in your fingers as you rubbed them against your body through the material of your coat, trying to get them warm.

The wintry wind cut through the market again and, despite the trembling of your body, you smiled as you breathed in the scent of it. Beneath the pine smell from the evergreen trees being sold at the big tent near the entrance and the swirling richness of buttery baked goods, there was a fresh scent that made you turn your face upward.

Gray clouds were rolling in overhead, blotting out the deep navy of the evening sky, and you knew, deep in your bones, that it was going to snow. A smile curled the edges of your lips and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in that fresh scent of oncoming snow. 

You loved this time of year because you loved the snow. 

Everything about it conjured up memories of sitting by a crackling fire, wrapped in a cozy blanket, watching the beautiful flakes fall from the sky and dust everything in a perfect wintry cloak. You could spend hours sitting by a window, watching the snow come down, and you were suddenly looking forward to doing just that once you got home that evening. 

When you finally opened your eyes and turned away from the sky, you found Steve lingering in the entrance of the tent where your friends were browsing, an intensity in his gaze as he looked at you. He didn’t look away when you caught him staring, simply held your gaze, letting you see the heat swirling in the depths of his bright blue eyes.

That heat had begun appearing in Steve’s eyes more and more when he looked at you, and you knew it had started after a certain night at the bar your friends frequented a few weeks prior. But you’d been determinedly ignoring that look in Steve’s eyes ever since that night—just like you’d been ignoring what exactly had happened between the two of you. 

As fast as the memory of that night sprang to mind, you shoved it aside, reminding yourself that there was no use in dredging it up. What you and Steve had done that night had the potential to ruin all of your relationships, and no matter how much you might’ve wanted reenact the night at the bar, your friend group was too important to you to risk it.

Even after years of knowing them, you still felt like your addition to the group was precarious because you’d joined so much later. Steve, Bucky, Nat and Yelena had all known each other since they were teenagers, and you’d only met them in your early twenties. You’d sat near Yelena at your first job after college, and it had been best friends at first sight—or, at first snarky comment, anyway. 

She’d adopted you as her best friend and introduced you to the others since you were new to the city and didn’t know anyone. You’d liked Steve from the moment you met him, but you’d kept a tight lid on your crush since you were more concerned about fitting into the group as seamlessly as possible, and you figured following your feelings would unnecessarily rock the boat. 

Still, despite your intention of taking your crush on Steve to your grave, you couldn’t ignore the way he’d grown into himself as you all had gotten older. 

Gone was the boy-next-door blond hair and clean-shaven face of the man you’d first met. Steve’s hair had darkened and he’d recently let it grow long enough that it was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. He’d also grown out his beard, keeping it thick but neatly trimmed.

Steve had also, somewhere along the way, learned how to dress his tall form—and do it well. 

That night at the holiday market, he’d worn light gray slacks, a dark charcoal sweater that you desperately wanted to rub your cheek against to see if it was as soft as it looked, and a black wool overcoat. It was an outfit that had you nearly drooling when you’d met up with your friends, unable to tear your eyes away from how Steve’s broad shoulders and trim waist filled out the clothes.

Despite the chill of the evening, Steve hadn’t seemed the least bit cold, and you’d caught yourself thinking more than once how warm it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms. Your fingers would never have gotten so miserably frozen if you’d snuck them beneath Steve’s coat or in his pockets…

With a start, you realized you’d been staring back at Steve for a long, lingering moment, and heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea—though, at that moment, you were struggling to figure out what exactly the wrong idea was—so you ducked your head and pretended like you were bundling deeper into your coat as you made to move past him into the tent.

“Are you alright, sunshine?” Steve asked as you passed him, his hand landing gently on your arm. Even through your coat, you could feel the warmth of his touch; it made you pause and glance up at him.

You realized your mistake immediately. You were too close to Steve—far too close. So close you could smell the rich, masculine scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. It made you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, to wrap yourself up in his warmth until your bones didn’t even remember what the cold felt like.

“I-I’m ok,” you said in a shaky voice, more rattled by Steve’s closeness than the December wind cutting through the city, and you dropped your gaze to the gold pendant around his neck. 

It glinted in the soft light of the market stall, and you remembered it had been a gift from his Irish Catholic mother. You used the memory of Steve telling you about the pendant to ground yourself and your voice came out stronger. 

“Just cold.”

“D’you want some more hot chocolate?” Steve asked, and there was a hopeful note in his tone, like he was offering to get it for you, but you were quick to shake your head.

“Any more and I think my body will be more hot chocolate than water,” you joked, trying to ignore the emotions swirling in your chest like snowflakes on a wintry gale.

When Steve chuckled, you couldn’t help but look back up at him, finding his blue eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you, affection clear in the lines of his face. 

Slowly, his smile eased into something else—something heavier, an expression that was almost yearning. It made the fluttering flakes in your chest swirl more frenziedly while a warmth bloomed somewhere lower, throbbing more to life the longer Steve looked at you with those darkened blue eyes. His expression spoke of things you’d never dare give voice to.

For another long moment, you and Steve just stared at each other, standing too close just inside the canopy of the vendor at the holiday market. A tension you refused to acknowledge crackled in the air around you.

Of their own volition, your eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, his lower lip looking so soft and pink amid the dark brown of his beard. For what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, ever since that night at the bar, you imagined kissing him—how soft his mouth would be, how warm and inviting, and the feel of his rough beard rasping over your cheeks. 

“Hey Steve, c’mere!”

Natasha’s call finally broke the spell that had fallen over you and Steve, and you jumped back, only in that moment realizing how close you’d been. Close enough that when you ducked your head and turned away from him, making your way over to Yelena and Bucky, that you missed Steve’s warmth almost immediately. 

You let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tension and whirling emotions in your chest, and slid between your friends, who were still looking at the knives on sale. Looping one arm through Yelena’s, you rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder, taking comfort in your friends’ warmth, even if it wasn’t as soothing as Steve’s had been.

“Both of you already have too many knives,” you said by way of a greeting. Your comment made both of them snort derisively, which made you smirk since it had been your intention to get a reaction out of them. 

“There’s no such thing,” Yelena scoffed, tearing her eyes away from a double-edged dagger with an engraved handle to glance sideways at you. Her gaze met yours and then slid over your shoulder.

You followed it to where Natasha and Steve’s heads were ducked together. They were standing near a display of jewelry and you figured Nat was helping Steve pick out a Christmas present for someone, though you couldn’t think of who. You frowned.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

Bucky’s gruff question drew you out of your thoughts of trying to remember someone in Steve’s life who he might be buying jewelry for, and you looked at your friend. Without even seeing your reflection, you knew confusion was written plainly across your face.

“What?” you asked, a little sharper than you’d intended, but you didn’t appreciate the implication that you were making Steve miserable.

Bucky cut his eyes to you, then slid them to Yelena, giving your best friend a pointed look. You spun your head around to your other side in time to watch Yelena’s mouth flatten into a reproachful frown. 

Suddenly, you got the distinct impression that your friends were having an argument about you, though you couldn’t even begin to wonder what it could be about, except that it had something to do with Steve.

It took a moment of silent arguing before Yelena and Bucky seemed to come to an agreement. Yelena looked at you, a gentle expression on her face that made your stomach drop with anxiety—which only worsened when she put her free hand on your arm that was still looped through hers. 

However, before she could voice whatever bad news she clearly had to tell you, Bucky cut in.

“You know no one would be upset if you and Steve dated, right?” he asked bluntly, his eyes intense and searching when you turned to look at him. “We all know you like each other.”

If you’d been drinking hot chocolate at that moment, you would’ve spit it out all over Bucky and the display of pretty decorative knives. 

Thankfully, you weren’t. But you still managed to sputter and open your mouth repeatedly while you searched for the words to address the preposterousness of Bucky’s statement.

“I do not—”

Whatever weak protest you were going to utter was cut short when Yelena blurted, “We know you kissed.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, the snowflakes that had been fluttering in your chest when you’d been standing with Steve sharpened into icy daggers of unease. You whirled on your best friend. “Pardon?”

“I saw you guys at the bar that night—I went back to get my scarf…” Yelena explained quickly, having the good grace to look apologetic, both for what she’d seen and for bringing it up. “I know you’ve liked Steve for ages, even if you haven’t said anything,” she rushed on, as if she thought if she spoke fast enough, it would make it easier to hear. “I was so excited it was finally happening that I blurted it out to Nat and she told Bucky—we were just so happy for you both.”

You floundered again, your mouth opening and closing as you processed your best friend’s words. It was almost too much to take in. Not only did everyone know what had happened between you and Steve that night at the bar, but it hadn’t changed anything. You’d told yourself for years that nothing could happen between you and Steve because it would throw off the whole balance of the group, but something had happened and it hadn’t done anything. 

“I—”

Again, you were cut off, though it was seemingly Bucky’s turn, and your head swiveled back to him on your other side, feeling a bit like a broken bobblehead. 

“He’s liked you too, for what it’s worth,” Bucky said. Your face must’ve conveyed disbelief because he went on. “He’s been talking about you since Yelena first introduced you to everyone, but he didn’t know how you felt,” he said, cutting his eyes to Yelena with the barest hint of a glare, “and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Hearing that Steve liked you was officially too much for you to bear. The dawning realization that you could’ve been with Steve without risking your friendships with Yelena, Bucky and Nat was like a yawning, desolate chasm waiting to swallow you whole. You’d lost so much time because you were so afraid of losing them all, and it hurt—it hurt enough that it took you a moment to realize Yelena was talking again.

“We thought someone had finally made a move, but then you guys were pretending like nothing happened,” she was saying, and you turned back to her, your mind so overwhelmed that you no longer felt cold, only numb. “None of us wanted to bring it up because, y’know, I wasn’t supposed to have seen it.” She shot you an apologetic grimace before plowing on, her expression turning gentle again. “You know we’d never stop being your friends, even if something happened with you and Steve, right?”

Your heart was racing, the fear of change quickly eclipsing the fear of losing any more time with Steve. You’d been friends with Yelena, Bucky, Nat and Steve for so long that you couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if the two of you started dating—let alone what might happen if you broke up. Shaking your head, you refused to acknowledge Yelena’s assurance. Even if they’d still be friends with you, nothing would be the same. 

“Nothing happened,” you said vehemently, even as you choked on the words, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. But you couldn’t seem to stop. “We were drunk, it meant nothing.” 

But then Bucky—blunt, too-perceptive Bucky—broke into your thoughts and pulled you up short with another simple question.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone not unkind.

You opened your mouth to snap a quick answer, but the ‘yes’ died in your throat. Because of course something had happened, and of course it meant everything.

For the first time in weeks, you gave yourself permission to remember that night. 

You’d tried to forget it—forget the softness of Steve’s lips on yours, forget the heat of his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, forget the pleasant scrape of his beard against your skin and the gentle way he’d held your face as he deepened the kiss. 

Your first kiss with Steve Rogers had been glorious and messy and too short and too perfect—and it had meant everything to you.

But then you remembered what had happened after, the way you’d pulled away, even though you’d been the one to initiate the kiss in the first place, and panicked as soon as your mind had caught up with what you’d done. 

The rest of the memory was a blur, the anxiety of the moment softening the edges, but you distinctly remembered extricating yourself from Steve—which had felt a little like cutting off a limb—before telling him it was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again.

Back at the market, you buried your face in your hands, and almost sobbed at the memory. “I’ve already ruined things,” you mumbled miserably into your frozen fingers, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

Bucky made a humming noise, as if he was considering your words. “Whatever happened between you two, it hasn’t changed Steve’s feelings for you,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently until you looked at him. He stared at you for a long moment, making sure you heard him. “So my question stands: When are you going to put him—and yourself—out of this misery?” 

Your friends let you sit with that question for a silent moment, then Yelena selected one of the knives, claiming it was an early Christmas present for herself and made her way over to the checkout. 

Steve was also apparently buying something, accepting a small wrapped package from the cashier that he slipped into his pocket. You were too overwhelmed by your thoughts to be curious about it anymore though.

You stood with Bucky near the entrance to the tent, waiting for your friends to finish their transactions while your mind swirled. You were grateful to your friend for leaving you alone with your thoughts, though you knew it was only because Bucky was confident he’d made his point.

And he had. Oh how he had.

Your mind and heart were a mess. You’d spent so many years telling yourself that you could never let anyone catch on about your feelings for Steve, because if they did, it would lead to the end of the friend group. But they’d all known for weeks, and nothing had changed. 

Well, nothing except apparently Bucky and Yelena had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if Natasha had been in on the ploy as well, distracting Steve purposefully so Yelena and Bucky could ambush you.

Still, you couldn’t fully silence the tiny voice of fear deep in your heart that insisted that if you and Steve got together, and things ended badly, you’d lose all your friends. 

The rest of the group had known each other for so long and it had been more than a little daunting to figure out where you fit. Adding a romantic relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster—and if it ended so badly that everyone was forced to choose sides, you couldn’t imagine them choosing yours when they’d known Steve so much longer. 

But as you watched Yelena finish paying for the knife, her words about always being your friend came back to you. She was your best friend—and you were hers. As if proving the point, she caught your eye and smiled impishly as she caught up with you, linking her arm through yours and tugging you back out into the market. 

In that moment, something settled in you. Without fully realizing it, you’d always been a little insecure in your group of friends, always worried they would kick you out at the smallest infraction. But Yelena had said it plainly—they’d always be your friends, and you owed it to them to believe her, to trust her, because that was what friendship was. 

That was what you had to do to have any kind of meaningful relationship.

As your group of friends wandered further down the row of stalls at the holiday market, you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept straying to Steve. Each time, you found him either looking at you already, or glancing your way within seconds, like he could feel your gaze. 

When you looked at him, really looked at him, you noticed a little bit of hurt in his eyes. There was only a hint of it, like he was trying to hide it from you and everyone elese, but you could see it. 

You wondered, briefly, how you’d missed it, but a part of you knew you’d been seeing it since that night at the bar. You’d just been ignoring it along with everything else swirling in his gaze. 

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?” 

You’d known you were making yourself miserable—of course you had. But the realization that you were making Steve miserable, even as he made a valiant effort to hide it, was what finally made your decision for you about what to do with everything Bucky and Yelena had told you.

No matter how scared you were that things might end badly, and you’d end up getting your heart broken and lose all your friends, you had to trust them when they said they’d always be there for you. You had to trust that Steve knew what he wanted—and that what he wanted was you.

The group came to another stop when Bucky spotted a specialty chocolate vendor and he ducked inside. Nat and Yelena followed him in—the latter giving you a meaningful look as you trailed behind before cutting her eyes to Steve. The message was clear and you nodded, giving her a playful shove that made your best friend cackle as she followed Bucky and Nat.

You stepped toward Steve where he hovered just outside the tent, and he shot you a knowing smile when he caught your eye.

“Still feeling like you’ve had enough chocolate?” he asked in a friendly tone, referencing your earlier joke. His beard twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile and it warmed your heart that he not only remembered the joke, but still found it funny.

The side of your mouth curved up in a lopsided grin, and you inched a tiny bit closer, just barely stepping into Steve’s personal space as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had my fill,” you said, keeping your tone light. You took on a considering expression, tipping your head to the side and tapping a finger to your chin as if you were thinking. “For tonight, at least.” 

Both of you laughed, but the December wind cut through the holiday market just then, and it reminded you of how cold your fingers were, especially out in the open. You quickly shoved your hand deep into the pocket of your coat, and Steve didn’t miss the movement, drifting even closer to you.

“Do you have any gloves, sunshine?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that had warm tingles of delight dancing down your spine, all the way to your toes. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Steve had moved close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking up at him, and you could feel the heat radiating off his larger body.

His blue eyes were sparkling in the warm, golden light of the market, and you could see the swirl of emotion in their depths that was only there when he looked at you. But there was a crease of concern between his brows, too, and you knew he was seconds away from offering to find you some gloves—or something else that would be chivalrous and perfectly friendly. 

You realized, very suddenly, that if anything was going to happen between you and Steve, anything like what had happened at the bar, you needed to make the first move. Bucky had said Steve had been worried about making you uncomfortable before that night, and you were certain it had only worsened after the kiss you’d shared. 

So, before he could say anything, you blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?”

Steve’s brows lifted in surprise, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from trying to take the words back as soon as they’d slipped out of your mouth. And you were glad you did, because as the moment stretched on, and Steve realized you were serious, his brows lowered and his blue eyes darkened with interest.

“Ya sure about that, sunshine?” he asked, his voice low enough that you knew it was meant for only you. He ducked his head slightly, so he was nearly at your eye level, and held your gaze. “I wouldn’t want you doing anything you might regret.”

The words stung a little, but you knew you deserved them, especially after you’d told Steve that kissing him had been a mistake. So you held his gaze and stepped even closer to him, until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, letting Steve see the honesty in your open expression. “I know what I’m doing and I—this is what I want.” You were proud of yourself for only stumbling once, and held your breath as you waited for Steve’s response.

The corners of Steve’s mouth flickered in an eager grin, but he wiped the expression away, like he was worried that if he appeared too excited, he’d scare you away. You felt a pang of regret, and it doubled your determination to show Steve that you weren’t going to panic and run away again. 

Pulling your hands from your pockets, you brushed your fingertips against Steve’s stomach in a silent reminder of your question. 

“Can I?” you asked, your voice breathless with anticipation. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, his eyes molten with heat as he stared down at you. “Go ‘head, sunshine.”

You were cold enough that you didn’t waste any more time, slipping your fingers beneath the hem of Steve’s soft sweater and pressing your frigid fingertips to the warm, smooth skin you found. 

“Fuck, your fingers are freezing,” Steve rumbled, the muscles of his abs contracting beneath your touch like they were trying flee. But before you could apologize and pull away, Steve’s hands flattened over yours outside his sweater, pressing your palms against the hard-packed plane of his abs. “Good thing ya got me to keep you warm, sunshine,” he teased, his voice so full of charm that you melted into him. 

“Yeah, good thing,” you echoed in a whisper, the edges of your mouth curling up into a pleased smile. You shimmied closer to Steve, watching the way his blue eyes sparkled with affection as he held your gaze captive.

He wrapped you up against him, holding you in the loose cage of his warms while your fingertips stroked idly against his smooth skin. You wanted to let them wander further beneath his sweater and explore the wonders of Steve’s bare chest, but you managed to keep the urge in check since you were in public—though it was a near thing.

“You know what I like to do most in the winter?” you asked Steve, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you. The sounds of the market all around you were a distant soundtrack.

“What?” he asked indulgently, squeezing you slightly in his arms.

“Curl up in bed and snuggle on a snowy day,” you said with a sly smile. And then, as if a thought had just occurred to you, you tilted your head to the side. “Hey, is your bed comfy? Do you have a lot of nice warm blankets and good pillows?”

A grin pulled across Steve’s face even though he was fighting it, trying to look like he was taking your questions under serious consideration.

“Y’know, I think it’s very comfy,” he said, giving you a knowing look. He’d obviously picked up on the not-so-subtle cue that you might want him to take you back to his place, and you appreciated that he was sticking to the bit. “But it sounds like you’re an expert, so I think you should come over and be the judge of that.”

An answering grin curved your mouth and you murmured, “I’d like that.” 

Then, before you could let your fear get the best of you again, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, your lips brushing against Steve’s beard as you moved to whisper in his ear. 

You shivered at the physical reminder of the coarse hair rasping deliciously against your cheeks when he’d kissed you and it took a moment to remember what you’d been about to say. When you did, you couldn’t hold in your smirk.

“Did I mention I do my best snuggling naked?” 

“Sunshine.”

The nickname was uttered in a gruff, rumbling rasp, like the sound of a plow on snowy streets. It was so deep and delicious, your toes curled in delight and your mouth pulled into a full-blown grin. 

You barely had time to pull away before Steve was wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and towing you in for a kiss.

Steve’s mouth was wonderfully soft and exquisitely warm and achingly familiar against yours. He wasted no time licking along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you happily gave him. 

Your fingers curled around Steve’s sides beneath his sweater, digging greedily into the soft skin at his waist while you kissed him back feverishly, trying to close every gap between your bodies.

“Fuck, how does this feel so much better than I remember?” Steve growled against your lips, his hand on the back of your neck tilting your head just the way he wanted so he could lick even deeper into your mouth. 

Your breathy, delirious laugh was swallowed by his all-consuming kiss, the sound turning into a helpless moan. 

God, he was right, it did feel so much better than you remembered to have Steve’s mouth on yours, and you couldn’t fathom how you’d run away from him before because, in that moment, the last thing you wanted to do was stop. You wanted to kiss Steve for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know, but Steve, please, don’t stop,” you murmured when he finally let you up for air. You tried to catch your breath while he was busy pressing insatiable kisses to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach without straying too far from your lips. 

Pulling your hands from beneath his sweater, your no longer freezing fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him closer while at the same time pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes again. Your bodies slotted together even more perfectly, and you moaned softly into his mouth as you tugged him in for another kiss.

Steve kissed you harder, holding you tight to his chest like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear on the wintry wind. In turn, you held him just as fiercely, your nails raking through the beard on the underside of his jaw and tugging lightly to bring him closer until he was rumbling a pleased sound deep in his chest.

“Get a room!”

The perfect bubble that had formed around and Steve abruptly popped, the sounds of the bustling holiday market rushing in along with the December chill and you pulled away, your first instinct to worry about what your friends would think. But then you caught the look on Steve’s face. 

He was staring at you with such a blissed out expression, his blue eyes dark and hazy, a pleased smile on his kiss-swollen lips, that you couldn’t help but relax and melt back into him. You took your time to press a sweet kiss to his lips before turning to your friends.

Natasha, Yelena and Bucky all wore matching smug grins. Nat was even popping little chocolate candies into her mouth like she was enjoying the show. 

“Oh no, please don’t stop on our account,” she called to you and Steve, gesturing with her hand for you both to continue. The whole group burst into raucous laughter. 

Cracking up and shaking your head, you buried your face in Steve’s rumbling chest, feeling a little shy about being caught making out so heatedly by your friends. But you felt relief, too, that no one was upset—that all your friends were happy for you and Steve.  

When you’d finally gotten ahold of yourself, you tipped your face up and caught Steve’s eye, giving him a sly smile that had his expression instantly darkening with a hunger that made you pulse with desire. 

“So about that comfy bed of yours…” you murmured, just for him to hear. When he nodded once, quickly, to acknowledge he remembered it, you went on. “I’d love to see it if you’re ready to go?”

The implication of your question was clear and Steve clutched you tighter to his chest, capturing your lips for a brief, hot kiss that did more to warm you from the inside out than any of the hot chocolate you’d consumed that evening. 

“Sunshine, I’ve been ready to take you home for years,” he rasped against your mouth, the honesty in his voice making you smile. 

When Steve pulled away, he tugged you over to your group of friends and told them you were heading home—yes, together, he confirmed. All three of them murmured encouraging words in your ear as you hugged them goodbye, and you could tell by the pink tinging Steve’s cheeks that they were doing the same to him.

Once farewells were said, Steve snagged your hand and laced your fingers together. As you walked to the subway, he tucked your clasped hands into the pocket of his overcoat, and then your other into the crook of his elbow, where he covered it with his palm to keep you warm. 

Steve held you tucked into his side the whole way back to his place while he made idle conversation, asking about the latest books you’d read and movies you’d watched. He only let go when it came time to pull out his keys and unlock his door.

There was a giddy, electric energy between the two of you as Steve helped you out of your coat and hung it up. Your gaze kept drifting back to him while you took off your boots and he hung up his overcoat. Once done, he stepped close, toeing out of his shoes next to where you’d dropped your boots.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Steve asked, his voice rough and a little uneven, like he was nervous. It made you smile, settling your own nerves to know he was right there with you.

You stepped further into Steve’s space, your fingers sneaking beneath the hem of his sweater and giggling when he sucked in a sharp breath. He’d made an excellent effort to keep your fingers warm on the way home, but the December cold had still snuck in. 

It was a good thing Steve was there to warm you up again.

“I think I’d just like to see this comfy bed of yours,” you murmured, pushing up onto your tiptoes and kissing Steve. 

The two of you lingered in the entryway of Steve’s apartment for long minutes, kissing and learning what made each other gasp and moan. His teeth nipped at your lower lip, sinking in hard enough to make you whimper before relenting and soothing the sting away with his tongue.

Meanwhile, you let your hands wander further beneath Steve’s sweater, finding a light trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his slacks. You raked  your nails through it, and relished the pleased sound that rumbled in his chest. 

Warm, wet desire was gathering between your thighs, and it wasn’t long before you squirmed impatiently against Steve, needing more.

By the time Steve broke the kiss and spun you around, his heavy hands dropping to your hips to guide you through his apartment, your panties were damp and you were aching for something only Steve could give you. 

Both of you moved quickly as you let Steve lead you to his bedroom, pausing just inside the darkened room while he flicked on a light.

A soft, golden glow emanated from two lamps set on low wooden tables on either side of the massive bed. Curiously, your gaze roved over the room, taking in the earthy colors and tasteful design.

It seemed Steve hadn’t only gotten his wardrobe and appearance together—he’d also made his home a place that was warm and welcoming and entirely him. 

The king-size bed was swathed in a thick, forest green comforter with dark charcoal sheets, a veritable pile of pillows at the head that looked far too enticing. The rest of the room was furnished with a dark wooden bookcase and dresser that matched the bed frame and side tables. There were even some vintage photographs of Brooklyn decorating the wall, along with some framed pictures on dresser.

Wandering over, you picked up one of the photographs. It was from the first autumn after you’d met Yelena and the others. The group had rented a car and gone to a farm upstate to go apple picking and enjoy all the other autumnal delights the state had to offer. 

In the photo, you were tucked into Steve’s side on a bale of hay, ready for the hayride the group had decided to go on, with Yelena on your other side. There was a blanket draped over your laps, and Steve’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders. The three of you were beaming at the camera. 

“Do you remember that trip?” Steve asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder while he peered at the photograph.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. Then you winced as you remembered something about the trip. “Wasn’t this the time I fell asleep on your shoulder on the way home and drooled all over your jacket?”

Steve laughed huskily in your ear.

“It is,” he confirmed, brushing a kiss to your cheek before murmuring. “I didn’t wash it for a month.”

It was your turn to laugh, though the sound was more of a surprised exhalation as you twisted your upper body so you could see his face better.

“What?”

Steve grimaced, wrinkling his nose and scuffing a hand against the back of his neck sheepishly, like he regretted admitting that to you.

“It was more because it smelled like you than because of the, y’know, drool,” he explained, his tone a tiny bit defensive. But then he looked at you, finding your face still frozen in surprise and his expression softened. “I’ve liked you since I met you, sunshine.”

It wasn’t anything Bucky hadn’t already told you, but it still felt like an entirely new revelation coming straight from Steve, and all you could think to say was, “Oh.” 

You turned back to the photo, still held in your hand, and all you could think about was the fact that you had the same one tacked up on the corkboard over your desk. You wondered if Steve liked it for the same reason you did—because it made the two of you look like a happy couple, even with Yelena sitting next to you.

“I liked you too,” you confessed in a small voice.

Steve was quiet for a moment, his hold on you loosening slightly as you stepped forward to put the photograph back on his dresser. But when that was done, he towed you back in until your back was pressed to his chest. 

“Liked?” he asked, enunciating the ‘d’ at the end of the word. 

Your mouth flickered in a smile and you turned around in his arms. Your hands smoothed over his broad shoulders while you leaned into him, your soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his body.

“I liked you then, and I like you now, Steve,” you said, holding your breath as you stared up at him. Even knowing he felt the same way about you, it was still scary to lay your heart bare for the first time, and you waited eagerly for his response.

An exhale gusted from Steve and you couldn’t help but note the relief in his expression, even as he grinned wide.

“That’s good to hear, sunshine, because I like you, too.”

“Good,” you said with a grin, dragging Steve down for a too-brief kiss. “Now, will you take me to bed already?”

Steve’s laughter was muffled as he kissed you again, guiding you around and walking you backward until the backs of your legs hit the bed. He didn’t break the kiss as he lowered you to the soft mattress and helped you slide up the bed until your shoulders settled into the pile of pillows at the head.

Your arms wrapped around Steve and you pulled him down on top of you while he braced himself so he didn’t crush you. One of his legs slid between your thighs and he lowered himself down on top of you until his bulge pressed into your stomach. Your belly swooped with excitement and your pulse thrummed with desire.

Hiking one of your legs up around his waist, you writhed beneath Steve, grinding your hot core against his thigh through your jeans. 

You couldn’t seem to stop touching him, your hands sketching the exact measure of his body, and he seemed to be doing the same. Steve’s hands couldn’t stay still, sliding up and down your sides before finally pushing beneath your sweater.

His warm, calloused fingers stroked covetously over your skin, and you felt extra sensitive wherever he touched you, his every caress sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body. 

“Steve,” you whined, wrenching your mouth from his to drag in a much-needed breath. Even still, you craved more and your body rocked up into his, grinding against his thigh while his bulge pressed insistently into your belly. 

“You feel so good, sunshine,” he rasped as he kissed a trail along your jaw and down to your neck. The scratch of his beard against your skin had you shuddering beneath his big body. “Can I…?” he asked, his fingertips teasing along the edge of your bra beneath your sweater.

“Yes—please,” you gasped. Your own fingers curled into the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater between his shoulder blades and you tugged on it, trying to pull it over his head.

Steve chuckled into your neck before he sat up and yanked his sweater off for you, baring the broad expanse of his chest. You caught glimpses of soft brown hair dusted across his pecs and endless swaths of golden skin before he was helping you out of your sweater. 

You grumbled disgruntledly when your view of Steve was cut off as he tugged your sweater over your head, then as he leaned close to unclasp your bra and toss it somewhere in the room. You only dragged your eyes away from Steve’s perfect chest when he made a low, almost anguished sound.

He looked a little dazed, his eyes staring down at your bare breasts. Your chest was heaving slightly, making them bounce gently, and Steve looked almost hypnotized by the sight. 

Snorting to yourself, you curled your fingers around his firm biceps and tugged him back down on top of you, whimpering when your nipples brushed against the hair on his chest. They pebbled as pleasure spiked through your body, settling heavily between your thighs and making even more wetness soak into your panties.

The movement had broken Steve from his trance and he began kissing from your neck down your chest. The rasp of his beard over your clavicle sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making you keen and tremble beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he rumbled gruffly into your skin. He buried his face in the valley between your breasts, groping your supple flesh in his big hands while pressing teasing kisses and gentle bites to your skin. “You’re so perfect, sunshine.”

You whined a needy sound, reacting to his touch as much as his awe-filled words, and threaded your fingers through Steve’s soft hair. You held him tightly to your chest, wordlessly pleading for more, and he enthusiastically indulged the request.

Steve wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked deeply, drawing so much of you into his hot mouth, it felt like he was doing his damndest to devour you. You were already so sensitive for him that it felt like there was a direct line connecting your sensitive peak to your clit, and you cried out in pleasure, your spine arching up off the bed and pushing your chest further in Steve’s face.

He grinned, doing a poor job of hiding his self-satisfied expression in your soft tits, but you didn’t begrudge him the smugness—not when he nibbled at your hardened nipple so good, it made your hips buck up from the bed. A whine slipped from your lips when you realized you no longer had his thigh to grind against, your legs kicking restlessly at the sheets.

After giving the same torturous treatment to your other nipple, wringing even more whimpering whines and desperate keening sounds from your mouth, Steve began kissing his way further down your body. He nipped playfully at your belly before lifting his head to catch your eye. 

It took you a moment to blink them into focus enough to see him clearly.

“I’ve been dreaming about your taste for years, sunshine,” he rumbled, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and tugging just enough that you knew he was asking if he could take them off. “Please, can I…?”

You were already nodding, your fingers fumbling over the button of your jeans. Steve seemed just as eager as you, gently pushing your hand aside and taking over as he thumbed it through the hole in the denim and pulled your zipper down. Then he was peeling your jeans down over you hips and thighs, taking your panties off at the same time.

In only a few seconds, you were stripped bare for the first time in front of Steve Rogers, and if it wasn’t for the shuddered exhale that gusted past his lips and the sizable bulge twitching in the front of his slacks, it might’ve occurred to you to feel a little insecure. 

But before those thoughts could even begin to creep in, Steve was dragging his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs with a reverent look on his face, giving an appreciative rumble deep in his chest as he raked his eyes up the naked length of your body. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sunshine,” he rasped, pressing his face between your thighs and taking a deep breath. 

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to wonder at how you smelled because Steve was licking his tongue into the seam of your pussy, groaning like he’d eaten something delicious. 

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled before diving in deeper, burying his face against your cunt and eating you out like he was a dying man and you were his last meal. 

In no time at all, he had you crying out, your hips bucking up off the bed as pleasure swirled through your body. It was all you could do to try to stop yourself from humping against his handsome face.

Steve’s thick biceps banded around your thighs and he held you spread open while he feasted on you, his eyes staring up past your quivering belly and heaving chest to watch your reactions. He sucked and nibbled and flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit, paying attention to what had you writhing and moaning your pleasure beneath him.

He licked into your pussy, fucking you with his tongue until you were squirming and panting on the bed, your thighs tensing and trembling with your building release. 

Needing something to hold on to, you threaded your fingers into Steve’s hair, holding his head against your greedy pussy and rocking your hips into him. You moaned loudly, unabashedly, grinding against his mouth and beard as you neared the edge.

“Oh god, Steve, ‘m so close, please—please, don’t stop, ‘m gonna come,” you babbled, your spine arching up off the bed as you threw your head back into the pile of soft pillows. “Fuck, please, please, please!”

It was clear that Steve was a quick study when it came to your body, and he put what he’d learned to good use, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue over it, steadily driving your pleasure higher until, finally, it crested. And then he pushed you right over the edge.

Your fingers fisted in Steve’s hair and you humped shamelessly against his face as you came with a cry of his name—“Steve!” Your body tightened, and then loosened as wave after wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, making you shiver intensely while Steve’s mouth worked you through your release. 

When the pleasure began to ebb, you melted back into the soft blankets on Steve’s bed, a dazed smile curving your mouth. Steve eased you down with gentle sweeps of his tongue and soft kisses to your inner thighs, murmuring sweet words to you about how good you tasted on his tongue.

It wasn’t until you whimpered from overstimulation that Steve stopped. He pressed one last kiss to the top of your mound before pushing himself up. His happy grin when he saw the sated, content expression on your face made your heart skip a beat in your chest. He was just so damn handsome. 

“Good?” Steve asked, though you knew from the self-satisfied look in his eye that he already knew the answer to his question.

Still, you nodded. “So good,” you purred, stretching and reaching for him. Your fingers curled into coarse hair on the underside of his jaw and you tugged him up your body for a kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, and his beard was so drenched in your juices, it made your own cheeks damp. A groan worked its way up your throat at the filthiness of the kiss, and you pulled Steve closer, letting him muffle the sound as his tongue slipped into your mouth. 

Even though Steve had just made you come harder than anyone else in your entire life, renewed desire was beginning to bloom in your core, the heat of your arousal already building again. Distractedly, you recognized that you’d never felt the way you did for anyone but Steve—insatiable, unwilling to let the night end just yet. 

When Steve’s hard bulge knocked against your hip, a devious smirk curled your lips and you wasted no time trailing your fingers down his bare, golden chest to grope his cock through his slacks. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and an excited thrill raced down your spine at the thought of taking him in your mouth. 

Steve groaned against your lips, his big body shuddering when you squeezed and stroked him through the thick material of his pants. So you did it again, rubbing him with your palm until you felt his hard length jump against your fingers, like his body was just as eager for your touch as the rest of him.

“We don’t have to do more,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless. “I-I mean, you don’t have to return the favor or anything. I’m good to just go to sleep if that’s what you want.”

Steve’s words were honorable, but you didn’t want to sleep. 

You pushed at his larger body until he flipped onto his back. Following after him, you kissed down his chest, taking a moment to nuzzle in the soft hair scattered across his pecs before you lifted your head and caught his eye, letting him see the desire in yours. 

“I bet I’ve dreamed about sucking your cock just as much as you dreamed about eating my pussy,” you whispered huskily, holding his gaze determinedly while you shifted down his body until your face was level with his bulge. You mouthed at his hard length through his slacks. “Please, Steve, can I…?” 

“Yeah—yes—fuck, sunshine, you can do whatever you want,” he rasped, helping you undo his button and fly, his fingers trembling. Then he lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down.

You felt like you were unwrapping the most perfect Christmas present as you tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his thick, toned thighs. You even let out a little gasp of delight when Steve’s cock bounced free, marveling at the sheer masculine beauty of it.

Impatiently, you pulled his clothes the rest of the way off, pausing only to kiss his thighs, enjoying the softness of his leg hair against your lips and cheeks, before returning to his cock. 

Taking him in hand, you circled your fingers around the thick shaft and gave him a loose pump, watching how he bucked his hips into your fist from just that little bit of touching. Steve’s hands were fisted in the blankets on the bed, like he was holding himself back from touching you, and you decided you want to make the man—your man—lose himself in pleasure, just like he’d done to you. 

You ducked down and licked the tip of Steve’s cock, humming in delight as the salty, musky taste of his precum burst on your tongue. The vibrations made Steve groan and you hid a self-satisfied smirk against his cock, before refocusing on your task.

You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down Steve’s shaft, staring up his hard, firm body while he watched you worship his cock. His cheeks were tinged pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting his brow and his eyes were so dark, his pupils blown so wide, they looked like the navy blue night sky on a winter evening. 

When you ducked down further, taking his balls into your mouth and suckling greedily, Steve’s gaze widened and his cock twitched in your hand. 

“Sunshine,” he rasped, the nickname sounding like a plea for mercy as he groaned loudly. “Ya keep sucking my balls and I’m gonna come way too soon.”

With a smirk, you gave his sensitive sac one last little suckle before letting it fall from your lips, then you licked up the length of his cock.

“Can’t have that,” you quipped, shooting him a smug grin. You pressed a kiss to the tip and wrapped your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth and sucking hard enough to make his hips buck up off the bed. 

Another anguished sound wrenched free from Steve’s lips. 

“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he settled back down, one of his hands coming to rest on the crown of your head—not pushing you down or pulling you away, just holding you like he couldn’t help but touch you. 

For a moment, you focused on Steve’s cock, pulling back before taking him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl around the head and trace the veins decorating his shaft while your fist stroked him. But when you flicked your gaze up to Steve, you found him watching you with adoration in his eyes.

“You’re amazing, sunshine,” he rumbled when he noticed he had your attention, one side of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. “You’re gorgeous—and you look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.” 

The corners of your mouth flickered in a pleased smile as his praise washed over you, and you closed your eyes, soaking it in. When you opened them again, you redoubled your efforts on Steve, bobbing up and down on his length at a steady pace while you pumped him in your fist. 

You lost yourself in the pleasure of sucking Steve’s cock, and before long, you could feel yourself growing wet all over again. Your inner walls clenched pathetically around nothing while your mouth was filled with his big dick, but you didn’t want to stop. 

However, before you could make Steve come down your throat, his hands gently gripped your head and he pulled you up off his cock. With his considerable strength, Steve hauled you back up the bed and rolled you over onto your back beneath him, bracing himself on one hand while the other slide between your thighs. He bit off a curse when he felt how wet you were.

“Christ, sunshine, ya got this wet from sucking my cock?” he asked, a note of teasing in his tone that had heat coursing through your body. Before you could respond, though, his mouth found yours for a kiss. 

You were certain he must’ve been able to taste himself on your tongue, but he didn’t seem to care. He was too determined to devour your lips and swallow your moan while he speared you open with two fingers, capturing your cry of pleasure.

“Oh god, Steve,” you mumbled against his mouth, your hips rocking into his hand and fucking his fingers. “Please, I need you—I need you to fuck me.” Your hand was fisted in Steve’s soft hair and you clung to him, your entire being straining to get closer while still taking all the pleasure his fingers offered.

“Thank fuck—I need you so goddamned bad, sunshine,” he groaned, easing his fingers from your dripping hole and rolling onto his back so he could reach for something. 

A moment later, you heard the sound of a wooden drawer snap closed and he rolled back on top of you, the square foil packet of a condom held in his fingers.

“Ya wanna do the honors?” he asked, his grin so charming and so like the Steve you’d known for so many years that it took your breath away. 

But there was a comfort and an ease to the moment because you were there with Steve—your Steve—and you laughed at his silly offer. You were shaking your head even as you took the packet and tore it open, tossing the foil aside and making quick work of rolling the condom onto his cock. 

When you were done, you gave the base of his shaft an affectionate squeeze and Steve chuckled, capturing your lips in a kiss while he shifted on top of you, pressing his knees between your legs and spreading your thighs to make room for his big, broad body. 

You opened happily for him, kissing him back while your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs. Together, you lined your bodies up until Steve’s cock lay heavily against your mound, kissing lazily all the while.

After a moment, Steve broke the kiss, pushing himself up with one hand while the other fisted his hard length and held himself away from the place where you ached for him to fill. He stared deep into your eyes and gave you a serious look, a little bit of anxiety swirling in his gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes roving over your face like he was searching for any hidden remnant of hesitance on your part—any sign that you might run, you realized. “Because I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long, that if you tell me tomorrow this was a mistake…” Steve paused, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, “it’ll break my fucking heart, sunshine.”

Steve’s voice cracked a little on the pet name and it made your heart split open in your chest. You didn’t know if you’d ever forgive yourself for hurting Steve the way you did, for saying those things you didn’t mean and trying to push him away when all you’d wanted was to pull him closer. 

You decided then and there to make it up to him—and that began with being honest with him. Always. 

So you threaded your fingers into Steve’s beard until you were cupping his face and you stared him directly in the eye as you answered his question. 

“I’m sure, Steve,” you said firmly, certainty resonating in your tone. “I was scared before—I’ve wanted you for so long that the thought of finally having you was terrifying.” You gave him a tremulous, apologetic smile, and his expression softened. “But I’m sure about this,” you said again, your voice stronger. “I’m sure about you, and I’m sure about us.”

When you finished your confession, Steve’s eyes closed and he exhaled a long, relieved breath. You pulled him down for a kiss, and it was a gentle thing—tentative as you both savored the vulnerability you shared, physically and emotionally, thanking one another for the trust that took. 

It was only when the kiss ended and Steve pressed his forehead to yours that he pushed inside you for the first time, his thick cock sinking deep into your pussy with one determined, inexorable thrust. 

Your arms and legs were wrapped around him already and you clung to Steve as you cried out, tears of emotion pricking at the backs of your eyes even as pleasure radiated through your body.

“You ok?” Steve asked softly and the question—so gentle and genuine—had a tear spilling onto your cheek. He brushed it away. 

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” you admitted in a thick voice, tugging Steve’s mouth back to yours, kissing him deeply. 

Together, you gave yourselves over to your instincts. Steve pulled his hips back until only half of him remained inside, and your heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him to plunge deep into you again. He slid home, and both of you moaned. 

Steve rocked into you with slow, thorough thrusts, but when you moaned for more, he drew back more each time and thrust harder. It wasn’t long before he was fucking you in hard, deep strokes that hit all the most perfect spots inside you, his mouth kissing your cheeks and neck and anywhere he could reach while he held you pinned to his chest, his hips working his cock deep into your cunt. 

With every hard thrust, you clung more tightly to Steve, holding him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair, thankful he’d grown it long enough that you could grip it tight in your fists. Your body writhed beneath his bigger form, using your legs draped around his thighs to meet his thrusts. 

For what seemed like forever, you and Steve were nothing more than two writhing bodies trying to get closer, deeper, tighter together, like your hearts were straining to become one. And you were so consumed with pleasure that it wasn’t until you were right on the precipice of your release that you realized you were close.

“Steve,” you gasped, trying to tell him you were going to come, and just then he changed the angle of his hips, stealing the words from your lips. 

He was driving his cock so deep into your cunt and grinding against your clit so exquistiely that you saw stars. Your body shook under a deluge of pleasure and the coil of tension twisted tighter in your core.

“Come for me, sunshine,” Steve rumbled, fucking you hard and deep and so perfectly you knew you were forever ruined for any other man. “Be a good girl and come on my cock before I fucking explode.”

His filthy words were your undoing. 

You shattered apart, sharp, sparkling pleasure devastating your body and mind while you screamed Steve’s name as you came. Your whole body clenched tight, clamping down on Steve’s cock hard enough that he grunted into your neck, then you succumbed to the pleasure as it dragged you under its thrall, whimpers and moans spilling from your lips mindlessly.

Steve’s hands gripped your hips tightly, and he rutted into your clenching pussy with wild thrusts as he chased his own release. He found it only a moment after yours, groaning your name against your cheek while his hips stuttered and shunted forward, burying himself balls-deep in your fluttering pussy while he came, his cock throbbing deep in your cunt. 

You held each other close as you came down from your releases. Your fingers stroked through Steve’s soft hair, the strands damp with sweat, and twirled around the gently curling ends. Meanwhile, his hands were petting up and down your sides, his face buried in the pillow beside your head while he rumbled muffled words of praise in your ear. 

Eventually, Steve sat up, pulling his softening cock as gently from your body as he could manage, watching your face closely for any hint of pain. You were a little sore, but when he pulled free, your body mourned the loss of him more than anything else. 

He quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper in his bathroom, then came back with a warm wet washcloth. He cleaned you up with gentle caresses, pressing a kiss to your hip and nipping playfully at your belly until you were giggling and pushing him away, your body too tired and sated and oversensitive for such treatment—but you were grinning all the same.

When he was done, you rose from the bed and went to the bathroom while he padded to his dresser. After you were done, you found Steve relaxing on his bed in only a pair of lounge pants, his chiseled chest deliciously bare and biceps bulging with his hands tucked behind his head. 

You paused, raking your eyes over his gorgeous chest, only catching his gaze when he made a deep, rumbling sound of good-natured warning. 

“You better put on some pajamas, sunshine,” Steve started, his blue eyes heated and a playful smile flickering at the edges of his mouth, almost hidden by his beard. “Unless you want me to fuck you again.” 

The threat in his tone was flirtatious and you almost took him up on the offer. But you knew that if Steve fucked you again, you’d be sore the next day, and you didn’t want that. Huffing a petulant sigh, you moved to the pile of folded clothes Steve had left on the corner of the bed.

The heat in Steve’s eyes didn’t abate as he watched you pull one of his shirts over your head, tugging the hem down until it covered your ass and part of your thigh. You didn’t have any clean panties, so you crawled into bed like that, your eyes finding Steve and watching as the heat of desire softened into the warmth of affection.

The two of you slid beneath the blankets and you curled up at Steve’s side, your head on his chest. You fell asleep quickly and easily to the sound of his gentle breathing, and the steady drumming of his heart beating beneath your cheek. 

The next morning, you woke to snow flurries drifting past the windows of Steve’s bedroom, the flakes having covered his neighborhood in a blanket of white while you slept. You pressed a happy smile against Steve’s sternum, the expression deepening when you felt his heart skip a beat at your closeness.

“So, is my bed comfy enough for you, sunshine?” he asked in the deep rasp of a man who’d just woken up. Using his arms looped around your waist, he pulled you on top of him, his mouth finding yours for a decadent good morning kiss before he let you answer.

“Hmm,” you hummed playfully in thought, smiling against his mouth while you pulled him closer with your fingers curled into the scruffy, coarse hair of his beard. “It could use a few more pillows—and maybe a nice throw blanket.”

“Consider it done,” he murmured, rolling you beneath his broad body and sliding his hips between your thighs. His morning wood brushed against your bare core and you moaned into his mouth. “Anything you want, you just tell me, sunshine,” he rumbled in between slow, drugging kisses, his hips rolling leisurely against you. “I want my girlfriend to feel comfortable here.”

“Girlfriend?” you gasped breathlessly, your heart beating harder with excitement while he pulled away to kiss down your neck. You could feel Steve’s grin against the side of your throat before he pressed a kiss against your thrumming pulse. 

“You wanna be my girlfriend, don’t ya, sunshine?” he asked. 

It was only because you’d known Steve for so long, and were so determined never to hurt him again, that you heard the tiny thread of anxiety in his tone. You squeezed him tightly in your arms and rushed to answer, eager to put his worry to rest.

“Yes!” you cried happily. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, Steve.” You twisted your fingers in his soft hair and tugged his mouth up from your neck. “Now kiss me, boyfriend,” you murmured and Steve, obligingly, crushed his mouth to yours in a blissful kiss. 

You and Steve reveled in your new relationship, spending a long time in bed just kissing and exploring each other and making up for lost time before your growling stomachs finally made you get up.

After breakfast, Steve seemed to remember something and he padded to the entryway, coming back with the box he’d acquired at the holiday market the evening before. He handed it to you, saying there was no way he’d be able to wait until Christmas to give it to you.

You opened the present, finding a simple silver chain and a stunningly engraved sun pendant within. You were so overwhelmed with happiness that tears sprang to your eyes and you had to hastily wipe them away.

“A little bit of sunshine for my sunshine,” Steve murmured against your temple before pressing a kiss to your skin. 

At your insistence, he helped you put the necklace on and you thanked him graciously—with words and kisses. Then you towed Steve back to bed, and the two of you gave in to the pleasure of your bodies until you collapsed, sated once again.

All day, you couldn’t stop smiling. You were doing one of your favorite things, snuggling on a snowy day, with one of your favorite people in the world—your boyfriend. And you were making plans for the future, talking about what you were going to get your other friends for Christmas and arguing about how to best decorate Steve’s apartment for the holiday. 

The whole time, you couldn’t help but think about how Christmas would always be extra special for you from that year on. It was a wonderful holiday but, more importantly to you, it was when you and Steve Rogers finally admitted your feelings for one another and took the first step toward a forever together. 

So, this time of year would always be your favorite time of year.

december daze challenge masterlist

[roosterforme]

Sugar and Lace | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley had a hot wife. He went wild for you in your work clothes and his worn out shirts. You didn't need any bells and whistles to look sexy, and you never would. But now that he knew what you looked like in a little lace, he needed to have that version of you, too.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, drinking

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Check out my masterlist

Bradley looked at Jake over his beer, and Jake looked right back at him. The Hard Deck was virtually empty this early on a Saturday in the middle of the blazing summer heatwave, leaving the two of them very much alone together with their drinks.

"So..." Bradley said, tracing a line through the condensation on his half empty bottle. It wasn't that he disliked Jake. Not really. But he didn't know how many times he could be coerced into hanging out with him for the sake of you having a 'girls day'. It wasn't like he could complain about work to the person who annoyed the shit out of him at work yesterday.

"So..." Jake replied, picking up his drink and chugging it before signaling to Penny for two more. When he turned back, he had a smug little smile on his face that let Bradley know he was about to get annoyed again. "I'm assuming by the way your wife looks and how fucking pussy whipped you are that she has good taste in lingerie?"

Bradley sputtered, almost knocking his bottle off the high top. "Jesus fucking Christ, Hangman. What the hell kind of question is that?" He could feel heat rising in his cheeks at the memory of you prancing around the bedroom last weekend in a lacy tie dye bra and matching boy shorts. Everything you wore was sexy.

"That's obviously what they are out shopping for," Jake drawled, handing the empties to Penny as she dropped off fresh beers. Bradley waved two fingers in a half-hearted salute and then glared at Jake as he added, "Jessica specifically asked your wife to go with her. She told me she's picking out some things for the honeymoon, and you and I both know what that means. They are trying on lingerie." His smirk was back. "Together."

Bradley swallowed hard, digging his fist into his thigh. His teeth were clenched as he said, "Stop picturing my wife in lingerie."

All he got was a jovial laugh in response. "Tell me right now to my face that you're not picturing both of them wearing something tight, cropped and lacy, and I'll stop."

Bradley raked his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut against the mental image of you and Jessica in a cute little fitting room, laughing together. "God damn it, Hangman!"

--------------------------------

You and Jessica were crammed into a fitting room together, trying not to laugh at the enormous stacks of cute things to try on. Your pile was on the left side of the decorative bench, and hers was on the right. You knew that Jessica Reed happened to collect lingerie in every color imaginable, but she was on a quest to find some unique things to take on her honeymoon. And you were on a quest to wow your husband with something more than a bra and boy shorts for once. 

Not that he complained. Not that he ever complained. Bradley went absolutely feral for you in your damn work clothes and loafers. He about lost his mind when you wore his ratty, old tie dye tee shirt to bed. He often sounded like he was going to need CPR when you put on his bathrobe and nothing else. It was hard to contain your smile when you just knew that something in this fitting room was going to blow his mind to the point that he would be rendered speechless.

"Try something on," Jessica suggested gently, and you took a step closer to your pile. "Then you'll get a better idea of what you like." 

There was red, green, black, white and pink fabric. There were nightgowns, thongs, bralettes and stockings. When you reached your hand out, you hesitated, confidence wavering. This seemed a lot more challenging than solving a linear algebra matrix.

Jessica whispered, "You'll look beautiful in anything, Advanced Calculus. I can promise you that." When you kind of shrugged in response, she said, "Do you want me to wait in line for my own fitting room so you can have more privacy?"

The two of you already agreed to help each other make selections, and the last thing you wanted was to keep opening the door so everyone else could see you wearing this stuff. "No. It's not that. I just... don't really own anything like this. I mean, I have a few things, but some of this is elaborate." You glanced at her over your shoulder and winced. "And this was supposed to be a shopping trip for you! For your honeymoon! Not for me."

She shushed you and then reached into your pile and pulled out a fairly innocuous looking nightie in a soft champagne color. "Start with this. Then you'll see how hot you look, and it'll be a gateway drug to you starting your own collection that will rival mine."

"I've seen your closet," you muttered, taking the hanger from her and holding the garment up in front of your body. It was pretty. The color even complimented your hair. It was a far cry from what you usually wore to bed, but you'd give it a shot.

When you started to undress, Jessica turned around and played with her phone, which you did appreciate. All of your bumps and lumps would be on display soon enough anyway, but at least you'd have a minute to straighten yourself out. The fabric was cool and slick against your skin, and you shivered as it settled high on your thighs. When you looked in the mirror and turned, you were pleasantly surprised with the result.

"It's not bad," you said, and she looked up and gasped, green eyes wide.

"It's perfect!"

"I wouldn't go that far," you muttered, smoothing your hands along your sides.

"Well, I would. And I'm sure Bradley would, too. Do you want me to take a picture on your phone?" she asked, and you nodded while she posed you with one hand on your hip. "Like I said, perfect," she muttered as she took the photo and then set your phone down again. "Try on something else."

"Okay," you whispered, reaching blindly into your pile and pulling out a black lace corset top.

Jessica jumped up and down and clapped her hands. "I love that one. I picked one up to try it on, too."

"I don't know about this," you said, holding it up in front of the nightie. "Not sure how Beer Boy is going to like it."

"You won't know until you try it on."

With those words of wisdom, you changed from the nightie to the corset, and your immediate thought was how cute this would look under your sweaters and tweed when you were at work. And it would feel amazing. It was snug and sexy, and somehow you felt like you could kick even more ass at work if you were wearing this thing.

"What the hell?" you whispered, and Jessica turned to look at you, clapping her hands once again. "I feel like I have super powers."

"Because you do! Look at you! Please let me take another picture of you to send to Bradley."

This time you posed yourself and turned so your tattoos were visible through the lace cutout on the side. Then you stood there and admired yourself before saying, "I'm definitely buying this. Catch me wearing it to work under my cardigans in the fall."

Jessica started digging into her own pile now as you changed from the corset into a bodysuit, but when she met your eyes in the mirror, she looked like she was going to freak out.

"What?" you asked. "The bodysuit looks that bad?"

She shook her head, and pressed her lips together before almost shouting, "When were you going to tell me you have a math tattoo?"

"Oh," you replied, not sure you'd ever heard her voice reach that octave before. "Euler's Identity? I've had it since I was nineteen."

"I love how you embrace your inner nerd," she said as if she was in awe of you, and you started laughing which made her laugh. "Now send those pictures to your husband and let that man worship you."

--------------------------------

Bradley had just buried his face in his hands while Jake laughed when his phone went off. You hadn't even bothered to inform him that your little 'girls day outing' was a quest to make sure Jake enjoyed his honeymoon with Jessica. Honestly, Bradley kind of hoped the other man was correct in his assessment that you'd be shopping for something for yourself, too. Not that you needed it. Holy shit, you still looked like the girl he fell in love with over a decade ago whenever you wore his old Grateful Dead shirt or his robe around the house.

But now he wanted something special, too. Why should Jake get to have all the fun when it came to having his partner all wrapped up in a pretty package that was specifically meant to be removed?

"Sugar," he grunted when he saw that you'd texted him. Jake was rambling about something across the table, but Bradley couldn't hear him. He could no longer hear anything. He couldn't process thoughts or form words. All he could do was stare at the two photos you'd sent to him. "Oh, fuck."

In the first one, you were wearing a shimmery light gold colored thing that looked soft. Like maybe almost as soft as your skin. His heart hammered up into his ears as he examined every inch of it on your curves. Your nipples were pebbled against the fabric, and he could practically feel them between his lips. When he swiped to look at the second one, he abruptly stood from his stool with his phone gripped tight in his hand, eyes bugging out.

"Let me guess... your wife sent you photos?" Jake asked, clearly amused.

Instead of verbally responding, Bradley made sure his phone was tipped away from Jake as he zoomed in for a closer look. Holy hell. Your tits were being pushed up in the sexiest black lace he had ever seen. It was sinful, and now he was imagining you wearing it under one of your tweed blazers while giving a lecture. He swallowed hard, realizing he could see the tiniest bit of your tattoos through the little cutout on the side, and he actually whimpered.

"Yeah... she definitely sent you photos," Jake murmured as his own phone chimed. "Oh, Jess just sent me five."

"How did you get five?" Bradley complained, swiping back and forth, desperately looking for more. "I only got two!" 

It was then that he noticed you texted him after you sent the pictures.

What do you think, Beer Boy?

Bradley laughed a bit maniacally. What did he think about the lingerie? Ha! He could barely think at all! He paced back and forth a bit, sweating as he wrote back.

You look fucking hot as hell, Sugar. If you don't bring that black top home, I think you'll break my heart.

Bradley cringed, because now Jake was the one who was whimpering. "They're sharing a fitting room," he whispered, and Bradley's eyes went wide with the realization that Jessica must have taken the photos for you. Then his eyes narrowed as he reached for Jake's phone.

"You better not be able to see Sugar in any of the pictures!"

-------------------------------

You and Jessica were wearing matching fluffy robes and sorting through everything you'd already tried on.

"You have to get that thing," you told her, pointing to the garters and stockings. "It fits you like a glove."

She nodded and added it to her 'yes' pile. "And you have to get the thong and bustier," she replied.

"I'm already buying four things," you reminded her. The bustier was nice, and your breasts looked good in it, but you didn't love the color very much. Besides, there was one last thing you hadn't tried on for fear of looking or feeling ridiculous, but there was a part of your brain that just knew your husband would love it.

"Missed one!" Jessica said, pulling on the bright pink fabric like she could read your mind. Always the best cheerleader, she held it up in front of your body and nodded. "It's bold, but I think you can pull it off."

You took it from her, but looked at yourself skeptically in the mirror. "I don't know... it's going to look bad. Like I'm trying too hard. I don't know why I even picked it up."

But you did know. Bradley was attracted to you in that dumb tie dye shirt like you were some sort of exotic bird whenever you put it on. All of the bright colors swirled into something that just lured him right to you. Part of it was nostalgia, sure, but you felt like there was something more as well.

"Actually, I do know why I picked it up," you told Jessica, holding the chemise closer to yourself. "Bradley really likes it when I wear his old shirt that I kind of held hostage for ten years. It's vibrant and bright, and I think this is the sort of thing he might enjoy?" You pursed your lips and sighed. "But, maybe I'm wrong, because he also just seems to like me how I am. No frills, you know? He's always been that way."

Jessica smiled. "Yes, I understand. And I hope you realize that you just described a man who is desperately in love with you, not just how you look. Sounds like the kind of man you should spoil a little bit." She tugged gently on the chemise and added, "This is a far cry from a tee shirt, but you won't know how you feel about it until you try it on."

"You're right."

Once you were out of the robe, you pulled the stretchy lace over your body, and gaped at the deep neckline as Jessica tied the satin ribbons around the back of your neck. You hadn't noticed before, but there were some yellow and orange threads woven in, making delicate swirls in the fabric. Almost like a different kind of tie dye. It actually looked stunning on you, and as you turned from side to side, you already knew you had to have it.

"I'm obsessed," Jessica said, bouncing excitedly as she clapped her hands together. "Should I take one last round of photos for you to send to Bradley?"

-------------------------------

Bradley was lightheaded. He sweat through his shirt, and he had his forehead cradled in his hand as he opened three photos of you wearing something so bright and pink and sexy, he wanted to lick it off of you. Everything was covered up, but barely. In the one shot, he could almost see your ass. In another, he could definitely see your pert nipples. In the other one, he could make out part of your titty tattoos.

It was a good thing Jake was staring at his own phone in amazement, because Bradley was pretty sure he was drooling and incapable of formulating a sentence. He had already written back to you, begging you to buy the pink thing. Telling you he needed it. Letting you know he wanted to peel is slowly off of your body in bed later. In fact, the last thing he sent was 'Buy everything in that whole fucking store, money is no object'. And he meant every word. 

Bradley had been crazy about you for so long, and most of the appeal came from how smart you are and the fact that you weren't fussy. You let him dote on you in your work outfits. You wore his clothing around the house. You didn't need all the bells and whistles to be sexy, and you never would.

But now that he knew exactly what you looked like in black satin and colorful lace, he needed to have that version of you, too. He needed it.

"Since when does your wife have tattoos?"

Those words snapped Bradley out of his lust filled stupor, and his brown eyes bore into Jake's green ones. How did he know about your titty tattoos? When his gaze drifted back to his phone, he turned the screen toward Bradley with a grin. Apparently you had taken a photo of Jessica, in which your reflection was visible in the fitting room mirror. You were wearing a bra, and you were as covered up as you would be for a beach day, but Bradley loathed the idea of Jake having any sort of access to those tattoos.

"Hey!" Jake complained as Bradley snatched the phone and deleted the photo. "What the fuck, Bradshaw? I wanted that picture of Jessica! You could have just cropped it."

"Hey, boys!"

Bradley turned in time to toss Jake's phone aside as Jessica headed through the nearly empty bar with you following behind her. There were two enormous shopping bags in your hands, and you had a smile on your face as you asked, "Ready to go home, Beer Boy?"

"Hell yes," he murmured, closing the distance to your lips and kissing you hard. "Did you buy that pink thing? And the black one?"

His hands wound around your waist possessively, and he got even more excited as you tucked the bags behind your back and whispered, "There's only one way to find out."

Bradley started guiding you to the door. "Yeah. We're going home. Right now." He ran his nose along your cheek and gave you one more sweet kiss before shouting over his shoulder, "Thanks for the beers, Bagman. Oh, and Jessica, I need you to crop your photos better next time you take my wife shopping."

---------------------------

I love Beer Boy for making Sugar feel so good about herself every day. She's a badass, and he knows it. I wrote this as a little wedding treat for @je-suis-prest-rachel Congratulations, Rachel! And thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls

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[shellshocklove]

brat! | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel is having a brat summer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes, reader wears a dress, heels and lipstick but otherwise no other descriptions, use of pet names, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, manhandling, a little exhibitionism? fingering, choking, spitting, a little dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), cock worship, spanking, degradation (whore, slut), some sub space territory, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), creampie, one use of the word ‘daddy’, no use of y/n

a/n: this was fun! and naughtier than i thought it was gonna be 💀 i’ve never written a reader so far removed from my own personality lol and i’m kind of obsessed with how this turned out. anyways stream brat by charlie xcx and happy reading! <3

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Blitzes of red, green, and blue danced before your eyes. The beating in your temples in tune with the bass vibrating in your chest. Around you the faceless bodies moved in slow motion. The heat rose around you as the sweat clung to your skin.

You’re sure you’ve lost your friends. Well, not lost lost. They were in the dancing crowd somewhere. Behind you, the same ugly guy had been rubbing up against you for a minute too long. You knew because you’d tipped your head back once and his borderline bowl cut hair, polo shirt with deep sweat rings under his arms, and tan chinos, were not it.

His breath stank of tequila when he leaned into your ear, “Hey,” he slurred, “wanna get out of here?”

And that had been your cue to leave.

With a scoff, you turned around to get a good look at him. You’d sized him up, made a show of it, and laughed in his face. Then you pushed your way through the crowd, coming up for air by the bar.

The earlier buzz you’d been sailing on, had weaned off a long time ago. It had been last minute, you weren’t even going out tonight, just having dinner with your childhood friends while you were home for the summer. But then one of them had ordered shots for the table just as the last plate had been cleared, and soon you were at the club cruising on a couple of glasses of wine and a lousy shot. Not that it mattered, usually you ended up twirling some sorry man around your finger long enough to get yourself a couple of rounds, before you’d excuse yourself to the ladies’ room and leave with your friends.

Looking down the bar, you searched for tonight’s victim.

To your right a group of girls huddled around the edge, waiting for their own drinks by the looks of it.

Not them.

Down to your left, a boy with a face full of acne fumbled with his card as he paid for a round of beers. He didn’t even look old enough to be in here, but that wasn’t your problem. You had to hold back a laugh as you watched him struggle to figure out how to carry the five beers he’d ordered back to his friends. He ended up gathering them in a circle to wrap his hands around, and you’d seen this go wrong plenty of times to feel the pull of an amused smile on your lips.

When he’d vanished into the crowd, your eyes flicked back to the bar, to the man sitting there– and he was a man. Probably somewhere in his fifties you reckoned, but he looked gorgeous. A real dilf. Your interest was piqued.

You slid down the bar.

He didn’t look particularly amused where he sat at a bar stool, nursing a beer in his hands. Who sits at the bar in the club? He looked nice. Brown hair, dark jeans, and a grey t-shirt stretched deliciously over his chest. When you got closer you could see a flannel resting beside him on the bar.

Is this what older men wear to the club these days?

He didn’t seem to notice you as you sat down next to him – either that, or he ignored you. You kinda wished for the latter, it would make it more fun.

You gave him a few more minutes of silence, of your presence, to see if he’d say something to you. When he didn’t you asked him over the music, “Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink?”

You said it innocently, but like it was obvious and he hadn’t caught on yet. His head turned towards you, still unamused, but with his eyebrow raised.

Okay, you could work with that.

You didn’t say anything as he studied you, drank you in like you’d done to him from afar. You felt his gaze over your clinging dress, your bare shoulders, before they found your eyes.

Something tickled in your core, and you were reminded of how long it had been since you’d been properly fucked– fucked by someone who wasn’t some drunk guy at your college’s parties, but fucked by someone who knew what they were doing.

The man turned towards you; a smile tickling the corner of his mouth.

“Does that usually work f’you, sweetheart?”

You weren’t expecting his rebuttal, but you liked it. He wasn’t some boy who’d trip over himself for the privilege of being in the presence of you. The boys – they made it too easy – but this man would make you work for it.

Putting on your most saccharine smile you slid closer to him, “You looked so lonely over here– thought I’d keep you company.”

A scoffing laugh escaped him, and his head dipped, “’s that so?” His eyes found yours again.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you ignored his question, and brushed your heeled foot up the length of his calf.

“Ain’t ever been here before,” he kept his eyes on your face, his drawl pulling at the words and twisting up your insides.

“So, a virgin, huh?” you teased, and that seemed to amuse him.

“What– you’re here to pop my cherry?”

This time an amused smile pulled at your face. You liked this man. “Not without a drink first,” your foot slid down his calf, “what do you take me for?”

A bright sense of pride filled your chest when you made him laugh, filling you up with confidence.

“D’you want me to answer that?” he rebutted.

He didn’t say it with any malice, it was teasing and playful, and it pulled at the veil inside you. A genuine smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, “Probably not.”

“What can I getcha, then, sweetheart?”

“G&T?” you said, and bit down on your bottom lip coquettishly.

Turning away from you, the man got the attention of the bartender. You watched his profile, followed the line of his jaw, the shape of his nose. You decided then and there that your night was gonna end in this man’s bed.

“Sooo,” you sang, when you’d gotten your drink, “first time here, huh?” The man just nodded, before he sipped his beer.  

Not much of a talker, huh?

“You here alone, or? With the wife maybe?”

That pulled a laugh from him. “I’m here with my lil’ brother… bachelor party,” he shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten dragged in here, “he’s gettin’ married next month.”

“Ah,” you nodded and took a sip of your drink. “So, where are you heading next? A strip club?” you teased.

The man just shot you an unimpressed look, and you thought about how you’d never seen a man look so out of place, ever.

“What? The wife won’t let you?”

A sharp huff escaped him, “Ain’t got no wife no more,” he said matter-of-factly.

You took another sip of your drink to hide the smile from forming.

Bingo.

“I take it you’re a man who does what he wants, then?” you said it innocently, and subtly slid your hand over his knee. His eyes caught yours at the touch, and you swore you saw something change in them.

You’d hooked him now, all you had to do was reel him in.

He turned his body towards you – he did it slowly, like every muscle he moved had been calculated beforehand. Then he leaned in closer, his hot breath huffing against your ear.

“Takes one to know one, ain’t that right?”

Under your skin, you buzzed, your heart beating out of your chest at the new proximity. You had to stay cool, play it off, act unbothered. So, you pulled away slightly, and turned your head to meet his eyes.

“What?” he challenged with a raise of an eyebrow, “Ain’t used to people talkin’ back?”

When you didn’t say anything right away, a smug grin coated his lips, “Yeah, I know girls like you.”

“There’s no girls like me,” you argued back, his confidence both pissing you off, and turning you on at the same time.

“Oh, but there are– Spoiled daddy’s girls who ain’t had anyone tellin’ them no their whole life. They do what they want, and play with who they want– I know a brat when I see one.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as he pulled away, that infuriating smug grin not going anywhere. The worst part was that he was right, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“But you like that don’t you?” you challenged, “I bet you live in some sad house in a sleepy suburban cul-de-sac, go to the same boring job every day, and wish your wife never left you.”

A flash of hurt could be seen across his face as those last words left your lips, and you thought you’d maybe gone too far. A beat of silence passed between you, the buzzing beat of the club music keeping the tune of the tension building.

You were about to apologize when he finally spoke, “You’re a rude one, aren’t ya?”

His voice didn’t sound as hurt as you’d thought, and you realize he was playing your game. You almost had him.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you challenged, hammering the final nail in the coffin.

“That depends on you, sweetheart.”

Outside the club, Joel (the man had finally introduced himself) leaned against the bricks of the alley as you fished a cigarette from your purse. According to your phone, your uber would be there in ten minutes. The fresh air had sobered you up slightly, exchanging the buzzing alcohol in your veins with excitement.

You didn’t know what you were in for.

Over your skin, you felt his gaze roll over you, and you let him look. Let him study your body filling out your sheer, white, almost see-through dress. You didn’t offer him a cigarette; he’d have to ask for it himself, or take it, if he wanted a drag.

“So,” you took a drag of your cigarette, savoring the first tar-y breath, before exhaling through your nose, “where are you taking me?”

Joel shifted his weight against the bricks as his arms crossed over his wide chest. “Whatchu call it? My sad house?” he said, his voice bordering on cold if it wasn’t for the smug smile covering his features.

You gave him a sultry look as you stepped closer, crossing one heeled foot in front of the other, slowly.

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you tilted your head with an uninterested face, “Sounds fucking boring to me.” Your finger climbed up his chest, eyes traveling from his chest to his face. His stern face gave nothing away, as you took another drag of your cigarette and blew the smoke in his face.

Finally, he’d had enough. His large hand wrapped around your wrist, and tightened, before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. You let out an exaggerated huff as your body hit the bricks, your cigarette slipping from your fingers. He pushed himself up against you, and you couldn’t contain the satisfied grin on your face, pleased to have pushed his buttons enough to finally act.

“Oh, I’ll show you boring, brat.”

A rough hand danced up the side of your thigh and under the hem of your dress. Challenging him, you squirmed against the grip of his other hand around your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” he shook his head, and he was so close now you felt his breath ghost over your lips. With a twist of your arm, he pinned it behind your back, Joel now completely in control, and a buzz of arousal spread through your body at the thought.

“You listen’ up now, and I’m only gonna say it once: you’re gonna do as I say, when I say it, and no talkin’ back, we clear?” His voice was stern, but his dark brown eyes gave him away; how they’d widened with lust, blown out and dark. Your panties already soaked at the thought of what he had in mind for you tonight.

“Yes,” you said playfully, biting down at your bottom lip through a smile.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected as his rough hand on your thigh slid closer and closer to the seam of your thong. “Good girls who do as they’re told get rewarded, you understand?”

You nodded, sucking in a breath as you felt his fingers brush over your clit lightly. He was testing you now, teasing you, and pushing your buttons. You felt like you were on fire, burning from arousal; it licked up your thighs and flickered bright in your core.

Where was that fucking uber?

“But you ain’t no good girl,” he snickered, sliding his hand past your panties, “teasin’ me– tryna provoke me,” he shook his head, and a slick sound of your arousal could be heard as he worked two thick fingers through your wet folds.  

His finger poked at your hole where it ached for him. The thick tension between you weighed heavy with arousal as Joel leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Imma have to punish you for that, baby, put you in your place.”

A gasp left your lips as he pressed two fingers inside. The stretch stung slightly, but you welcomed the pain, liked it. A satisfied grin blossomed over your face as he started moving his fingers. They felt so good inside of you, so thick, almost like a cock, and the way his palm rubbed against your clit– it gave you just enough stimulation to push you towards the edge of an orgasm.

“Look at you, slut,” his breath was hot as he whispered in your ear, “so desperate to get fucked.”

A strangled moan escaped your throat, and you couldn’t help but grind against his fingers to chase the pleasure he was giving you. The degrading words and humiliation only made you wetter. Joel couldn’t get any more perfect– so far, he'd played his part to the T.

“In your– fuck!” You moaned as the pad of his fingers brushed up against your g-spot. Just a little more now, and he’d have you coming on his fingers.

“Didn’t hear you, sweetheart, y’need to speak up,” he taunted, continuing the pace of his fingers.

“In your d-dreams, old man,” you tried to spit out, but the pleasure he gave you was taking over, making you stumble over your words.

Quickly, Joel withdrew his fingers, sliding them up the front of your cunt, giving your clit a slap, before he backed off completely. You gasped; face pulled tight in a disappointed frown.

“What the fuck!?”

And then he fucking laughed, fucking laughed at you.

“I already told you, sweetheart, only good girls get rewarded.”

He stepped closer again, his hand cupping your cheek while the other pressed the fingers coated in your arousal to your lips. “Clean up your mess, and we’ll see ‘bout that reward.”

Parting your lips, he stuffed his fingers inside your mouth. They tasted of you, a sweet-salty taste. You closed your lips around them, and sucked, letting your tongue tease around his fingers the way you’d tease his cock. “That’s it, good girl,” he grinned, and it sparked a small flame of pride in your chest.

When he was pleased with you, he slipped his fingers from your mouth. He let them glide over your lips, smearing your lipstick and coating your lips in your own saliva as a set of headlights illuminated the street. Then, he patted your cheek, nodding towards what you assumed was your uber as it rolled to a stop in front of you, “Go on, get in the uber.”

In the uber Joel was quiet, ignoring you as were forced to make small talk with the driver (you’d give him a bad review just for that). When you thought the small talk had been torture enough, Joel slid his hand up your thigh, resting his big palm right at the seam of your leg as he looked out the window. If your panties weren’t already soaked from what he’d done to you in the alleyway of the club, then they definitely were now as the anticipation only grew.

Joel’s house wasn’t sad at all. It was quaint, and suburban, but homey. Nice. No expensive designer furniture, but sturdy and of good quality either way. He had no rare art, but a decent amount of family photos and what looked like a child’s drawings. You stopped in the middle of the stairs to admire them. In one of them Joel looked as old as you were now, with a baby in his arms, in another he had his arm around the shoulders of another man who looked a lot like him, just with darker hair. His brother probably, the one getting married. The little baby was a little girl, and she grew up in front of you; birthday parties, first days of school, soccer uniforms. Your eyes landed on a photo of her in a graduation cap with Joel and the other man at her side, grinning wide with a college diploma in her hands. This man wasn’t who you’d thought. He had a family– a daughter your age. The wall of memories squeezed at your heart, made something inside you always kept hidden break forth–

“You comin’?”

Joel waited at the top of the stairs for you, his face pulled into a confused frown. You skipped up the stairs, happy to have left your heels by his door. When you got to the top, you pushed at his chest, “Just looking at your sad things.” With a roll of his eyes, he led you to his bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, but his voice was distant, the bite from the club was gone.

It felt like the perfect opportunity to play with him.

“No,” you blinked innocently, your eyes wide as you watched him unbutton his green flannel, “you’ll have to make me.”

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh, “I’m serious, sweetheart, I need to talk to you first.”

Talk?

“You can’t get it up, is that it? You’re too old?” you teased but sat down at the bed either way.

“You really are mean, aren’t ya?” His laugh sounded like a surrender. “A man wantin’ to be a gentleman and establish boundaries before he ruins her, and this is what he gets?”

Shaking his head, he walked closer, and cupped your head in his hands. “I plan on bein’ rough with ya, sweetheart, and I think that’s what you want too, isn’t it? Get fucked so hard you can’t think?” You nodded your head in his arms, the velvet bass of his voice going straight to your core.

“Listen’ closely– if I do anythin’ you don’t like, you say ‘red’ and we stop, and if you can’t speak then you pinch me, you hear?”

You nodded again.

“Words, baby, need y’to say it with that pretty voice.” His thumbs brushed over your cheek.

You nodded again, “Yes, sir… if I want you to stop, I say ‘red’, or pinch you.”

“Good girl,” he praised, “Anythin’ else?”

“Um…” Your front teeth caught on your bottom lip, “I’m on birth control– you can come inside me if you want.”

A noise rumbled in Joel’s chest. “Such a naughty girl,” his thumb brushed over the plump of your lips, “letting a stranger come inside her, huh?”

You nodded again, a wicked smile breaking against his thumb before you opened your mouth, and bit down. Not hard, just enough to pull a reaction from him, and you did.

Like a switch, the warm whiskey eyes faded into a deep black. The grip on your chin slid downwards, where it found your neck. He didn’t squeeze, but his grip wasn’t gentle either, holding you in place like a warning.

“You ought to treat me with more respect, brat…” he spat, his thumb digging into the column of your neck, “Apologize for your rude behavior.”

Against his hand, you shook your head to the best of your abilities, his grip tightening with your movement. You wished he’d choke you properly, make your head all fuzzy and empty– filled with nothing except for him.

“No.”

His face turned to stone above you, and you felt a giddiness flutter in your stomach.

 He didn’t like that.  

In one quick motion his hand was ripped from your throat as he stepped away. He didn’t look at you as he sighed, his hands falling to his belt buckle, sharp metal clinking.

Taking advantage of the moment, you admired the man before you. How big and broad he was. How his t-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest, biceps bulging against the woven fabric. You studied his hands as they fiddled with his buckle, thought about how good they’d felt inside you earlier, the pleasurable sting as they’d stretched you out.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice cold.

When you didn’t move, he took matters into his own hands.

“Get. On. Your. Fuckin’. Knees.”

His grip around your wrist was tight, as he pushed you down. The hardwood floor dug into your knees as he manhandled you, sure to bruise tomorrow. He stood his ground in front of you, legs slightly parted as you were now eye level with his inviting bulge. He was big, and you felt your eyes widen. Even hidden away in his jeans you could see it, see the length of his hard cock strain against his thigh – it made your mouth water as you squeezed your thighs together.

“Look me in the eyes,” he told you, and your eyes flicked upwards – obedient for once. “Eyes up here at all times– Don’t you fuckin’ dare look away.”

He made it hard to do as he’d ordered, popping the button on his jeans, and pulling the zipper down. You wanted to see his cock, touch it, feel it inside you. He couldn’t possibly expect you to not look when it was right there.

"Disobedient slut.” 

The slap came quicker than the stolen glance, and your hand came up to graze your cheek on pure instinct. It stung under your palm, like a thousand little knives.

“What did I jus’ say?” He spat out the question, his hand gripping your chin to force eye contact.

“Look away?” you tried, your voice rising an octave.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he sighed, leaning closer, “I ain’t wanna hear any more of your fuckin’ attitude.”

His grip tightened on your chin and your mouth dropped open by itself, “Open your mouth– that’s it… wider, just like that.”

Then he spat, right into your mouth.

You flinched at the suddenness of it, but Joel’s grip on your chin held you still– kept your mouth open, as you felt his spit slide further and further into your throat. You had a feeling you shouldn’t swallow until he told you, so you didn’t, your head pliant in his hand as you let him study you. A wide grin spread across his face as he moved your head from one side to the other, his rough fingers denting into your skin as you waited for your next command.

“Swallow, brat.”

He let go of your face, and you closed your mouth, swallowing down his spit with an audible gulp. “Good girl,” he muttered and stood tall, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

The rough sound of denim against skin filled your ears as he freed himself. You were on your best behavior now, gathering your hands in your lap, sitting pretty for him as you locked eyes with him coquettishly.

“That’s better,” he said, “Actin’ like a proper good girl now,” he praised.

It took everything in you not to look, as he stepped closer.

With a fist tight around his cock, he brought the head to your mouth. He tapped it on your lips, smearing the precum beading at the tip and ruined your lipstick.

You wanted to taste him so badly, but he couldn’t know that. Pinching your lips together, you shook your head with wide coquettish eyes. His eyebrows pinched together in a frown, eyes narrowing at you as he pushed his cock against your lips.

“Open that pretty fuckin’ mouth, f’me,” he ordered.

Pretty. He called you pretty, and it was enough for you, you gathered, and stretched your mouth open for him.

“That’s it, wider.”

You twitched in surprise as he slapped the length against your tongue. It was heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his precum mixing with your saliva as he rubbed the head over your tongue, in and out, in and out – coating his big cock in your saliva, “just like that, baby, get it nice ‘nd wet.”

Closing your lips around the mushroom tip, you ran your tongue around it in circles, teasing the underside and the slit, before you tipped your head back. His cock bobbed in front of you obscenely, a frown formed on his face again and you knew he was about to tell you off.

Gathering a blob of saliva in your mouth, you spat on his cock instead. A low humming laugh rumbled from Joel’s chest, as he collected your spit and rubbed it in over his shaft in slow strokes. The spit dripped down, down over your front where you felt it darken the fabric of your dress. Subtly, you reached your hands behind your back to pull at the zipper.

“Yeah, that’s right, get those pretty tits out f’me.”

He let you maneuver out of your dress while he stroked his cock slowly in front of your face, and finally, you could get a good look at him. He was bigger than you’d thought from his bulge. Veins lining his thick shaft as you watched the way his fist moved up, massaging the tip gently, and down again in a slow, steady rhythm. At the base unruly curls of dark hair shone in the spit gathering, and you let your eyes wander downward to his balls where they hung heavy.

You wanted to taste them, too.

With your dress discarded on the floor beside you, you sat up slightly, spreading your legs and tucking your calves up to your thighs. Almost naked, safe for the thong splitting your cheeks, you arched your back slightly, making sure he got a good view of your ass.

A groan rumbled in Joel’s chest, and a hand came down on your head, “You want my cock, don’t you, slut?” he spat, slapping his cock on your right cheek, spreading your spit on your skin.

“Do you make all your girls wait this long or is it just me?” you tutted, almost rolling your eyes at him.

“There’s that fuckin’ attitude again.”

Slapping his cock harder against your cheek, he leaned forward letting a blob of spit drip from his own lips, coating both his cock and your face as he rubbed it in with his cock.

It was obscene, degrading, and you’d never been wetter.

In desperation to taste him again, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. The hand he’d used to stroke himself, wrapped around your skull, caging his cock between his hand and your face as he started thrusting against your face, his heavy balls rubbing against your chin with every slow push.

It was messy, sloppy, and wet. He held your head steady with his other hand, while he continued rubbing his cock over your cheek, nose, and forehead. His spit mixed with your own as you lapped at the underside of his cock; trying to taste as much of him as he’d give you.

“You dirty little whore,” he smiled, “You like that don’t you?”

Under him you whimpered, clit pulsing with want as he made you his plaything, did what he wanted with you.

“Yeah,” you moaned unabashedly, licking greedily at the underside of his cock.

At that, he laughed, and the grip on your head loosened as he pulled back. You only had time to take a deep breath before he stuffed his cock down your throat. It was abrupt, and harsh – the hefty length of him making room for himself inside your mouth.

You couldn’t fit him all inside, gagging as the head of him hit the back of your throat. He held you there still, one second, two seconds, three seconds. Your hand found his thigh where you tapped at him, and finally he pulled away.

You gasped for air, your breath wet with spit as small tears pricked at your eyes. His hand landed on top of your head again, grounding you to the moment as he searched your eyes, checking in.

No, you tried to convey, you’re not too rough.

Pleased, his cock bumped against your lips again, and you dropped your mouth open for him again.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thrusting his cock back in your mouth, “let’me fuck that throat open.”

Dropping your jaw, you tried to make room for him in your mouth. It wasn’t easy, your lips stretched wide around the girth of him as you tried to calm yourself, to open your throat for him to abuse. His cock was easily the biggest cock you’d ever sucked, and you told yourself you needed to relax.

He pressed himself deeper, and you let out a whimper. “Work with me, slut, hold still.”

Trying your best to obey, you breathed through your nose, staving off your gag reflex the best you could as the head knocked at the back of your throat. His other hand cupped your chin, keeping your head still between his large hands. A tear rolled down your cheek when he rutted into your mouth, testing the waters.

“Good girl,” he praised, fucking gently into your mouth. Saliva gathered in your mouth, drooling down your chin with each thrust. “Such a fuckin’ mess– Look me in the eye as I fuck your throat.”

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping you steady as you locked eyes with him. It was difficult, tears clouding him in a vignette, but you did as you were told. He studied you closely, tested your boundaries, completely in control.

You gasped for air when he finally pulled back again. A wet string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. A proud smirk coated his lips, while his hand stroked your head in praise.

The small moment of relief passed quickly, and soon his cock was back in your throat, bruising it in a steady rhythm.

“Take that fuckin’ cock all the way down your throat, whore,” he spat, his thrust a little rougher now that he knew you could take it.

He had you at his mercy now as he ruined you. Ruined your throat, ruined your body, ruined you for other men. Tears mixed with snot, which mixed with spit as it ran down your chin, dripping lewdly onto your tits where it made a mess.

Over you, Joel rambled.

“Good fuckin’ slut.”

“Choke on that big fuckin’ cock.”

“You love it don’t you?”

And you did, you loved it. Joel made you feel useful for once in a life – a fucked up thought, but then again you never said you weren’t fucked up. Joel’s words were filthy and dirty, and as humiliating as they were he made you feel wanted.

You just wanted to be wanted.

Another gasp of air filled your lungs as he slipped from your mouth. His grip on your head was tighter now, his cock throbbing in front of you. As much as you wanted him to fuck you, you wouldn’t complain if he came down your throat. He’d given you so much already.

“Fuck,” he whispered and let go of your head.

You took the opportunity to catch your breath, sniffling as you wiped at the snot that clogged up your nose. His hand came down to squeeze at the base of himself, clearly staving off his orgasm.

“What,” you croaked, your voice hoarse after his assault on your throat, “you’re so old you can’t come now?”

His eyes darkened as they locked with yours, and a giddy bouncing feeling twisted in on itself in your tummy. You wanted to see what he’d do to you– how he’d fuck you, and if you’d have to push his buttons to see it, you gladly push the big red button.

His hand wrapped around your bicep, digging into the skin as he dragged you to your feet and pushed you towards the bed.

“Still a fuckin’ brat I see,” he spat, “We can’t have that can we?”

Putting on your best puppy dog eyes, you bit down on your bottom lip. “Who me?” you said innocently.

“Bend over, slut,” he ordered, his voice coated in a tone that said he was fed up with your bullshit. Strong arms turned you around, manhandling you, and pushed your front down on his bed, “’nd spread your fuckin’ legs.”

With a kick to your ankles, he forced your legs open. Tipping your head up, you locked eyes with your reflection in the window, like a camera lens capturing your ruin at Joel’s hand. He hovered over you, his eyes trailing over your naked body, laid out for him to take.

The first smack came quickly, hard, and brutal on your ass cheek. It made you jump, the muscles in your ass clenching as you tried to reel yourself in. Joel’s rough hand soothed over the burn immediately, and you turned your neck to find his eyes.

“I wanna hear an apology from you, brat,” he said calmly, one finger hooking into the lace of your thong.

You shook your head. Stubborn. “No.”

His head fell between his shoulders, while his finger hooked in your thong tightened its grip, and with a hard tug, he ripped it in two.

“Then I’m gonna have to punish ya.” He said it with a deep sigh, like he had no other choice.

You couldn’t hide the excitement that filled you at those words, your cunt now dripping with need. A need for Joel.

With the scrap of your thong now discarded his hand danced over your ass. You tried not to hold your breath, but he drew it out, and you couldn’t help it. The tension in the air so thick, you couldn’t focus.

Smack!

He spanked your other cheek hard, and the tension was released with a whimper. A tickling feeling of pins and needles spread through your cheek.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

They came in quick procession, your hands gripping the sheets for a lifeline as he put you in your place. Moans fell from your lips without abandon, and you felt yourself drip down your legs.

Smack!

“Look how wet you are,” he noticed, running a finger through your seam, “You like it? Only desperate whores like to get spanked.”

He leaned over you, his soft belly (when had he removed his shirt?) pressed against your back, coarse hair tickling your skin, as you felt his hard cock rub up against your sore ass.

“But that’s what you are, ain’t you? A desperate fucking whore.” His breath in your ear, had goosebumps erupt down your spine, and you sobbed out a whine.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispered, and pulled away – taking his warmth with him.

Smack!

Tears pushed their way behind your eyes, not because you didn’t like it, but it stung like a motherfucker. Joel wasn’t all brutal, he rubbed your skin between hits, but fuck if it didn’t also hurt with pleasure.

“Say you’re sorry,” he demanded.

Turning around you shook your head, big wide eyes watching him as he spanked you again.

Smack!

“You’re tearing up, little girl– It stings doesn’t it?” he asked, voice laced with fake pity.

You nodded.

“Well, maybe you should be a good girl then– say you’re sorry.”

Smack!

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, voice cracking.

Finally.

Joel stopped immediately, his hand twisting around your waist to flip you on your back. His eyes danced over your body, almost tenderly but still full of lust. His hand moved up and down your sides, down the thick of your thigh before they gripped your ankles and tugged.

A squeal escaped you as he manhandled you, his large hands cupping your face while he fitted himself between your legs. “Good girl,” he cooed, thumbs stroking your cheeks, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shook your head in his hands, popping your lip out in an innocent pout.

“No,” he cooed, removing a hand to fit between your bodies.

You gasped when you felt the head of his cock bump your clit, the first real stimulation you’d had since you’d left the ally by the club. Your hips bucked by themselves, chasing the friction of his touch.

“Who owns this cunt?” he asked you, dark eyes staring into yours as he dragged his cock through your soaked folds.

“You do, sir,” you sighed immediately, your whole body aching for him.

A wide wicked grin spread across his face, “Lookit you bein’ such a good girl– finally know your place, huh?”

With no warning, you felt the blunt head of him press at your opening, and then Joel pushed inside you. Your mouth parted in a gasp at the intrusion; eyes glazed over in bliss as you felt yourself get split in two around the girth of his cock. He was so big, filling you up inch by inch, a heavy pressure poking at the deepest part of yourself.

“There you go, baby– you jus’ take it. Take all that cock inside,” he grunted, eyebrows pinched tight.

All you could do was moan as you felt him bottom out inside you, “Shit,” you gasped, “So fuckin’ big.”

“I know, baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he praised, starting to rock his hips into you.

He picked up the pace quickly when he was sure you could take it, splitting you open on his cock as he made you takeit. Under him you could feel yourself float away in the pleasure. His hand came up to wrap around your neck and a big smile spread across your face.

You felt so warm. Joel felt so fucking good.

He reduced you to a puddle, a puddle of pleasure and ecstasy. It was better than any drug you’d ever taken. Better than the first day of summer vacation. Better than anything you’d ever known. The sound of skin against skin faded away into a tranquil rhythm of pleasure. You belonged to him now, lived only for him and the way his cock felt inside you.

“Feel how deep that is?” he asked you, somehow having maneuvered your knees to press into your chest.

You couldn’t do anything other than nod, desperate and whiny. You needed to fucking come. Inside you, his cock bumped into a spot no other man had reached before, and a fluttering feeling coiled itself in your core.

You were so close now.

“Joel,” you gasped, searching for the words as he continued his pace, balls slapping hard against your ass.

“No,” he told you, teeth gritted, “You hold it, slut, you hold it ‘till I give you permission.”

Later, a thought of how he’d had you so close to coming without even a tap at your clit would graze you, but in this moment your thought were only filled with Joel. A hand found his bicep, you needed something to hold on to or you’d burst, and squeezed. Above you Joel’s groans and moans got louder.

“Hold it.”

Tears streamed down your face, as you heaved for breath. You were right there, right on the edge now.

Please, Joel, please, sir, please.

“Come.”

Arching your back off the mattress, you shook as you finally tipped over the edge of bliss. The sounds escaping your throat weren’t your own, they were someone else’s, someone possessed with pleasure.

A “Thank you,” fell from your lips, but you don’t think he heard you. Above you, Joel’s movement became more and more erratic, thrusting himself deeper and deeper before a loud groan vibrated through his chest.

“You take it,” he growled, “take all that fuckin’ cum inside.”

He slammed his hips hard against you, pushing himself as deep as he could inside you, and came with a loud primal groan. His cock twitched within your walls as he emptied himself inside your cunt, the warmth of him filled you up as he painted your walls with cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, burying his face in your neck, “That cum feels so good inside, don’t it?” he cooed, and you nodded, your hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back and thrusted inside you again, fucking his cum deeper inside.

He stayed inside you as you both caught your breaths. His weight felt good on you, you were safe, as you floated somewhere between reality and a space you’d never been pushed to before.

And you missed him when he pulled away, sliding his half-hard cock from your fucked out cunt, dragging you with him up the bed. You reached for him, laying your hand open against his sheets, but he didn't see it, eyes mesmerized by his spend dripping out of you. His fingers slid through the mess, pushing his cum back inside as his eyes found yours.

Then something in the air shifted, and whatever had come over you, was gone. His fingers left streaks of wetness down the inside of your thigh as he pulled away. For the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to say.

You were ruined now – he’d ruined you for everyone who wasn’t him.

You sat up, turning your head over your shoulder to watch him, watch how his eyes trailed your body.

“Smoke?” you asked, your voice more unsteady than you’d thought.

Joel shook his head as you slung your feet off the bed to find your purse. He sat up against the pillows resting against his broken bed frame. Your eyes raked over his naked body as you fished a cigarette from your packet; drank in his strong arms, his wide chest and followed the dark hair of his happy trail down his belly to his soft cock between his thighs, still coated in your combined cum. Between your legs you could still feel his thick spend leak out of you.

You brought the cigarette to your lips, and just as you were about to light up Joel’s rough voice spoke, “Out the window,” he ordered with a nod in the direction of the window.

Everything was back to how it was before.

A dramatic huff escaped you, “All right…” you muttered.

You felt too heavy– he’d messed with your head; made you show him the real you. He couldn’t see that. So instead, you put your mask back on, turning to face the window to conceal the mischievous smile threating to spill across your face.

“Daddy.”

Behind you, as you cracked open the window, you heard the bed creak. You played it cool, lighting your cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window.

Joel’s breath teased at the back of your neck and over your bare shoulder, making goosebumps dance down your spine, “Thought I’d fucked the attitude out of ya,” his voice was stern.

“Guess I was wrong.”

part two -> here!

i hope someone liked this? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

A/N: A new smutty one-shot. I tried. I don't think it's good. But let me know what you think.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Avenger female reader

Warning: smut

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 4200+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

Tony Stark had invited Charles Xavier and his X-men to an annual gala he held in New York. There were many reasons for that. The Avengers and X-men worked together during difficult missions and unexpected alien threats. Also, he wanted to prove to regular citizens and high-profile politicians that mutants were not the enemy. This was the perfect opportunity for both groups to strengthen their bonds and work relationships. 

That’s how Logan had found himself, in a fancy all-black tux, standing at the bar with a drink in his hand. His glare could kill anyone who rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t fond of these gatherings, and yet here he was. His eyes were searching for any threat, ready to fight anyone who would seem too suspicious to him.

“You didn’t have to come here, you know,” Hank chuckled when he approached Logan at the bar. “Nobody forced you to come here.”

Logan rolled his eyes and sipped on his whisky. “I know how important these things are,” he growled. “Charles wanted me to be here, so I’m here.” 

“Uh-huh,” Hank rolled his eyes. He ordered a drink. When the bartender had given him the drink with shaking hands, he had to chuckle. Some people were spooked by his blue fur and beasty look. “Isn’t it because you are waiting for a certain someone?” 

Logan sighed, defeated. Hank knew damn well that his friend had built some connection with a certain female Avenger. There was no denying he was waiting for her. “You really wanna go there, furball?” He tried to avoid the question. 

“Oh, come on, Logan. Everyone can see how you are smitten with that woman,” he chuckled. “It’s kinda nice.”

“I am not smitten,” he denied. Fuck, but even Charles constantly made comments and teased him about it. “By the way, shut your mouth, McCoy. I don’t want to hear shit from you. You’ve been eyeing that reporter from News 1.” 

That made Hank roar with laughter. He sipped his drink and turned to the crowd, watching people mingle around, talk and drink. “I’m not denying that. She’s pretty, we like to talk about science. You, on the other hand, keep denying everything. But we are not blind.”

Logan wanted to throw the drink at Hank. He would, if they’d be back in the mansion. He opened his mouth to snap back at him. But the energy shifted to the grand stairs. Logan’s eyes travelled there, wanting to know what the fuss was about.

Yelena Belova and Y/N Y/L/N walked down the stairs with linked arms. Both looked beautiful in their evening gowns and perfect hair. Yelena had a green satin dress. Y/N chose a sparkling black dress that hugged her figure perfectly, with a slit on her left thigh. 

Oh, if he could, Logan would drool like a dog. It was one thing when she wore that damn tight suit during missions, but this made him hard instantly. Fuck. Maybe this was the day he would have a heart attack. And she’d be the cause of it.

His blood started to boil when many men gave her attention. Once the women left the stairs, they were surrounded by testosterone. Yelena was a pretty lady, too. He had to admit that. Y/N was something different. She felt like a dream, a secret naughty fantasy that he wanted to come to life. 

“Close your mouth or you’ll swallow a fly,” Hank said. 

Logan drank the rest of the whisky in one go, eyes never leaving Y/N’s figure on the main floor. Hell, even her teammates danced around her. Where did this jealousy come from? 

He thought about the day they met. It was an accidental mission, where the Avengers were also present. While Charles and Captain Amerika talked after the finished mission, Logan’s eyes were focused on the woman who caught his attention. 

Their first interaction was amusing. Y/N tried to save his ass when a group of soldiers surrounded him. Logan was on the ground, guns pointed at every piece of his body when she came out of nowhere, shooting down the soldiers, snapping their necks with bare hands. Her kicks were strong, her punches were deadly. 

Once the threat was eliminated, she turned and looked down at Logan. “Are you done napping?” she asked him with a grin. 

He huffed. “I had it under control,” he huffed. He got up on his legs, the adamantium claws had already retracted back to his skin. Y/N watched it happen like a hawk but didn’t comment on it. 

“Of course. You almost got killed by ten men. Yeah, you had it under control.” 

“I can’t die, princess,” he squinted at her. “It wouldn’t be the first time a firing squad would try to kill me. In the end, it would always just tickle.”

Y/N tilted her head. A smile played on her lips. “Well, if you are done bragging, let’s move. There is still more to come and I would like to be in bed with a book in my hand by ten.” 

That was just their first interaction. And with that, something bloomed between them. Friendship? Or was it something more? Every mission became exciting. He couldn’t keep the dumb smile on his face once he saw her in the field.

Logan ordered another whisky. A grin spread on his lips when he thought back to their first meeting. He learnt her name later. First, it was just her last name. Rogers barked orders when he said it. Her first name came at a different time when they all shared the same coms for better communication. 

“She’s coming here,” Hank warned him, which brought Logan back to reality. 

With every step, he could notice more details about her. The material of the dress, how deep her cleavage was, how her breasts popped out, the red lips, the earrings, the fact that she was like a fucking angel. All she needed was wings. And, she was coming to him alone. Fucking finally. 

“Wolverine,” she purred his name. “I can’t believe you are here. Who put a gun to your head and forced you to attend this magical evening?” There was a teasing smile on her lips. 

Don’t look at her tits, he thought. Don’t look at the tits that want to spill out of that dress. Fuck!

“I heard there was an open bar,” he said. “So I decided to come and drink Stark’s liquor.” 

She licked her lips, suppressing her chuckle. “No other reason?” I raised a brow. “See your friends, swoon ladies or play pool with the boys?”

See me?

He kicked in the rest of the drink and put the glass on the bar. His eyes noticed the crowd gathering in the middle of the hall. A slow music started to play, inviting everyone to dance. Logan’s hand reached forward. It was now or never. “Or I came here to dance with ya, princess.” 

One second and her hand slipped into his. “Oh, so you dance, you say? Lead the way.” 

Logan proudly walked her into the crowd of dancing people. One hand rested on her lower back, other held her right hand. He knew what he was doing. After all, this was the first dance of his life. Y/N was impressed by that. They started to dance to the string music. 

He sniffed her sweet perfume, the shampoo she used. That woman would be the death of him, Logan was sure of it. They kept dancing, not talking. His eyes were on her, locked in a gaze. He had been close to her before but not like this. She was like a magnet, pulling him closer to her. Her lips inviting, her touch soft. 

The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to spill out what was going through his mind. “You look beautiful tonight,” he admitted. “Fuck, you look beautiful every time I see ya.”

She chuckled. “Even in my suit during a fight?” she raised a brow. 

“Hell yes,” he nodded eagerly. “Princess, when you walk to the field in that suit, fighting fearlessly, I have trouble focusing. Once you did a trick with your thighs, choking an enemy with them, I almost lost it there.” 

Y/N’s hand left his. She brushed it up his arm and rested it on his shoulder. “Oh, so that’s the effect I have on you, eh?” she teased the Canadian. “Care to say more?”

Logan’s hand joined the other on her lower back. He pressed her closer to his body. The height difference was evident between them. Even with her high heels, she was shorter than him. “Fishing for compliments?” 

“From you? Yes,” she smiled. 

He moved closer to her, leaning. In his mind, he was ready to press his lips against her. He needed to kiss her like he needed to breathe. This was his chance to taste her.

A third hand landed on Y/N’s shoulder. “Y/N, Logan,” they heard someone say their names. The moment was ruined. He wasn’t able to kiss her like he wanted. On the other hand, he wanted to slash anyone who interrupted them.

With a growl, he pushed away, eyes finding Captain Rogers, accompanied by Hank. “What?” he asked them grumpily. He didn’t care it was rude. They ruined something special. 

“We need you in the conference room,” said Steve. “We have a situation.” 

Y/N sighed, stepping away from Logan’s hold. “What’s going on?” she switched to a work mode. She gave Hank a polite smile to acknowledge his presence. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted us about Trash industries,” said Steve. “Come, we’ll show you.” 

“Charles?” Logan’s eyes shifted to Hank. 

“Already with Stark,” he said. 

All four of them walked together from the grand hall. Yelena and Sam joined them on the stairs. The blonde woman was yapping about being taken away from a cute woman and a fine drink. 

“I just fucking got here. Already some shit is happening,” she kept cursing under her nose.

Logan kept close to Y/N. He missed her body being so close to his. He hoped they'd be able to continue. The conversation was intriguing. He remained by her side while walking through the hallway and to the upper levels of the compound. 

Her fingers brushed against his hand. It wasn’t an accident. No. Her fingers purposefully stroked the top of his hand. Instantly, his fingers moved. His pinkie hooked around hers for a second. It was a mutual sign. 

The group entered the conference room, meeting the rest of the Avengers and Charles. One by one they took a seat except Logan. He stayed on his feet, a step away from Y/N’s seat. A hologram appeared in the middle of the table. 

“We got a new location on Trask Industries, but this time, these fuckers had decided to work with some Hydra scums,” Tony started to talk, showing footage they managed to get from satellites. “Or so it appears. we are not quite sure.” 

“The public wouldn’t like that,” Charles commented. “They try to present themselves as a serious robotic corporation. Why would they jeopardise their public status if they start working with a public enemy?”

“That is trying to hunt down mutants and annihilate them,” Y/N commented. “Don’t want to imagine what’s going on behind closed doors. It can’t be nice.”

“Is it really Hydra?” Natasha asked. 

“It appears,” Steve chimed in. “Or something adjacent.” 

“So what? We’re just gonna sit here and wait for more details?” Logan scoffed. “The longer we wait, the more work they get done. I say to strike and kill them all.” 

Y/N licked her lower lip and grinned under her nose.

“We need a strategy, Logan,” said Charles.

“Not everyone can get sliced and heal with a snap of fingers,” Tony added sarcastically. “Chill, wolvie. Besides, we’ve sent Vision to have a look at the place. He’s a droid, a powerful one made out of vibranium.” 

Y/N turned her head to Tony. “That doesn’t mean he’s indestructible in this world,” she frowned. “New weapons are being developed every day to destroy mutants, to stop the Avengers. I hope Wanda went with him. They are stronger together.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course, she’s with him. Do you think I’d be able to stop her? I’m not crazy.” 

“Trask Industries are still working on the damn sentinel program,” Hank stepped into the conversation. “With Hydra’s help, who knows what they’ll be able to create together. The thought alone is scary.” 

Tony ended the hologram. Steve took the word. “I know we are supposed to be here at the gala, but I suggest a good night's sleep and be ready. If you’d like, we have spare rooms in here for you. You can stay here for the night if we need to leave.” 

When Steve said that, Y/N gently turned her head to the side, wondering what Logan would say to that. 

“I’ll gladly accept the offer,” Hank smiled. “At least I’d get to talk to Bruce for a little while and have a look at his labs. I’ll also alert the others at school.” 

“Howlett?” Tony raised a brow. 

Logan’s eyes moved from Y/N’s exposed shoulders to Hank and then to Tony. “Sure, why not? At least I don’t have to drive from place to place.” 

“I guess we are staying,” Charles smiled. “Thank you for your accommodation.” 

The meeting ended. Natasha and Yelena went back to the gala. Y/N talked to Hank for a few more minutes while he was waiting for Bruce. Steve and Tony took Charles back to the grand hall. Logan waited outside the conference room. Because no one was present, he took a cigar out of his jacket and lit it up. Three puffs later Y/N stepped out of the conference room with Hank. 

“Already smoking?” Hank sighed. 

“So what? Got a problem with that, bub?” 

“Always the charmer,” Hank shook his head. “Nice evening, Y/N. I’ll see you later,” he said once he saw Banner approaching the group. 

The moment Logan and Y/N were alone, they faced one another. “Are you heading back to the gala?” Logan asked. 

She hummed, thinking about it. “I’m not feeling like going back there. Honestly, those fancy parties are not my cup of tea. Wanna grab a drink in our lounge room? Stark has the fanciest shit there. You’re gonna love it.” 

Logan smiled at her. “Lead the way, princess.”

. . .

The lights were dimmed in the lounge room. Logan was nursing an expensive drink Y/N poured him. He made faces, eyed the liquid, humming and nodding. “This is some good shit,” said after a while. “Wealthy people can afford stuff like this. Also, Charles prohibited any alcohol at school.” 

Y/N chuckled, sitting in an armchair with her drink. “It makes sense. It’s a school. Of course, he doesn’t want any alcohol there. Does he let you smoke?” 

He huffed. “That he ain’t gonna do shit about it. No matter how much he threatens to turn me into a six-year-old girl.” 

“Aw, that’s adorable. I’d like to see that,” she put a wide smile on her face as she sipped her drink. “Maybe I’d brush your hair, put pink ribbons in it.”

Logan kicked the drink in and stood up from the couch. His eyes noticed a few photos around the place - from parties and group shots to professional photos of the team. They were like a family. What mostly caught his attention was Y/N. She was an Avenger, part of a superhero team. He huffed. Fuck, she was a damn Avenger. 

“What?” she questioned. A second later, she was by his side, eyes on the same photo of the team. “That was after Ultron almost annihilated the whole world. We celebrated our survival. Stark puked into his helmet,” she laughed. 

“Disgusting,” he frowned. “I must say, you look like one happy family,” he commented. 

Y/N hummed. “Maybe,” she shrugged. “I love them all to death.”

“But?” he raised a brow. 

She shrugged. “Will I sound ungrateful if I say I hate being in the spotlight?” she made a face. “I can’t do photoshoots, the damn galas and shit forever. I hate attention. I’d rather be like you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “Teaching mutant kids, living life out of the spotlight. Even though it’s not easy, in my eyes, it’s simpler. Not have to deal with this shitshow.” 

Logan’s fingers found her hair. He brushed them away from her face. His mouth opened, ready to say something - anything - but instead, he grabbed her by the neck, pulled her closer to his body and crashed his lips against her. It was like an invincible string, pulling them together. He couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t slow, gentle. Quite the opposite. Logan’s tongue explored her mouth, tasting every corner he could reach. It was hungry, possessive. One hand held her tightly around her waist while the other slipped from her neck, down her back until it reached her ass, taking as much of her cheek into his palm. 

Both arms wrapped around his neck. A moan escaped her lips when the kisses moved to her jaw and down to her exposed neck. 

“I need to have you,” Logan growled between the kisses. “Fuck, pretty baby.” 

“My room,” she sighed. “We can’t give Stark or Rogers a heart attack if we do it here. Although, it would be funny.” 

Logan pushed away, staring into her eyes. He went back for her lips, only to bite her lower lip, pulling at it. “Lead the way, princess,” he growled. “And hurry, or I will take you here, where anyone can see us.”

Y/N grabbed him by the hand, taking him away from the lounge room. Logan moved her to his side and kept a hand on her smaller back. He needed to feel her, to be sure she was real and not a damn dream.

It took them a good three minutes to get to her room on the upper levels. The moment she closed the door, her hands were on Logan’s jacket, taking it off, letting it fall on the floor. Both of them stepped on it, not caring. His lips smashed against hers, all tongue and teeth. Grunts and moans echoed around them as they moved closer to the bed. 

“I wanna rip this dress off,” he said, hands grabbing both of her covered breasts into his palms, squeezing them. 

Y/N undid his tie. “No,” she chuckled, unbuttoning his white shirt. “Too fucking expensive. Here,” her fingers quickly found the zipper on her left side. She pulled it down and the dress loosened. That was Logan’s sign to pull down on it. 

“Fuck, princess,” his eyes rolled when she stood there in nothing but a black lacy thong. Her breasts were on full display, nipples stiff, just for his eyes. “Fucking perfect.” 

Before he could latch onto her hardened nipples, she forced the white button-up down off his body, hand grabbing onto his muscles, fingers brushing over some of the hair on his chest. She stood on her tiptoes to find his lips in another hungry kiss. 

His tongue dove into her mouth, caressing hers in the process. He felt her hands moving down to his belt, unfastening it. “Impatient?” his voice hoarse.

She pushed him onto her bed. He fell with a loud thud. The adamantium bones almost broke it in the process. “Shit, sorry,” she gasped, forgetting about his weight. But instantly, she climbed on top of him. Y/N pressed her breasts onto his chest as she needed to kiss him again and again. 

Logan switched it up, rolling them so she was under his body. “Now, let me ravish you before I give you my cock,” he said, lips already trailing kissed down her chest, over her breasts. His mouth took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it, biting it. Her other nipple was teased by his thumb and index finger. 

“Fuck, Logan,” she whimpered. 

His mouth then travelled south. His tongue left a wet trail down her stomach to the hem of her thong. He kneeled on the edge of the bed, taking her leg up in the air, kissing it from the thigh up to her ankle. “I should leave these heels on, darlin’. So fucking sexy. Fuck, and I will.” 

Y/N huffed. “Logan, please, I want your mouth on me.” 

“Ah, already begging. I love it,” he grinned. He put her leg on his shoulder. His fingers brushed down down her leg to her clothed pussy. With two fingers he brushed her over her hidden folds and clit. She practically purred. “Pretty sound.” 

“Come on, Logan, do something.” Y/N was becoming frustrated. He kept teasing her, rubbing circles over her clit. “Don’t be a fucking tease. Not now.” 

A dark laughter escaped his throat. “Patience, darlin’.” He moved the thong to the side, exposing her pussy to the cold air. He saw her clench around nothing. “What a pretty pussy, princess. So wet and ready for me.” And he buried two fingers inside her heat. 

Y/N moaned once his two thick fingers penetrated her. “Shit. Ah.” 

He pulled them out and put them straight into his mouth, tasting her. “Delicious,” hummed. “I’m gonna feast on you. Not now. Now, I need to feel you around my cock, princess.” 

Logan grabbed her thong and pulled it off her legs, leaving her completely exposed to his eyes. He made sure to leave those heels on. “Fucking gorgeous.” He stood up to get rid of his pants. 

The moment he unzipped them, she knew he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Shit, Logan, commando?” she raised a brow. His length was already hard, ready for attention. The tip of his cock was angry red, already leaking precum. 

She was ready to reach for him, take his cock into her mouth and guide it into her mouth. Logan was faster. He pushed her back on the bed, shaking his head. “No, no, darlin’. I’m gonna fuck you now. And next time, I will let you have a taste of me.” 

“Next time?” she smiled. 

Logan leaned closer, his head above hers. “You think this a one-time thing? Oh, pretty girl. No, no.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. 

“Good,” she gave him a bright smile. 

He pumped his length a few times before he positioned his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inside until her hungry pussy took him all in. He cursed, groaned when her walls clenched around him. Once he was buried to the hilt, Y/N sank her nails into his chest, leaving red trails down to his belly button. They immediately disappeared, healed.

“Feel so good, princess. So tight,” he moaned as he started to move. At first slow, enjoying every stroke, watching her face like a hawk. He loved how her eyes rolled, how she gasped for air with each thrust or how she squeezed her breasts. She was fucking perfect. 

His thrusts fastened. He watched her breasts bounce as she kept fucking her. His grunts were louder, more vocal. Logan’s right hand found her neck. He wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing it. And that move made her clench hard around his cock. “Shit, Y/N,” he called her name. “Keep doing that and I will fucking cum inside you.”

Logan’s other hand sneaked between their bodies and found her clit. He started to rub it slowly, changing the movements. 

“P-please,” she gasped. “I need to cum, Logan.”

He smiled. “Yeah, pretty girl? Gonna cum around my cock?”

Y/N nodded, moaning and shaking under him. “Please, please,” she begged. 

“Come on, princess. Cum around my cock. Squeeze me with your sweet pussy,” he demanded. “Wanna feel you when you cum. Shit… Ah… Fuck…”

A few more flickers of his finger was what she needed to reach her peak. Her mouth formed a perfect O, her voice suddenly gone when the wave of pleasure hit her body like a train. Her back arched as he helped her through her orgasm. 

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he grunted. “Milk me dry.” 

A few more thrusts and he spilt inside her. His hot cum painted her walls. He growled like an animal, trying to prolong his climax with every movement. His body shook and then he stopped, panting. 

His eyes found hers. There was a post-orgasmic haze in them. A smile played on her lips. She was perfect, beautiful. Logan quickly leaned down and stole a kiss from her.

“Damn, princess,” he chuckled. “Such a good girl.” 

Those words made her clench around his length again. He grinned. “You like it when I call ya a good girl? Good to know.” Slowly, he pulled her semi-hard cock out of her and rolled next to her, catching his breath. 

Y/N rolled to him, resting her leg over his body. Her fingers drew patterns on his chest, moving through the hair delicately. “This was fun,” she smiled. “It’s been a while since I had a good orgasm.” 

He raised a brow. “Next time, I’ll make you cum on my fingers,” he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips on her fingers. “Then on my tongue and around my cock,” he hummed. “I will fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

She grinned. “Is that a promise?” 

“Fuck yeah, princess.” 

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | masterlist!

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"God loves you but not enough to save you,"

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡

❝ to my love, Joel.

,...found you just to tell you that I made it real far, i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did.

while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there.

don't think about it too hard, honey. or you'll never sleep a wink at night again.

and don't worry about me and these green eyes,

baby, just know that i love you. and i'll see you when you get here.

i love you forever, Joel... ❞

THE PLAYLIST! (on spotify)👰🏼‍♀️

the preacher's daughter ▪️ dbf! joel miller

MASTERLIST!🐇

Chapter 1: "But I always knew in the end, no one was coming to save me,"

Chapter 2: "Because that's how my daddy raised me,"

Chapter 3: "I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue"

Chapter 4: "He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro reds,"

Chapter 5: "Because for the first time since I was a child, I could see a man who wasn't angry,"

Chapter 6: "Let him make a woman out of me,"

Chapter 7: "You wanna fuck me right now?"

Chapter 8: "The fates already fucked me sideways,"

Chapter 9: "Christ, forgive these bones I'm hiding,"

Chapter 10: "and that's why I could never go back home,"

Chapter 11: "I don't care where as long as you're with me,"

Chapter 12: "If it's meant to be, then it will be."

Chapter 13: "Beautiful people, beautiful problems."

Chapter 14: "You put your hands into your head, and then smile cover your hearts."

Chapter 15: "Something's bad is 'bout to happen to me,"

Chapter 16: "Tag, you're it."

Chapter 17: "If he's a serial killer then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?"

Chapter 18: "He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed"

Chapter 19: "Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise,"

Chapter 20: "You poor thing, sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."

Chapter 21: "If we die tonight, I'd died yours."

Chapter 22: "I'm always going to be right here, no one's going anywhere"

-THE END-

read it on wattpad!

the preacher's daughter by babyvenoms

ENJOY! and if you guys have any like visuals to this, or art that you made for this I would love to put it here, just let me know! thank you!! 🩵

[back2bluesidex]

We Need Practice - JJK (18+)

A Sequel to Novice.

Pairing: Pornstar!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: Fluff, smut

Wordcount: 2.1k+

Summary: Jungkook wants you to ride him and you are too bad at that.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, messy cock riding, cumming all over body, they are down bad for each other, more fluff than I intended to have, confessions. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

Masterlist | Patreon

“Don’t judge a book by its cover” 

You have heard this phrase for thousands of times in your entire lifetime but you have hardly had any chance of actually implying the same in your life. 

But then you met Jungkook and you understood how true that one sentence can be. 

Jeon Jungkook is the text-book definition of what those cliched bad-boys or fuckboys would look like. 

With a hand full of tattoos, silver rings dangling from piercings, impressively structured body and a small waist that could rival female models, he really looks like someone who would be fucking people and putting on a show out of it. 

And that is exactly what he does. 

Pornstar Jeon Jungkook is actually very notorious. 

But Jeon Jungkook as a person is a completely different story. 

After that one encounter at that porn movie set, he asked for your number and you complied with his request thinking of he could give you some of the best fucks of your life (not that you have had many fucks to brag about in the first place). 

If you are being honest, then you never expected him to be the sweetheart that he actually is. Since the day you two exchanged numbers, he never once asked if he could come over during god-forbidden hours of night. He never once asked for your nude pictures, neither did he ever force you to meet him. 

Rather he sends you funny dog videos, funny tik tok clips and asks you how was your day. And you can’t lie about the fact that your heart has already started acting strange, like it flutters everytime Jungkook’s name glows on your dark phone screen. 

It’s been more than a month since you have been chatting regularly and now you are getting a little impatient. 

As much as you appreciate his good-boy vibes, you would like to see him again, touch him again. 

So you do what you have been thinking of doing for more than a week now. 

“Sleeping?” you hit send, praying to the universe that he doesn’t find you a desperate bitch for what you are going to do. 

The clock reads 2:15 am already, and just then his reply arrives, “nah. Can’t sleep. What about you?” 

“Me too. Can’t sleep.” 

You take a deep breath before typing the next message, “do you wanna hangout?” 

Just when you are about to add “at my place” to complete your proposition, his reply hits your screen, “Send me your address. And wear something warm before I ask you to come out.” 

Wait. is he? Taking you out? 

Even though you were trying to ask for sex but this option feels even better to be honest. 

So you send him your address and he texts you that he will be there within 10 minutes. Wearing your gray padding, you wait for him to arrive at your place. 

Another positive point about Jeon Jungkook is that he is punctual. You might even call him a green flag because your phone dings with a “I am here” text right on 2:27 am. 

The scene that unfolds in front of you once you come out of your apartment, almost leaves your jaw hanging mid air. 

Jungkook has arrived with a bike, dressed in complete black. If you drooled a little at the sight then you would never admit that. 

Once he sees you awkwardly walking towards him, he takes off his helmet and welcomes you with one of his infamous bunny smiles. 

Your heart does a little flip inside your chest. 

His big doe eyes shine amid the darkness as if those are made of some priceless stone. At this moment it’s really tough to believe that he is a pornstar, who fucks people on camera to earn a living. 

“Hey. you look beautiful.” he greets you with a compliment when you come close to him. 

“You look even more handsome today.” you return his compliment genuinely. And at that, the tip of his ears turn red. 

“Ah thanks.” he replies shyly as he hands you a helmet. And gestures to you to mount his fancy bike. 

You take the helmet, slip that on your head and hold him by his shoulders to climb on his bike. 

Once you have settled, he revves the engine. 

“Hold me tightly” he says briefly before setting the bike in motion. You wrap your arms around his waist and hold him just as he asked you to. 

The deserted road, the trees whooshing by, the buildings that look peaceful, everything feels so beautiful. 

Maybe it’s because of the hour or maybe it’s because you are with someone you like. 

The bike comes to a halt at a crossing and you slide up the windshield of your helmet, “where are we going?” 

He looks at you through the mirror, slides his own windshield up and gives you another sickening smile, but doesn’t say anything. 

5 more minutes later he parks the bike beside a huge lake. 

It looks like a secluded area. The lake is mostly hidden amid big trees and surrounded by fishing spots and some benches. 

Jungkook spreads his hand before you once you both are standing side by side. 

You take the cue and place your hand on his. He intertwines his fingers with yours and you start blushing. Thanks to the darkness, he wouldn’t be able to witness it. 

Once you are sitting on a bench, Jungkook starts, “I often come here to fish with my hyungs. This is my first time coming here with a woman.” 

When you look at him, you find him already staring at you, “Really? You look like the type to have a lot of girlfriends, you know?” 

“Is it because of my profession?” there is a hint of sadness in his eyes. 

So you press on his hand, which is still intertwined with yours and say, “no. not because of that. It’s just that you are generally very attractive and charming, Jungkook.” 

His face brightens up with a beautiful smile, “Too bad, I was about to say the same about you. But you snatched my words.” 

Your eyes widen at his compliment, “You find me attractive?” 

“Why? Why are you so surprised? Is it wrong to find someone attractive?” he giggles, staring deep into your eyes. 

“No. Th-that’s not what I meant. I mean, you know, you work with far more attractive women than me. So.. it’s kind of unlikely actually.” you fumble with your words. 

Jungkook chuckles at your explanation, “they are just colleagues, Y/N. Just like any other profession, we have a strict business relationship. And honestly, they are not even my type. You, on the other hand, fit perfectly into the category of women I would love to date.” 

Your eyes go even wider at his confession, “you.. You want to date me?” 

“If you let me. If you trust me despite the nature of my profession… I would love to make you mine.” Jungkook breathes slowly, his eyes drop down to your lips. 

Before you can voice your answer, your intrusive thoughts win and you reach up, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. 

“I think I would love it too.” 

And then you find yourself being pulled by the back of your neck as Jungkook crashes his lips on yours. It’s passionate, it’s overwhelming, it’s so beautiful and you never felt anything close to this. 

He licks the seam of your lower lip asking you to grant him permission, you let him inside your mouth. 

His tongue probes into your mouth testing each corner, you moan into his mouth. His other hand wraps around your waist pulling you even closer. 

And then you feel one, two, three and then multiple drops of rain falling on you two. 

He detaches his lips from yours, “fuck. It’s raining.” 

“Let’s go back to my place.” you reply, trying to cover your heads with your hands. 

It’s been one of your bucket list wishes to ride a bike in the rain with the person you love and probably it’s going to come true today. 

You hold him tightly, pressing your chest on his back, not in a sexual, but in a loving manner. It starts raining heavily within a few minutes, and Jungkook quickens his speed to reach your destination as soon as possible. 

“Where are you going?” you place your question, seeing Jungkook putting on his helmet again after dropping in front of your apartment entrance. 

Even though the rain has turned into drizzle now, it still can be quite dangerous to drive a bike in this weather.  

“Home. Where else?” he adds a little sheepishly. 

“Jungkook, it’s still raining. I don’t think it’s any wiser to go home now, you’re drenched on top of that. Come inside. You can leave after the sunrise. If you want.. I mean.” you propose, he seems to think for a bit. 

“I don’t think I should go inside, Y/N.” Jungkook looks at the ground as if it’s more interesting than your face. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” you are truly confused now. 

“I might not be able to control myself…” his voice fades by the time he manages to end the sentence. 

“Did I say I want you to control?” you bite your lip, hoping that you don’t appear to be too desperate to him. 

His eyes go wider inside his bulky helmet. 

Jungkook pushes your naked body on the mattress. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking of how good you felt that day.” He groans while biting down on the skin of your neck. 

Your hands roam around the smooth skin of his back. Everytime you scratch his back, he moans a little. 

“So pretty, so delicate, so perfect for me.” Jungkook groans again. 

One of his hands reaches down, finding your clit within a moment. It’s as if he has studied the map of your body with earnest interest. 

Drawing tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves, he pulls out melodic moans out of your throat. 

“Jun-jungkook mmm..” you moan again. 

“Yes baby. Say my name again.” he urges you while entering your heat with his middle finger. His digit plunges inside you, making you see stars indoors. 

“Jungko- I’m close” you manage to voice somehow. And as soon as those words fly out of your mouth, he empties you. 

You look at him being dumbfounded. He smirks at you, knowing what exactly he has done. 

“I want you to cum on my cock. I am hard as hell, baby.” he confesses blatantly. 

Just when you are about to hold him, he flips you around. So, now you are sitting on his thighs.  

“I want you to ride me.” he adds a little breathlessly. And you almost choke on your own spit. 

“What? I-I don’t..” 

“I will guide you, Y/N.” he cuts you off. 

He helps you in taking off his slacks along with his underwear. Once he is naked, he holds you by your waist and lines your entrance along with his cock. 

“Are you ready?” he asks briefly. You nod in affirmation. And then he is sliding you down his length. 

At first his length is overwhelming but you adjust fast. 

“You should move now.” Jungkook’s voice is laced with lust, his eyes are hazy, making him look even more attractive than he already is. 

You honestly have no idea how to move. So you try to implement your visual experience. However, it’s tough once you start bouncing on his cock. Even though Jungkook is guiding you well, you are messy regardless. 

Your moves and Jungkook’s thrusts don’t match at all and the experience is nothing like that day. 

You really are a novice. 

Even though the friction is delicious for you, Jungkook’s expression tells that he is very underwhelmed. So, you start trying your best. With a few more bounces, you cum all over his cock, creaming it perfectly. 

As soon as you are done, Jungkook flips you around again. He slips out of you and starts playing himself. 

Even though you are in your post-orgasm haze, it’s embarrassing for you. You couldn’t help him finish and he had to take the charge himself. 

With a few more pumps, he cums all over your body. Starting from your face, to your stomach, everything gets creamed in his white hot seed. 

And it’s hot. He is hot. And you are pathetic. 

“I-I’m sorry. I know it was bad.” you manage to voice once Jungkook is done with himself. 

“You are not bad, baby. We just need more practice together.” and then he is sealing his lips with yours again. 

You certainly need more practice with him. 

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

[buck-star]

Stuck with a God | Loki Laufeyson

// Pairing // Loki Laufeyson x Agent!Female!Reader

// Summary // Loki gets imprisoned by Shield and he loves flirting with you. As much as he annoys you, even more does the Shield technology annoy you.

// Wordcount // 2.488

// Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, smut, kind of enemies to lovers, being stuck with Loki, bit of dub-con, fingering, squirting, CMNF, finger sucking / cum eating kinda, bit of housewife kink, praises

// Authors Note // This is my first time writing for Loki, so thanks to my amazing friend @jiyascepter for encouraging me to write for him.

// Events // Slumber Party: Sundae Bar | French Vanilla (stranded, looked in) and Black Cherry (Enemies to lovers) | @the-slumberparty | Bingo of your own | N4 | Stuck together | @thebo3bingo |

// Masterlist | Loki Laufeyson //

     “Darlin’! Didn’t think I would see you today,” the black-haired man says, his smirk growing as you walk closer to the cell he is in. “Want to see me again before they bring me into another cell, my dear?”

     You roll your eyes, earning a chuckle from the man. Since they brought him into the cell earlier that day, he flirts with you whenever you’re around. Or at least it’s what you think he is doing; maybe he just tries to convince you to let him out and let him rule the world — something you won’t do unless your boss will force you to.

     “Didn’t miss you; I just have to get something, and then I will be back doing my work,” you answer him, walking further through the room.

     Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief — at least what he said — walks up and down his cell, his green eyes following every little movement.

     “Oh, darling—“

     “Stop that flirting and let me do my job. You’re annoying, and I’m done with you, Loki,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief about that man.

     His lips are still curled up, and his eyes are glistening. As much as he annoys you, he has something that makes your knees weak — mystic and magical.

     “My dear, come here. Look at me when you tell me that you’re done with me. Are you done with me, darlin’, or do you only want everyone to think that?” His voice is low, his head falling forward, and he looks up, looking even more handsome than before.

     “No, don't even think that. You’re not that interesting to me,” you groan, frustrated that you’re stuck in that conversation. Too nice to just ignore him and too annoyed to continue talking to him.

     “Not interesting to you? I’m Loki — god of mischief — from Asgard! Everyone wants me. Oh, that sweet maid in Asgard — you should have seen her, darling. She begged me, but she wasn’t interesting to me,” Loki says, chuckling softly at your expression.

     How can he dare to tell you such an intimate story about one of the maids who is working for them? But to finally let him know that you’re not interested in his idiotic ass, you make your way closer to the entrance of the cell. Loki is grinning at you and walking in his cell to the entrance as well.

     When you reach it, he places his hand against the glass, waiting for you to tell him that you’re not interested in him. His green eyes remind you of a snake, staring into yours and glistening mischievously.

     “I’m not inter— How?” You almost shout at him when he is suddenly in front of you — without glass in between you. “FUCKING SHIT! How do— GO BACK INTO THE CELL!”

     Loki laughs softly, his white teeth visible. His tongue darts out, and he slides it across his plump lips before closing his mouth and leaning a bit further down.

     “Make me, darling. I’m a god; you think that little cell stops me from breaking out? How sweet,” he says in a teasing tone.

     You place your hands immediately on his chest, feeling the muscles tensing underneath your soft touch, before you push him back into the cell. Actually, you learned to not do things like that — never touch a criminal or get too close to him — they could use it to their advantage.

     A loud sound behind you makes you flinch, and you look around. The door behind you shuts, and your eyes widen when you realize that you’re stuck in a cell with the enemy. And not just one enemy; you’re stuck with Loki.

     “Stay away!” You grumble, letting go of him to take a step backwards and look for your card, which opens literally every door in a shield compound. You reach your card, finally able to get out of the cell again — you just need to find out how he managed to open the door and walk out of the cell.

     “Darling, don't you want to give me some company? That hurts my feelings; I thought you changed your mind and wanted to stay in that cell with me,” Loki says, his eyes still following every movement of yours while you walk to the door and press your card against the small display next to it.

     His lips curl up when the door doesn’t open. You try again, pressing the card against the display again. Once again, the door stays closed, and you groan frustrated — why can’t the technology work like it should?

     “Doesn’t work, darling? Do you need my help?” Loki asks, his tone teasing, and you roll your eyes once again. At some point, you’re sure you can roll your eyes all the time, but right now you’re just annoyed about the technology and him being such a dick.

     “I don’t need your help! Can you just shut up for a moment?” You ask through gritted teeth. You turn around, wanting to face the black-haired man, but the cell is empty, and you wonder if he broke out once again.

     You hiss and almost jump when you feel a warm breath against your neck. Long arms wrap around your waist, and a broad but small chest is suddenly pressed against your back. You can feel Loki’s nose sliding over the soft skin of your neck; a low chuckle leaves his lips when he pulls you even closer.

     A shiver runs down your spine; you want to lean more into his embrace. His warmth and scent envelope you. Loki feels just so good that you want more of him and more of his touches.

     “You like that, don’t you, darling?” He asks, his breath hitting your skin and causing goosebumps all over your body. It shouldn’t feel so good; you shouldn’t stay in his embrace; he shouldn’t touch you like that — Loki is still the enemy, but the two of you look now like he isn’t just that; it looks like the two of you are so much closer.

     “L—Loki, let go of me. H—How did you escape here? Wh—“ You interrupt yourself when you feel his long fingers moving over your stomach, higher to your chest.

     “I didn’t escape, but I told you — I’m a god, darling. I never escaped here; you opened the door with your card; you pushed just an imagination of mine into the cell. And now that you’re here with me, stuck in this cell, don’t you think we should just continue where we stopped?” Loki asks, his voice quiet, and he presses his soft lips against your neck.

     You shake your head, even though you don’t feel like that. You just can’t be that close or intimate with the enemy. He grumbles behind you, pressing you even closer against his chest, and you can feel his growing bulge pressing against your ass.

     Your eyes widen, pussy throbbing, but you can’t just give in to him, can you? Loki is thrusting his hips forward, chuckling against you, when a soft moan escapes your lips.

     “You like that?” You nod lightly, his fingers gracing over the fabric of your t-shirt to your chest. Loki moves his hands over the swell of your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, and when you look down, your breath hitches.

     His hands are so big, thin, but long fingers — they cause the most filthy thoughts you ever had. You inhale deeply. A moment later, you think about pushing him away, telling him to stop that, and that there are cameras, but you know that they won’t work when the display to unlock the cell doesn’t work either.

     Loki feels you tensing in his arms; he kneads your soft breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back.

     “N—Loki, please,” you whine, feeling his hard cock still pressing against you. He thrusts his hips forward, making you squeal. His hands are squeezing your tits more.

     “Changing your attitude is exactly how I like it. What do you need, darling?” His tone is teasing. You nod your head, now knowing what to say. Loki laughs, suckling at your neck while his hands snake back to your waist. “Tell me, darlin’.”

     “L—Loki, please, n-need you,” you whimper. You feel so pathetic, begging the enemy to touch you, to fuck you. His hands and his lips feel like the softest thing you have ever felt, and you need him to continue touching you. You need to know how talented those fingers are.

     “Look at you, melting in the enemy's embrace, needing his fingers, don’t you?” He mocks you, laughing softly when he picks you up. He carries the two of you to the bench on the other end of the cell, sitting down before he places you in his lap.

     Loki’s hands hold you in place, his hard crotch pressing against your ass, and you wiggle lightly, earning a low groan from the man behind you. His fingers are digging into your sides, pressing you further down on him to keep you still.

     His lips trail along your neck once again, and he then smirks miraculously once again. And suddenly… you’re naked in his lap. Your clothes are nowhere around, and you can feel the leather of his suit underneath your sensitive skin.

     “L—“

     “Come on, spread those pretty legs for your favorite god, darling,” he grumbles, his fingers sliding along the inside of your thighs as he spreads your legs apart.

     Loki reveals your throbbing pussy; his left hand is holding your one leg, and he squeezes your thigh, while his other hand inches closer to where you need him the most.

     His long finger slides through your folds, and you moan softly, throwing your head back against his shoulder. Loki circles your clit, pinching it lightly between his fingers before he moves his long fingers further down to your entrance.

     “So wet, ‘s that all for me, dalin’? Pussy’s drippin’ for me,” he says, kissing his way along your neck to your ear. His fingers coated in your arousal, he slowly pushes one finger into your entrance. You moan loudly, arching your back. Loki’s finger slips deeper into your tight pussy.

    “Doing so well; look at you, sweetheart. Taking my finger like you’re made for that, aren’t you?” Loki praises you, pushing deeper into you while curling his finger. He starts pumping it in and out of you, earning soft moans and whimpers from you.

     Your hands gripping his thighs, the cold leather feeling perfectly underneath your hot skin. And having him completely dressed while you’re naked turns you on beyond belief.

     Lokis circles your clit with his thumb, adding another finger to your cunt. Your breath gets heavier, you rock into his hand, and the coil in your stomach tightens with every moment of his long fingers inside of you.

     The black-haired man hits your sweet spot every time, the pads of his fingers sliding over it, causing an intense feeling to build up in your lower stomach. A feeling you never had before, not when you fucked yourself with a toy and never with another man.

     “Doing so well, darling. Squeezing my fingers so good, can’t wait to fuck you, probably. Yeah, that’s what you like? Being fucked by a god, don’t you, darling?” Loki asks; his eyes darken lightly, but since you’re with your back toward him, you can’t see them.

     “P—Please, so close. LOKI!” You almost shout; you're just about to come all over his fingers. You don’t know how you ended up in that situation, but right now you can’t care about that. Everything you want and need is Loki, his fingers curling inside of you and bringing you closer to the edge.

     The sound of your wet pussy and his fingers pumping into you in a steady rhythm echoes through the cell. He speeds up, loving the way your walls cling around his fingers, sucking his thin, long fingers even deeper. “Come on, sweetheart, come all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

    With that, you do as you’re told, your pussy clenching around his fingers. Loki massages your sweet spot with his digits while you come all over his fingers. Your juices squirt all over his palm and fingers, landing on the ground of the cell.

     “F—Fuck, please, keep going, please, Loki,” you beg, thrusting your hips against his hand while you ride out your orgasm.

     He can’t stop his movements just now; you need him to fuck you through your orgasm — and that’s what he does. Curling his fingers steadily inside of your pulsing cunt, he thrusts slowly into you while you breathe heavily.

     You have been moaning like a whore since he started to fuck you with his finger. But you don’t care; he feels too good to think properly.

     “Didn’t think about it, darlin’. Doing so good for me, gonna keep you and take you with me to Asgard; make you my sweet little wife and fuck you whenever and wherever I want,” he groans, his eyes rolling slightly back when he thinks about that idea. A low moan escapes his pink lips, and he smirks. “You’re already so cock drunk, you can’t even think about it properly. Just say yes, darling.”

     You nod your head, your hips still moving against this hand, while you don’t really notice what he is saying. As long as he keeps his fingers inside of you. “Yes, please.”

     “Whining and begging like a pathetic little housewife, that’s what you are. My sweet little housewife.” He kisses your neck once again, sucking a purple mark into your skin. “All mine, darling, and everyone can see it.”

     Even with your protests, Loki pulls his fingers out of you, holding them up to show you your arousal dripping down his fingers. You blush slightly, watching Loki bring his fingers closer to his face. You turn your head, looking at him while he takes them into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean.

     “Tasting perfect, darling,” he hums more to himself before he moves his hand, and you’re suddenly dressed again.

     Your eyes widen, reality hits you, and you jump off his lap. You immediately miss his warmth, a cold shiver running down your spine while you consider getting back into his lap or staying away from him. This is just a short moment, because as much as you should stay away from him, as much as you crave and need this black-haired man.

     “That’s my girl. Now let’s get out of this cell and make you my pretty little housewife,” he says, smirking at you when your back is pressed against his chest once again. And just as he tells you, he is doing exactly that, making you his wife — and luckily, you’re not the only one addicted to the other one. A god can be just as addicted and craving like a human.

// Taglist // @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles

[cherryblossom-heart]

Responsibilities (6.5/8)

bestfriend!Nanami x Reader

Masterlist

Content warning: ANGST, Toji Fushiguro is his own warning, Kento having something with an unknown female character.

A/N: I am soooo sorry for this angst but is necesary so we understand everything that happened at the party. Don't worry, part 7 will be fully smau and its coming soon. If this is the first you see of this series please go to the previous parts to catch on. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this. Also if I missed anyone in the taglist let me know 😊

Word count: 3.2 K

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

“Shot, shot, shot.”

A small smile spread across Kento’s lips, his eyes focused on your display. Glass after glass, you emptied all six of them in front of you with a grin on your face. The small group of people that surrounded you cheered, the echo of their acclamations competing with the bass of the tacky house party playlist Gojo had put on.

Nanami stayed by the sidelines as always, never a fan of crowds or even reunions like this one. But every rule has an exception and to Nanami’s life you were the exception for everything.

He hadn’t noticed when it had begun. Maybe it had been when you were kids, your hand covered in dirt touching his clean and polished one to drag him out to play with the other kids. Or in your teenage years, your fingers entwined with his as you dragged him to another house party he hadn’t intended to go. Perhaps it was in college when he let you sleep at his place when you had been assigned a roommate from hell and every now and then you would end up falling asleep on his shoulder as you tried to finish whatever assignments you had.

The truth was, no matter how much he tried to explain it, there wasn’t an exact logic to his actions. He hated parties but he enjoyed going with you, your carefree dancing always igniting something deep in his chest. He hated loud music, but he loved the way your eyes would close as you sang to the top of your lungs as he drove you around.

He hated immature personalities, Gojo’s antics only being tolerable for minutes. And yet he found himself amused by your quips and shenanigans you would drag him along with, his heart beating out of his chest as the mischievous grin you wore tore his defenses away.

Nanami couldn’t say when everything had begun, but he knew exactly when he first noticed it. The harsh, undeserving words that had drifted you apart for weeks had been enough of a wakeup call, the pain in his chest had left him in a panic at the moment. Once you had given him a second chance his lungs could finally take a deep breath, free from the strange constriction your apathy gave him.

He had tried getting you out of his head to the point he had downloaded a few dating apps hoping he could find someone else to occupy his thoughts. The second he had matched with someone his fingers quickly deleted the app leaving him with the realization he tried to avoid.

He was in love.

No, it was more than that. Your name was carved in his heart, his soul belonging to the set of bright eyes that laughed at his dry humor as if he was the funniest man on earth. It belonged to the smile that would always welcome him whenever he entered a room or the soft fingers that would run through his hair as his head laid on top of your lap

Nanami had never been a man to believe in soulmates, but if fate would have it and they turned out to be true he believed you were his. And not even then he could explain the extent of his emotions, the crushing weight of his love for you could simply not be measured.

Loving your best friends carried its consequences as Nanami would find out sooner than later.

Green eyes and a scar had become an instant sign of anger for him. The broad, tall, muscular man always carried his characteristic smirk, a trait that also bothered Kento to his bones. But perhaps the thing that he hated the most was the way his hands would wander along your body, fingers always finding a patch of uncovered skin where he could trace senseless figures. Your lack of a negative reaction was enough to tick him off.

He saw it the night he had ended up intoxicated and crashing at your place, the almost too insignificant glint in your eyes as you looked at the blacked haired man. Your smile was almost as bright as the one you always wore when you talked to him.

Kento hated the pit that formed in the bottom of his stomach every time you would mention him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Beautiful, Kento’s mind recited as his eyes met yours

Your breath was raggedy, beads of sweat trailing down your cheeks. Your makeup was no longer intact, a couple of smudges trailed down your eyes, mascara specs darkening your eyes. The lipstick shade you wore was almost gone, a faint tone left behind.

“Keep your penny, it’s nothing too interesting.” Nanami’s answer came as you scooted over next to him, his right arm surrounding your frame.

“I highly doubt that. Everything about you is interesting, Nanamin.”

Kento’s breath got kicked out of his lungs. How was it possible for you to make him feel this way without even trying?

Were you aware of the effect your words, your soft touch, your sweet glances had on him?

Were you aware of his love for you?

“I believe I owe you a dance.” You extended your hand gesturing for him to take it.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me as many as I want.” Kento said, fingers entwining with yours.

You smiled, a bright beautiful smile that made his world stop.

“Well, let me start paying my debts.”

Minutes later Kento found himself in the middle of Gojo’s house, surrounded by the same crowd he had been trying to avoid as he held your body against his. You had guided him through the crowd of people, several of them stopping you along the way to congratulate you on your birthday. You would acknowledge them, perhaps exchanging a couple of words with them along the way, but your attention remained on him, your hand squeezing his every now and then to make sure he was alright.

Your hips moved to the rhythm of the music, the tune belonging to a song he hadn’t heard before, your arms were up in the air, fingers dancing along the air as if somehow you were making the most beautiful painting with them. Watching you dance was like staring at a work of art, every little movement you made was a sight to be seen.

Nanami’s body wasn’t sure how to move, his feet didn’t seem to want to follow the beat of the music, his arms felt uncomfortable as he tried to move them around. His body had begun to tense up the more he analyzed his own movements. You must’ve noticed it as well as you had stopped your movements only to get closer to him, your hand finding his again.

Cold fingeres reached to caress his face, carefully putting back in place a strand of his hair out of place. With a tenderness so foreign to him yet so familiar when it came to you, your hand cupped his cheek.

You looked at him and suddenly everything was alright.

“Relax, Kento. Just grab my hand and follow the music.”

Nanami’s left hand held onto yours while the right one fell on your waist, pushing you against his chest. If someone else would’ve seen, you two it wouldn’t have made sense to them. You two weren’t following the music, your pace not even close to what the rest of the people around were dancing to. Yet it didn’t matter, it was as if a bubble had appeared, separating you from the rest. Kento and you were following music that no one else around could hear, your head falling to his chest as the song changed.

For a moment, Nanami felt braver than ever. Maybe it was the intimacy of the moment what fueled him as he was convinced you had never looked at someone else the way you looked at him. Or maybe it was the fact that, as he pushed you closer to him, the more you seemed to nestle on his chest having caught you smelling his favorite cologne that you had gifted him.

Whatever it was, it made Kento brave enough to make you look at him. The hand that held onto yours lifted your chin, his touch leaving goose bumps on your skin. He stared into your eyes, for the first time not being shy of appreciating your beauty. Your eyes held galaxies of thoughts and emotions, and he was more than happy to explore all of them.

“Thank you for this, Ken.”

Ken.

A nickname he hated but he loved the rare times you’d say it.

He wanted you to say it forever.

“Don’t thank me, it’s the least you deserve.”

Your arms surrounded his neck.

“Be careful, Ken or I might start thinking you like me.”

Your name left his lips in a whisper, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. He was surprised when he found you doing the same, your eyes lingering longer on his lips.

“Kento…” you whispered, inches away from his lips. “I— “

“Happy birthday, party girl!”

Gojo’s words rumbled across the room, bringing attention to you. Nanami’s hands fell to his side as you jumped away from him looking like a deer caught in headlights. Satoru made his way to you along with Shoko and a cake he wasn’t sure was enough for everyone in the room.

Nanami made a mental note on researching what the easiest way was to get rid of a 6’3 body.

The crowd pushed you away from him, guiding you to the table where Satoru had placed the cake. You tried talking to them, your eyes searching for his in the sea of people. When you finally found him, Nanami just gave you a small smile and a nod, gesturing you to enjoy your celebration.

You mouthed a small “I’m sorry” to him as you turned your attention to the cake.

Kento let out a sigh as he made his way back to the kitchen bar, leaning against it. A gigantic sparkling candle decorated the middle of the cake making your eyes open wide in surprise. The tune of Happy Birthday started playing, everyone around joining in the celebration making you cover your face in embarrassment.

Adorable.

“How long have you been in love with her?” A deep voice asked next to him.

Kento looked at the green-eyed man that had silently slithered his way next to him.  Fushiguro carried a solo red cup in his hand, his face still carrying that same awful smirk that irked Kento. Toji’s eyes were focused on you, but Nanami could tell his attention was on him, expecting a response.

“I– “

“Don’t try to lie, it’s written all over your face.”

Kento sighed, he was right. There was no point in lying, yet he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not to him. Not before he could tell you.

“It’s none of your business.”

Fushiguro laughed as he took another sip from his drink

“It is when you’re trying to get with my girl.”

The flames of anger began rising in Kento’s chest, a bitter taste settling in the back of his tongue.

“I believe she isn’t aware she is ‘your girl’.” He quipped. “I don’t think she wants the title, or else she wouldn’t keep insisting your relationship is casual.”

Toji’s grip tightened around his cup, the sides of it cracking slightly at the pressure. Now it was Nanami’s turn to sport that idiotic smirk.

“Well, you certainly got me there.” Fushiguro conceded. “But it has to hurt still, doesn’t it?”

“You– “

“I mean, you guys have known each other for how long? Over fifteen years and nothing has ever happened. Not a single kiss, nothing even close. I’ve known her for less than two months and I’ve already fucked her all over her apartment.”

Nanami could count with a single hand the number of times he had restored to violence; the last time he had gotten into a petty fistfight being when he was still in high school. Afterwards he would compose himself and regret his actions, embarrassed of such a public display of his anger.

None of those times Nanami had ever felt such rage, the only thing holding him back being your birthday celebration. As much as he hated the man, he would hate it even more to ruin the night for you.

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut about her private life.”

Toji snorted. “What? You’re going to play the “best friend” role again? Come in your white horse and defend her honor? Try to woo her with your gifts and hope she fucks you?”

“Better than playing the role of a man with two kids who can’t seem to find a stable relationship at his age or keep himself out of jail. Are you trying to get her to play the stepmother role as well?”

“Well, it seems that’s what gets her going, isn’t it?”

Finally, the two men faced each other, both scrutinizing each other under their gaze. Kento knew as much anger as he held inside, he could see his feelings reflected on the other man. He couldn’t blame him, any man would be lucky to get your attention, let alone a man like him.

The crowd cheering drifted away the men’s attention, your wide smile as you blew out the candles reminded Kento the reason why he was there, the flames of anger beginning to dwell as the warmth of his chest expanded through his body. He had already wasted enough time with Fushiguro.

“I don’t intend to ‘steal your girl’ Fushiguro, I cannot steal something that isn’t yours to own. She’s grown enough to know what she wants and that’s not for us to decide. Whether it is you or whoever else she is with I will always respect her choices.” Kento looked back at the man next to him, his eyes darkening with his last words. “But I will tell you that if you hurt her, I’ll make sure your stay at prison will feel like a spa visit, do I make myself clear?”

A moment went by without an answer and Kento thought the conversation was over, but as it is with a man with Toji’s personality, he always had to have the last word.

“Understood, boss.” He crashed his cup in his hands, throwing it away in the can behind the kitchen bar. “You know, I asked her once if anything had happened between you two. I mean, I had to make sure you weren’t an ex or something, especially with all the gifts and how close you guys are. You know what she said?” Kento didn’t give an answer, knowing well he was going to talk anyways. “She laughed. You should’ve seen her, it was as if I had asked the funniest question ever. I swear I saw tears in her eyes.” He chuckled. “She said there wasn’t and there never would be anything between you. That you were like the brother she didn’t have and dating you would almost feel incestuous.”

Toji’s attention went back to you, as everyone started to clear off from you as they got a slice of cake. His hand brushed his hair in place as he passed in front of Kento. “I think you have more of a shot with her.” He nodded to a girl Nanami hadn’t noticed before, her gaze turning as his hazel eyes connected with hers. Toji patted him in the shoulder before he left, not before getting his last lick. “I’d take it if I were you champ, it’s not like she’s going to care if you sleep around with other people.”

The green-eyed man made his way to you, his hand falling to your hips as he brought you in for a kiss.

For the first time in his life, Nanami felt his heart breaking. The longer your kiss lasted the more he felt a wave of unknown emotions drowning him, tearing every part of his heart that you ignited.

Fushiguro might’ve been a bastard, but he was right. There was never a time you had looked at him in any other way other than a best friend, let alone a romantic partner. He was an idiot for thinking your words meant anything, that your flirting was anything more than friendly, as it was you had always been a flirtations person. He wasn’t especial.

In an attempt of self-preservation for what remained of his heart he took a shot of vodka, hoping the burn would be enough to make him forget for a little while. He looked around the room, looking for anything that could help him, an easy way of distracting. That’s when he saw her again, the unknown girl he had never seen before.

Nanami didn’t remember how he had gotten himself in a bedroom in Gojo’s house, or when he had taken his shirt off as a girl whose name couldn’t even remember straddled him. He didn’t remember how her lips tasted or the tone of her voice as she had introduced herself to him. He couldn’t even remember the color of the girls’ eyes as she kissed him.

Her hands traveled along his body until they found his crotch making his head roll back. He allowed his hands to explore the girl’s body, slowing cupping her ass as she tried to undo his pants. This situation should’ve brought him some comfort, the sensations of every kiss, every touch should’ve been enough to help him in some capacity. Yet the only thing on his mind was you and the guilt building up in the back of his throat.

Everything about this felt wrong and he couldn’t explain why until he opened his eyes and the person in front of him wasn’t you.

Every time he kissed her, he pictured your lips, soft and delicate against his. Every time he touched her, he pictured your tender skin against his expecting the smell of your body wash to linger on his nose, instead a foreign scent invaded his nostrils. He expected to hear your voice with every pant of his name, but the unfamiliarity of the girl’s tone made his muscles tense up. This wasn’t what he wanted, he couldn’t fool himself into do it.

Then, the unthinkable happened—the very thing he had feared all along.

The light and commotion from the hallway caught his attention as he realized someone had opened the door. He pulled himself apart from the girl, moving his face to the side so he could see the uninvited guest. He only had a second to react before you shut the door with a slam, it’s echo filling the room.

He pushed her away, not caring for pleasantries as he scrambled to get his things together. He could hear the girls angry tone complaining, undoubtedly labeling him as an asshole. None of it mattered though. Not when he had seen the pain in your eyes as you saw the scene in front of you.

When he finally found his phone, he saw the plethora of messages you had sent him, all of them relating your trial until you finally found him. Before he could start typing, two new messages popped up.

Oh

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.

Vile rose to his throat as he pleaded you to come back.

It’s ok Nanami, I’ll catch you later.

Have fun

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.

Taglist

@ermbehindyou @totallygyomeiswife @ash4ree @lov3vivian @namjooningera @sleepykittyenergy @silllly-jokesterr @shigarika @7haze @lizzie3d2y @jaybirdluvr73 @sweetdreams-inumimi @anuncalledbridge @troyesivanfrl @lavenderdaydream97 @n4tr3ad5 @aldebrana @erintaro @deegausserr @animemensblog @tqd4455 @jellyfishlord123

[gloomwitchwrites]

Easy Access

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content, canon-typical swearing, oral sex (female & male receiving), F/M/M/M/M, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), multiple creampie, multiple orgasms, group sex, praise, restraints/restraining

Word Count: 3.7k

A short dress is your idea of an invitation for a bit of fun.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Under the shade of a tree, you inhale deeply, savoring the fresh spring air.

This is a party. A gathering. A break. A reward for a job well done.

But it’s not like you’re the one in the line of fire. That isn’t your job. Your one and only endeavor at work is making sure Kate Laswell has everything she needs while at the office. Field work is not your specialty, and you’re thankful for that.

You make phone calls. You bring Laswell her coffee. You keep her appointments and meetings. It’s office work. Clerical. But it keeps you safe, fed, and paid.

Amongst the crowd are familiar and unfamiliar faces. There has to be at least sixty people here in total, and yet the space doesn’t feel cramped. You were given an address, and this has to be someone’s backyard, but you couldn’t say who. And if anyone knows, they aren’t saying.

To your left is a large wood patio. It expands across almost the entirety of the back of the house. Most of it is covered by two connecting pergolas. Underneath the pergolas is a massive buffet and open bar. People loiter there, talking and laughing. The patio opens up to a large green space with a small pond and garden near the back fence. The majority of the space is open but there are a few tables and chairs set up. Music comes from speakers you can’t see, and lights line the fence.

It’s all very pleasant, but crowds are not your thing.

You scan the crowd but no one is looking in your direction. Bringing your plastic cup up to your lips, you scan the crowd one more time. Your gaze falls on Captain John Price. He’s having a conversation with someone you don’t recognize, and out of uniform, he’s even more handsome.

There is no silly, floppy hat or beanie. No windbreaker or boots. Price wears a button up shirt, the top two undone and slightly open with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He appears so casual and calm, a cool sexiness that instantly sparks heat low in your belly.

Your cup is almost to your lips, pausing as you gaze at him. In this moment—this fleeting second—Price’s gaze finds you. He winks. Smirks. Returns to the conversation.

Your heart drops into your stomach, and you nearly drench the front of your linen dress with red punch.

Glancing away, you only find the rest of Price’s team. Kyle Garrick, John MacTavish, and Simon Riley loiter near the deck. Kyle and Johnny talk, their faces animated and engaged. Simon stands with his arms crossed, but he’s not listening.

He’s staring at you, those dark eyes of his piercing you down to your marrow.

It’s silly, really, how all four of them make your stomach flip. How they each in turn seem to awaken something dark and primal in your blood.

While it doesn’t shame you in the least, you have flirted with all of them. It’s hard not to. Price is the one you see the most, and always makes an effort to stop by to see you if he has business with Laswell. Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all have to go out of their way to see you, but they do it. Often.

And it’s not just the flirting or sultry glances. You’ve allowed them each a touch or two. Of the four, you gave Johnny permission to kiss you. It was chaste. Quick. Nothing that curls the toes. But it turned his face beet-red.

But being with any of them is just a fantasy. It’s unprofessional. And you don’t need to know what Laswell might think of you for taking any further action with them.

Sighing, you turn away from Simon’s penetrating stare. You knock back the red punch, the alcohol in it hardly registering on your tongue. Removing yourself is the best solution. Perhaps you could hide in the bathroom for a bit. Splash some cold water on your face.

Depositing the empty plastic cup in the nearest trashcan, you head for the patio, passing the buffet and open bar, striding inside through the open kitchen doors. You nod in acknowledgement to a few people there, and they match it, but they immediately return to their conversations, not all that interested in your presence.

The nearest bathroom is just off the kitchen, but you want to hide. You aim for the hallway with the intent of entering the bathroom at the very end. No one is really using it, and it’s the perfect place to catch your breath.

As you reach out for the golden bathroom handle, a large hand shoots out, encasing your wrist, haling all movement. You turn sharply, ready to bite back at the man who decided it’s okay to touch you without your permission, only to freeze.

Your eyes widen as you realize who the hand belongs to.

“John,” you whisper. You didn’t even hear him approach. He completely snuck up on you.

“Where you off to?” he asks softly. He looks a little concerned, but there is something else under all of that.

While you want to answer his question, to give in a bit, you don’t enjoy being grabbed.

“Is that your business?” you reply, arching one eyebrow, chest heaving slightly as your heartrate quickens.

John’s head tilts slightly, his gaze assessing for a moment. The two of you are locked in, and you’re not sure if you’ve completely fumbled the exchange. John releases you from his stare but he doesn’t release your wrist.

Instead, he glances over his shoulder, and you follow the movement. Right there, in the hall, are three familiar people.

Kyle and Johnny casually lean against the wall while Ghost stands in the middle, watching the opening of the hallway.

You’re not frightened. Not afraid. If anything, you’re becoming slick between the thighs. There is a reason they’re here, and you want to explore what it is.

Price’s gaze returns to you and his gaze is soft. “Do you want it to be my business?”

You press in a bit, and Price’s mouth forms into a self-satisfied grin. “Does it include all four of you?” you counter.

“It can.”

His grip tightens slightly. The hold is almost desperately possessive.

What the hell. You should just do it. Have some fucking fun for once. If anything, this will be the one and only time. Get this ridiculous need out of your system all at once and be done with them.

“Then make it your business,” you murmur.

Price’s grip remains firm as he pulls you away from the bathroom door. He spins you around, his free hand reaching out to open the door that’s across the hall from the bathroom. You hear the creak of the hinges as it swings inward, and then you’re walking backward into the room, Price herding you along.

Behind him follows Kyle. And behind Kyle, Johnny. Then, finally, Simon. He’s the last to enter the room and the one that shuts the door, locking it without even glancing at it. He leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

Once the door is shut, you expect Price to release you. But he doesn’t. He keeps hold of your wrist, drawing you against him, pinning your arm to your chest. With his other hand, Price clasps your chin between thumb and forefinger, keeping your face pointed in his direction.

“You want to back out?” he asks. “Just say the word. We’ll stop.”

Do you want to stop? No. Your blood is buzzing, nearly burning beneath your skin. You want to see where this goes, and how much you can take before you’re unable to understand reality.

“Nervous, Captain?”

He laughs, throaty and low before his lips come dangerously close to yours. “No, love. I like that you’re willing to share.”

Someone shifts behind Price’s shoulder. Your gaze starts to drift but he jerks you back to attention.

“You’ve been teasing us with that dress,” murmurs Price.

Releasing your wrist, Price drops his hand to lightly tug on the skirt of the linen dress you wear.

It’s incredibly comfortable. The color an off-white. It stops at about mid-lower thigh, a bit above the knee. The top of the dress is solid fabric back and front except for the straps which are crisscrossed, leaving your shoulders and arms mostly bare.

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you reply just as softly.

Price makes a sound in his throat that goes straight to your pussy. “Somehow I believe that,” he chuckles, fisting your dress even tighter. It only pulls you closer, and even like this, you feel his hardness.

You’re so focused on Price that when another pair of hands join his, you almost jump. Price eases his hold on you a bit, and your body twists in the direction of these new hands. It’s Johnny. He has one hand on the back of your neck while the other plays with the hem of your dress. It’s just a gentle toying, one you don’t entirely notice until his fingers are slipping under it, brushing against your bare thigh.

“You want this? All of us?” Johnny sounds skeptical.

Your lips part at his question, the very image of them taking you one after the other only making you slicker.

You nod, chest heaving. “Yes.”

Price’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip, drawing your attention back to him. There is a pause—a second of breathing—and then he releases you. He walks backward toward the door as Simon moves away from it and Kyle closes in.

Johnny sidesteps, placing himself directly behind you. His hands slide over you, finding new homes. He wraps one around your waist, hand splaying wide over your pelvis. His other reaches down to dip beneath the hem of your dress just shy of your left leg.

You believe that Johnny is going to slide his hand between your clenched thighs. But he doesn’t. His arm hooks under your thigh, pressing up, lifting your foot from the floor. You’re forced to balance on your right foot. You instinctually reach up, grasping the back of Johnny’s neck.

But with Johnny’s support, you don’t topple over. His strength keeps you grounded.

With his hand on your pelvis, Johnny begins to bunch the fabric in his fist, lifting it away from your body. It is slow, almost agonizing in how all of their gazes are fixed on that one point.

You don’t need to see to know when you’re bare. You feel the air against you.

You are open for their inspection, and they do not appear disappointed. If anything, they’re fucking hungry.

“She’s wearing fucking nothing under there,” growls Simon, almost like he’s upset but doesn’t want to be.

“Teasing us on purpose,” says Price not to anyone in particular but to reiterate what he said early, that the dress is a tease, and this is just one more thing to add to it.

Simon moves, striding toward you like a predator. Slowly, his hand clasps the front of your neck, and you instinctually arch into Johnny. Kyle sinks to his knees before you.

“Gaz is gonna eat that pretty pussy,” murmurs Johnny in your ear. His breath is a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. “And then we’re all going to fuck you. One after the other. Fill you with our cum. You want that, love?”

You crave them like a nourishing meal. Accepting won’t hurt. It’ll only fill the gap, satiating the thirst that boils in your blood.

“Yes,” you affirm, putting all the control in their hands now.

“Good girl,” growls Simon, gently squeezing, those dark eyes of his locking in on your parted lips.

Kyle’s hands are on your thighs. They rotate. Squeeze. Slide toward your hip bone.

“Look at that,” he says, absently. Kyle’s fingers lightly brush over your sex. Then, he is parting you with two fingers, and in that glide, you can hear just how wet you are.

“Hardly touched you,” croons Kyle, his mouth dangerously close to what’s aching for him.

He leans in, and goes in for a taste. It’s tentative. Testing. Just a little touch of his tongue against flesh. But it’s enough for your pussy to clench, for you to whimper as if he’s completely pressed his mouth to you.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Johnny. He nuzzles your neck, gaze downward.

You’re watching too. Everyone is. There is no point in hiding anything. You are spread open.

Kyle’s tongue dips again, this time tracing a line between his two fingers. He starts at your entrance, teasing it before moving upward to circle your clit slowly. He is languid about it. Taking his time like there isn’t a party happening just outside the door.

“Oh, you’re sweet, love,” he murmurs before going in fully.

There is no tracing of his tongue. It is only steady strokes and gentle flicks against your clit. Kyle knows what he’s doing. He knows to stick to a specific pace. To not change course. He feasts until your legs shake and it is only Johnny’s strength keeping you aloft.

The clench comes, shuddering outward. Your breathing intensifies, becoming desperate gasps as Kyle continues to work your clit. Simon still holds onto the front of your throat, and he does not let go.

“Look at me,” croons Simon, tilting your head in his direction. “At me. My eyes.”

Johnny murmurs sweet nothings against your throat as he watches Kyle lick and then suck your clit into his mouth.

Your hips buck against Kyle’s mouth as your orgasm consumes, absorbing all your strength, turning your muscles into sticky goo.

There are lips pressing against your inner thigh, and then Kyle’s voice drifts up from between your legs. “She’s ready.”

“But we aren’t,” replies Simon.

Johnny guides your leg down until your foot is flat again. From there, he presses on your shoulders, and you automatically sink to your knees.

“Be good and suck Gaz’s cock,” commands Simon as his hand slides from the front to the back of your neck.

Johnny steps back, his presence evaporating as Kyle undoes the front of his jeans. You are hungry. Feral. Desperate. The moment Kyle’s cock his free from his jeans, you’re reaching for him, sucking him down.

Kyle groans loudly, head tilting back as you throat him to the root.

“Fucking beautiful,” comes Johnny’s voice somewhere behind and to the right of you.

Simon grunts in agreement, his hand still firmly planted on your neck. His fingers dig into your hair, and even though you have some control, Simon has the rest.

He keeps you on your knees and your head still as Kyle thrusts shallowly into your mouth. You are wet between your thighs, the skin there rubbing against itself. Your hands rise to grab the front of Kyle’s jeans, but Johnny tuts, grasping both arms and holding them behind you.

“Breathe through your nose. Good girl. Like that.” These praises are all Simon, and you desperately want to please him.

You’re nearly still as Kyle claims your throat. But he’s careful. Thoughtful. He’s fucking your mouth yet he knows your limit. When your throat contracts, wanting to gag, he retreats until you’ve caught your breath, only to return to his pace from before.

“Fuck,” he mutters, abruptly pulling out of your mouth. You cough, saliva and cum coating your lips and chin. “Bend her over the edge of the bed.”

Johnny releases your arms and Simon is the one that helps you to your feet.

“Look at me,” says Simon, drawing you attention to his face. “You good?”

This can all end if you want it to, but you don’t. You’re not full. Not whimpering. You want them inside.

“I’m good,” and your answer is a bit raspy.

Simon nods and then he’s turning you around, his hands pressing on your back until you’re completely bent.

The bed is a bit high, and you have to go up on your toes. Your hands dig into the comforter, but you don’t feel stable. Not really.

There are hands on your thighs. They drive upward, flipping your dress up to expose your ass to the room. One of those hands comes down on the right cheek. It isn’t hard, just enough to bounce it.

“Open for us,” says Simon. You wiggle your hips, sliding your feet outward slightly. “More, love. Yes. Perfect.”

Simon shifts partially into view, and then he’s grabbing your forearms, holding you down to the bed itself. You have no idea who is behind you, but you feel the head of their cock at your entrance.

There is no condom, and you do not give a fuck. You want to feel each of them in turn, to feel them fill you up, to fuck each other’s cum deeper into you.

The head presses in. Enters. And then you’re being filled, being fed more and more until you’re stuffed. You moan loudly.

“Taking me so well,” groans Johnny as you clamp around him. “Bloody hell you’re tight.”

Johnny squeezes your ass, guiding your hips up slightly as he starts to drive in. The angle is deep, and your feet slide against the floor. He isn’t soft, but he’s not rough either. Johnny is steady, rolling his hips deep enough to hit that sweet spot.

You are soft. Pliant. Smiling against the comforter as Johnny fucks you. His soft grunts become gentle groans. Then his hips stutter, thrust forward, creating a seal. You feel his release flood your pussy, and you purposefully tighten those muscles, encouraging him to stay inside.

And Johnny does, for a moment.

He lightly pats your ass before withdrawing. The loss of him is immediate, and yet there is another ready to take his place. Simon does not move from his spot. You turn your head and find Price still leaning against the door. There is an apparent bulge in the front of his pants.

It is Kyle that settles behind you, and like Johnny, he finds the same rhythm. While Johnny felt girthy, Kyle is absolute perfection. The stretch is good but not too tight, and even though every stroke is pointedly deep, there is nothing but pleasure.

Kyle’s hand slips between the bed and your body. He finds your clit. Toys with it. Plays. You’re still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm, and the next one comes up suddenly. You cry out, squeezing on him as he finishes.

In that blissful state, you don’t notice Simon removing his hands from your forearms. It isn’t until he’s driving inside that you realize it, and you nearly come off the bed. Simon is absurdly large, and your back arches, fingers digging into the comforter as your groan into it.

Simon is not as gentle as them. He fucks their cum into you like he’s made to do so.

And Price is still off to the side. Still watching. Almost indifferent except for that outline in his pants.

Simon’s only tell is a low grunt before he too is finishing inside you.

You are overly stuffed. Full. Simon removes his cock from your pussy as their mixed cum begins to drip out onto your thighs.

You think Price will come. That he will take Simon’s place. Instead, you’re being moved, flipped onto your back. Your legs are brought up, and then Johnny is back, sliding home again. Simon stands to the right of him. He reaches out, runs his hand over your stomach before delving down to find your clit.

Simon circles it as Johnny’s cock pistons in and out of you, his hips smacking against yours sharply with each thrust. It isn’t long before the muscles in your body seize and then relax. Johnny doesn’t find his end until Simon has you clenching a second time.

Johnny steps back, a pleased grin on his face as he stuffs himself back into his pants. Your legs are weak noodles and you’re thankful for the bed beneath you.

Price pushes off from the door. He walks casually, his hands slowly undoing and then removing his belt. You push up onto your elbows, adjusting. Price observes you. His gaze is on your face and then it drops to your pussy.

Reaching out, Price runs his fingers through the mess between your legs.

“Mind if I add to that?” he asks, gaze returning to your face.

You smile and spread your legs wider.

“Good fucking girl,” he croons.

Price grasps your thighs and drags you to the edge of the bed. Shoving his pants down enough to free his cock, he rubs the head over the mess, coating himself in it.

He lines himself up, and then buries himself to the hilt. Your fingers dig into the bed and then reach for him. Price adjusts his grip on your thighs, pressing them up a bit and toward your chest.

You are at his mercy as he drives into you. The only sounds in the room are your breathy moans and the obscene wetness that is your pussy.

All those flirty invitations and teasing smiles has led to this. And you don’t entirely mind if this is all it is. That the five of you are just working it all out of your systems. You’re completely satisfied.

As Price’s thrusts becoming erratic, he lets go of your thigh only to grasp your throat. He leans forward as he brings you up off the bed. You are scrunched, and when his lips meet yours, you come undone just as he does.

You hang. Suspended. And then you’re melting into the soft comforter.

Someone is cleaning you up, wiping away the excess mess. And then you’re brought to your feet. Everything is unsteady as you focus on who it is holding you.

“Good? Or you need a minute?” Price’s palm runs over your hair, smoothing it.

“I need a minute,” you murmur, because it’s true.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all start to file out. With the balaclava you can’t discern Simon’s expression. But Kyle is smug. Content. Johnny is almost sheepish, his cheeks slightly flushed as they leave.

It is over. Done.

Price runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “If you ever want this again, you know where to find me.”

He leans forward as if to kiss you but instead brushes his lips against the curve of your cheek. He gives your hand a squeeze. A silent goodbye.

Then he too is gone. The door shut.

You place your hand over your chest and laugh as a trail of cum slips down the inside of your thigh.

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[lokisgoodgirl]

Teenage Dream [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A trip to Asgard means a visit to Loki's childhood bedroom - and his teenage fantasy. (w/c 1.9k) Warnings: 18+ only. Loki x Female Reader. Established relationship. Smut. Body fluids etc etc. Language.

“This is your childhood bedroom?!” Loki’s arms spread wider, turning in a lazy circle as you gape at the high ceilings and golden cornicing. Open archways lead to a balcony which runs along the full side of one wall, Asgard sprawling below in afternoon sunlight. It’s huge.

“What did you expect?” Loki shoots a lovingly indignant look over his shoulder. “Some kind of hovel-sized quarter the kind of which Stark has bestowed on Lang?”

His boots thud in quick succession on polished marble before he jumps through the air and lands on the modest queen-size with a bounce – a hand balled at his temple. The sheets have clearly been replaced since he last laid in it, but old habits die hard. The green and gold of his colours is in full effect in this room from the curtains to the tapestries and the quilt draped across the mattress. “Lie with me,” he says, looking up through his lashes. “Please?”

Something about seeing Loki dressed in his, what he still calls, ‘Midgard garms’ suddenly seems ridiculous in one of Asgard’s royal bedchambers. A pair of tight black jeans cling to his muscles, denim shifting as he draws one knee over the other to rest on the bed. His forest green t-shirt has ridden up at his lower stomach, a victim of the obscene measurements of his stretching body. He chuckles lightly, making a thick line of his obliques tighten as he slips his fingers further into mussed hair. "I told you I was a prince," he says sheepishly.

You make your way to the bed and he flips to his back, releasing a happy groan as you straddle him. His eyelids droop, a flash of his upper teeth as he bites his bottom lip. "Frigga will be expecting us," you say as you roll your hips against his crotch. "Uhhh...gods-" he grunts, large palms rubbing up your thighs tight on either side of his chest. ‘Frigga can wait. I said I would give you a tour, and give you a tour...I shall.’ "Not from down there you won’t."

You yelp as Loki sits up and his lips fasten to yours, hand cradling the back of your head and forcing you in a violent kiss. He bites your bottom lip, sucking out gently. You moan softly as his hands begin to rub your thighs again. He’s needy. The sentimentality of bringing you Asgard for the first time is doing a real number on him. Your fingers run down his neck, down the hard dips and ridges of his abdomen through the t-shirt.

“I used to pleasure myself in this bed, dreaming of a woman like you-” he says huskily, beginning to thrust upwards. The painfully tight erection bursting against denim rubs against your gusset, toying back and forth. You feel a swell of arousal web between your folds as your eyes dart towards the open door. Just a crack, but it’s enough. The guards are never far in the palace it seems, even for a Prince who’s all grown up.

“Say more,” you tease. It’s a whisper, but it seems to echo. Loki chuckles quietly into the curve of your neck before he tips you easily to the side. You meet the mattress with a bounce, your head disappearing between the crevice of two plush pillows. Loki’s long form rises above you, impossibly rectangular, spread on his knees, the denim screaming around his crotch.

“It may come as a surprise to you that I was an awkward young man,” he starts, riding up the hem of his t-shirt. His leather belt sits maddeningly at the dent of his hips, perfect alabaster skin of his stomach flashing into view. “No!? I would never have guessed...” you joke, surprised at your ability to think straight as Loki’s shirt pops over his head. He throws it away, skittering gently across the marble floor. His eyes flash mischievously.

“But I had urges, of course; fucked myself night after night like a demon; elaborate fantasies formed in my head with excruciating detail.” He falls forward against the pillows, the bulge of his shoulders tensing as he cages you.

“I wouldn’t let myself cum until every detail in my head was perfect,” he breathes, letting long tendrils of hair drag against your throat in time with the filth of his dulcet syllables. “Again and again. It was enough to drive a young man to madness.”

“Did you ever have-?” you start, cut off by a pathetic moan as Loki drags his bound cock against your clit. “Never," he whispers. "This bed is as virginal as myself when I left it.”

The warm glow of his magic pulses from his skin. Loki’s jeans are gone, replaced by a green silk robe open at the waist. It's Asgardian craftsmanship, that much is obvious. Gold weaving edges the hem, its age betrayed only by the sleeves which are a little too short. The sage shimmer melts into the wave of his hair, and for a second you can’t bring yourself to believe there wasn’t a line forming outside his bedroom every night after he came of age.

He rests back on his haunches between your legs, flipping out the robe at the nip of his taut waist. Loki’s eyes smoulder, waiting for you to ask.

“Which one do you want?” you say. It times perfectly with a twitch of his proud cock as he draws a finger back and forth along its length. His chin dips and a small smile creeps at the corner of his lips.

Loki raises a hand, a theatrical snap of his fingers making the ceiling height door to the chamber swing closed with an almighty clang. Even under normal circumstances, doors don’t close quietly in the palace; it is by design.

“My goddess riding me,” he says, raising his gaze to yours. “Then once I’ve filled her, she crawls to my face; smothers me with her perfect, dripping sex; calls my name so loudly in ecstasy that my brother hears it all the way in the taverns.”

Your brows raise. “That’s quite specific.”

Loki shrugs. “I told you. It needed to be perfect. I spent a lot of time thinking about it.” You shuffle up on the pillows, curling one side of his silk robe in a fist and pulling his mouth to yours. He manoeuvres around, lying back against the pillows with bright eyes while you crawl on top of him once more.

“Are you my sweet virginal Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes. Loki snickers. "If you like." “I do.” “Aright then,” he sniffs. “Although I should warn you, for a virgin – I am rather an expert.” “Shhh-” You press a finger to his lips. "I read a lot of books," he explains with overly-earnest eyes, muffled against your finger. “Let’s get you some practice, then..” you whisper, rolling your hips up the length of his cock. Loki whimpers, brows slanting. You can't tell if that part is for show. With a slip of his hand against your ass you feel your dress dissolve, the nip of a breeze through the open arches making your nipples stiffen. Loki’s head leaves the pillow and catches one in his mouth as your hand guides his cock between your legs. You rub the tip against your slit, slipping back and forth as guttural groans roll in his throat.

"My virgin Prince," you coo.

Loki’s head falls back to the pillow, a warning brow rising. But his eyes sparkle. Slowly, you sink down onto his cock; each hard inch of muscle tugging against your walls as you settle to the hilt.

“Every time you do that,” Loki rasps, “it’s everything I ever dreamt of in this bed, I swear.” You flatten a curl of hair back from his forehead, rocking your hips back and forth. His hands slide up your waist, cupping your breasts as he pants beneath you. A vein in his neck throbs as he grits his teeth to the ceiling. He won’t last, not today. And that’s just fine.

You press his shoulders down, limiting his thrusts. If he wanted to, he could overthrow the touch in an instant. But he wont, not today; not in this bed. Every time you reach the tip of his cock you squeeze and his lips part; every time you sink him deep into your cunt they press together, like he doesn’t trust himself not to howl. The squelching is louder now. The moaning, too. You and Loki have fucked many times, in many places – in every conceivable position, each time you think you could never be more aroused, he proves you wrong. But something’s different about him here. When his beautiful eyes open, the dark fan of his lashes seem to pop against the vibrant blue ringing blown pupils.

Loki’s fingers sink deep into the plump of your ass. He pulls in time with your rhythm, drawing the flat of his feet up. In seconds, he sits up to meet your mouth; his tongue lapping against yours with quiet desperation. Your fingers run down his abdomen and you feel his stomach clench.

“Fill me, baby-” you whine into his open mouth, “show me what Asgard’s finest cock can give me.” Loki grunts in pleasured anguish, thrusting in erratic shudders as he erupts inside your heat. The angle is tight. Fresh seed creams at the seal of your slit and wells around the rim of his half-sheathed cock as he comes undone with a ragged exhale of your name. He captures you in a messy kiss, falling away from your mouth to your chest before collapsing back to the pillows. He squints with one eye, a lazy hand beckoning. “You sure?” There’s an unusual shyness in your voice. Loki nods with a wolfish, lopsided grin; drunk on sex. You shuffle up his abdomen, feeling a thick roll of hot cum settling against your inner thigh. Your fingers curl around the wooden headboard, Loki’s large palms settling on your ass and keeping you high. His head tilts, warm tongue tracing your inner thigh and sucking his seed from your skin. A violent shiver of desire rolls down your spine, making you thrust towards his face.

“I’ll try my best-” he purrs in character from between your legs.

His eyes are all you can see as his tongue outstretches. They disappear as he dips further back, running his warmth between your folds. He tilts his chin up, a white pool collected on his tongue. Loki of Asgard looks up from bottomless eyes, the planes of his cheekbones sharpened. You shoot down and jam your tongue into his open mouth. His cum swirls within the kiss, mingling with the earthy taste of your own pussy – swallows and moans and filth sliding down your throats. Loki gasps loudly as your kiss breaks with a slurp. “Was that in your fantasy?” you ask innocently, resuming your position above his head. “I regret now, that even in the depths of my teenage depravity, it was not,” Loki growled, squeezing your ass-cheeks. He nudges you closer. “Now, finish me,” he orders as he pushes you down against his face. The flat of Loki’s tongue meets your plump clit. Each flush and fat stripe of the muscle has no pretence – he intends to make you climax; and climax hard. Your nails dig into the headboard, scratching down pristine oak lined with gold. Images of Loki as a virginal youth rear in your mind, thrashing in these sheets, under this very ceiling, twisting and unravelling beneath the beat of his fist. Your thighs begin to tremble, held steady by his fingertips sinking deep into the curve of your ass. Loki’s tongue is relentless; it swirls and captures every flush of sparking orgasm and tends it with the next lap of his attentions. Before long, your legs tense – and somehow, one of your hands has tangled in his hairline, pushing him deeper, his nose slotted perfectly at the lip of your mound. The sight is all it takes. “Loki-” you choke, punctuated by a final devastatingly soft lick of his flat tongue over your sex. “Mmrph…” he grunts, brow furrowing. You hold your breath as climax shatters you, the exhale a strangled sob of his name that sings around the ceilings and tumbles out the archways.

You collapse on his chest, the two of you panting heavily. A thin sheen of fresh sweat clings to his skin. You trace the angle of his jaw, smiling as a dream-like peace descends on his features. “Do you think Thor heard?” “From Midgard? I doubt it,” Loki sighs, letting one of his legs fall open to the side. He’s hard again. “But I can let that part of the fantasy slide. Everything else was...perfection, my love.” You prop a fist beneath your chin. “Maybe we just need to try harder.”

“Fuck harder, you mean?” Loki says, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. “You did promise me a palace tour…” you say, drawing your knuckles up the velvet skin of his cock stretching against his stomach. Loki’s smirk grows wider.

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[witchywithwhiskey]

when in hell, do as the demons do

pairing: demon posing as a tattoo artist!steve rogers x tattooed!female reader (number and type of tattoos aren't specified but it's more than two)

summary: new york city tattoo parlors have a tradition of offering special deals on friday the 13th, but when you decide to try out a new shop in brooklyn, you get much more than you paid for—and end up selling your soul to a charming demon.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, monsterfucking, dubcon because magic, sex pollen elements, nonconsensual bonding, soul bonds, demon tricks, bdsm (no safe word but with check-ins), choking, sadism/masochism, pain play, very brief blood play, nipple torture, pussy spanking, face slapping, rough body play, finger sucking, dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), degradation kink, master kink, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, plaything), begging, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, biting, marking, cockwarming, aftercare, happy ending

word count: 14.5k

a/n: here's my first halloween fic for 2024! i came up with the idea on friday the 13th last month and liked it for a halloween idea so here we are! this is the fic i was talking about in my poll here, which helped me decide to make steve a demon, but i'm not great at world-building/magic-building so if the magic doesn't make sense, i'm sorry! i just wanted to write some sex pollen-y tattoo artist smut and it turned into a whole thing. this fic really got away from me 😬 whoops. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

halloween fics masterlist

The first time you heard the story—the urban legend whispered around New York City tattoo parlors—you were getting your second tattoo. You were young, but not so naive, and yet, when the woman named Wanda Maximoff told you the tale in her vaguely Eastern European accent, a chill raced down your spine. 

It went like this: There was a young person who wanted to get a tattoo, and they were lured into an unfamiliar shop on Friday the 13th by the special deals they were offering. (Where the shop was located in the city varied based on who was telling the story, but Wanda had said it was a small parlor tucked into an alley in the Bowery.)

The person in the story didn’t know the shop or the artist, but they were so enthralled by the artist’s beauty and work that they made the hasty decision to get a tattoo of a symbol they didn’t understand. It was the last decision they’d ever make, because by the time the tattoo was done, they’d been unknowingly enslaved to a dark force—having sold their soul to a demon.

When Wanda had finished the story, her piercing green eyes stared at you long and hard, her mouth twisted to the side as if she was stopping herself from saying more than she should. There was a warning in her expression you didn’t understand, and you hadn’t been able to stop the fear that burrowed into your heart. For a second—just a second—you’d believed the strange, witchy woman. 

Then you’d scoffed, laughing away your fear, and insisted the story must’ve been started by a grumpy old tattoo artist who was tired of the influx of customers on Friday the 13th. It was well known that most New York City tattoo shops had special deals every Friday the 13th, and you asserted the story was just supposed to frighten away naive tattoo novices who’d get something impulsively and regret it later. 

Wanda had pressed her lips together, an inscrutable look on her face, but only nodded once before returning her focus to your tattoo. In the silence that had followed, you’d been left alone with your thoughts, and you mulled over the story, repeating your rationalizations to yourself until you believed them. 

But a sliver of fear and intrigue remained for the rest of your session and when you were done, you were relieved to leave Wanda and her creepy story behind. Something like that—accidentally selling your soul to a demon when getting a tattoo—didn’t happen in real life, and it certainly wouldn’t happen to you. 

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until, of course, it did happen to you.

Over the years, you heard the story repeated time and time again in countless tattoo shops across the city, and the fear you’d felt listening to Wanda recount her version of the tall tale transformed into curiosity, then a dark kind of delight. It wasn’t something you wanted to push away, but to hold close to your heart, to cherish.

As you got older, you found yourself telling the story to younger folks when you crossed paths with someone who hadn’t heard it. And every time you told the story, you found yourself unconsciously replicating Wanda’s Eastern European accent, making the story as scary as you could. 

Each time you saw apprehension in the eyes of those you told the tale to, something inside you unfurled and grew stronger. You’d smirk when the tattoo novices scurried away, some leaving whatever shop you were in entirely, and a shiver would race down your spine, so much like the fear you’d felt when you first heard the story, but it was no longer that. It was a quiver of devilish mirth. 

You told yourself it was normal, how much fun you had scaring off the younger folks in the tattoo shops you frequented, laughing along with the artists you knew so well. You told yourself you were just taking part in tradition by repeating the story. You told yourself there wasn’t a darkness in your heart that was wakened by the story, and craved something you didn’t quite understand.

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until you walked into Hell and your entire life changed.

Hell was the new tattoo shop that had opened in Brooklyn at the start of October, though you’d been hearing talk of it for months before then. You’d been curious about it, and the fact that none of your friends or any of the artists you frequented knew much about it made it all the more intriguing. They didn’t know who owned the shop or who was working there, and you were desperate to find out.

It wasn’t a conscious decision you remembered making, but late in the afternoon on Friday the 13th, you took the subway to Brooklyn, getting off at the stop closest to Hell. 

The day was brisk, the chill of autumn clinging to the air even as the sun shone brightly above the city. You wore a thick sweater, a skirt and some tights with your most comfortable boots to make the trek deep into Brooklyn, and you were glad for it. It was a longer walk than you’d been expecting, but pleasant enough while the sun was high.

By the time you made it to the shop, though, the sun was dipping low behind the brownstones of the nearby neighborhood and your cheeks were chilled from the crisp autumn breeze. It was a relief to see the red neon sign for Hell, and you skipped quickly down the last block to push through the door of the nondescript exterior.

You were met by a rush of artificial heat that made you smile, pleased by the respite from the frigid autumn air, which swirled around your ankles as the door closed behind you. The warmth of the parlor kissed your cheeks and thawed through your icy fingertips while you looked around. 

You were surprised to find that Hell was unexpectedly inviting. 

Inside, the tattoo shop was decorated in dark colors that fit the theme: inky blacks, vivid reds, luminous yellows and burnt oranges. But, though it could’ve been dreary, Hell looked alive and lived-in, with cozy black leather sofas in the waiting area, and artwork decorating much of the wall space. When you looked closer, you saw that many of the pieces depicted creatures of the dark. 

As you studied the artwork, you noticed a theme: Demons cavorting with human women, specifically fucking human women. You felt a tingle of something bloom between your thighs. The art was salacious and wicked, and yet, you didn’t feel disturbed by any of the imagery, only intrigued. Even a little bit aroused. 

A clearing throat pulled your attention away from the art and to the redheaded woman standing behind the counter. She asked if you needed help. 

As you approached, you noticed she was beautiful, and had a cold smile on her face, her green eyes watching you in a way that unsettled you. It took you a long moment to realize her gaze reminded you of Wanda, even though the women looked nothing alike. But you felt uneasy as you walked up to the counter.

Your smile was tentative as you inquired if the shop had any Friday the 13th deals, adding that it was tradition, just in case the woman was new to the city.

Her green eyes raked over your face in an obviously assessing look, and you felt like your heart and soul were being judged. You nearly huffed a laugh at the thought, because it was so ludicrous, but managed to keep still and remain expressionless while the woman stared at you.

After a moment, she smiled again and the expression was friendlier, like she was greeting an old friend. She introduced herself as Natasha Romanoff and apologized because all but one of the artists had gone home for the day since their appointments were done and they didn’t get too many walk-ins, being a new shop and all.

Just then, a man stepped behind the counter as if appearing out of nowhere—though, at the time, you rationalized that you’d simply been staring so intently at Natasha, you hadn’t noticed his approach. Without missing a beat, Natasha introduced the man as Steve Rogers, the owner of Hell and the only artist still around on that Friday the 13th.

“What willing sacrifice do we have here, Nat?” Steve asked, sidling up to the counter and pressing his hands on top to lean toward you. 

The first thing you noticed where his eyes—such a pure, beautiful blue that they looked like the perfect, endless sky. But as your gaze wandered over his face, you realized his eyes weren’t his only gorgeous feature. He had a strong brow that gave way to silky blond hair; a straight, sloping nose that led down to a pair of plump, pink lips with just enough of a cupid’s bow, that you wanted to lick it. 

A rush of warmth filled your cheeks at the thought and you dropped your eyes to Steve’s broad shoulders, pausing to admire the way they filled out his simple black t-shirt. His thick biceps were covered in stunningly intricate tattoos, all done in dark ink that contrasted with his pale skin. They extended down to his hands, still planted flat on the counter. 

As far as you could see, there was only a small space of bare, unadorned skin at the base of Steve’s throat—all the rest of him seemed to be covered in tattoos that snaked beneath his t-shirt. You wondered idly if his tattoos covered his whole body, eyes trailing down to the black jeans he wore, and quickly shoved the thought aside. 

Raising your gaze back to Steve’s face, you hoped your expression wasn’t giving away your thoughts, but the charming grin that spread across the hot tattoo artist’s face made you think he had an idea you were checking him out. And he liked it. 

“Or should I say,” Steve went on in a slightly lower, more rumbly voice, leaning further across the counter with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He was close enough that you got a hint of his cologne—leather and firewood—and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted, warming and tingling and yearning for him. “What sweet thing do we have coming to barter their soul for some new ink?” He winked at you, all charm, and you nearly swooned.

“I-I was just asking if you had any Friday the 13th deals,” you stammered, unsure how to act under the blinding light of Steve’s charm. You’d known and talked to your fair share of attractive tattoo artists in your life, but Steve was on another level. He was hot and alluring in a way you couldn’t put into words, which was how you found yourself blurting, “It’s tradition.”

Steve’s grin hitched higher, and he stared at you a second longer before ducking down behind the counter to rifle through the shelves. 

“Well, I’m not one to turn my back on the old ways,” he said, lifting his head to catch your eye. He gave you a look that made your knees weak, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you, before returning to his task.

Finally, he seemed to find what he’d been looking for and stood up, brandishing a piece of paper on which some simple tattoo designs were sketched. It looked like any other sheet of designs you’d see in any other tattoo shop, and you didn’t think anything of it, turning your attention back to Steve’s handsome face.

“We didn’t have anything planned,” he explained, crossing his arms and leaning down on the counter. 

The position made him slightly shorter than you, while emphasizing the expanse of his shoulders and the thick mucles of his biceps and the veins of his forearms. It was only because his hand pointed to the paper, pulling your attention away from his big body, that you remembered he was telling you something. 

“But if you pick from these, I’ll charge you $113—how’s that sound?” He raised his eyes to yours, and you noticed how long his eyelashes were. 

For a long moment, you just stared at Steve, your mouth slightly parted while you admired his beautiful face. You had the urge again to lick his cupid’s bow, and your body warmed pleasantly as you imagined doing exactly that. Sitting in Steve’s lap and licking him all over…

With effort, you managed to pull yourself from the tattoo artist’s spell, shaking your head to clear it while you processed what he’d said. The price he’d named was a typical deal for New York City, even with the Friday the 13th discount, so you nodded absently. 

“That sounds good,” you muttered, bending over the counter to look at the sheet of paper he was still pointing to. Even his hands were attractive, with skulls tattooed on the backs and other symbols you didn’t recognize decorating his knuckles. You couldn’t help but think his hands would make a pretty necklace if they were wrapped around your throat…

Shaking your head again, you furrowed your brow and forced yourself to focus on the paper with all the designs. There was some cute Halloween-themed stuff, like black cats, witch hats, ghosts and the like. There were also some stylized numbers, like 666, and a couple pentagram designs along with other symbols you recognized.

But the one that caught your attention was something you’d never seen before. It was made up of exquisitely delicate curving lines that formed what loosely looked like an infinity symbol. There were some twists to the design that made it look harsher, more archaic.

“What’s this?” you asked, pointing to the design that called to you and looking up at Steve. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his gaze, and your voice sounded awed as you went on. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A secretive, conspiratorial smirk tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips and he leaned in a little closer, his scent invading your senses and his breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“It’s a design of my own making,” he said, his voice pitched low and intimate as he looked at you in a way that made warmth curl around your heart and trickle down to settle low in your belly. “It’s special—why, do you like it?”

It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull your gaze away from Steve’s, but you forced yourself to look back down at the paper, your finger tracing the sweeping curves and the sharp points of the design. 

“I do,” you said slowly, thinking about where on your body it might look nice. There was a spot on your ankle where you felt it would look good, like an anklet. But before you could get too attached to the design, you lifted your gaze, giving Steve a serious look. “It’s not a tribal symbol, or any kind of cultural appropriation, right?”

Steve placed a hand over his heart, like he was making a vow, and said, “I promise it’s not from any culture of man.” 

His strange answer piqued your curiosity, but you brushed your questions aside. Later, you’d understand his odd turn of phrase, but in the moment, you chalked it up to Steve playing into the theme of his shop. You figured anyone who named their tattoo parlor Hell would be a little peculiar, and you didn’t think it was a bad thing. Especially when he was so hot.

Looking back down at the paper, you let your eyes trail over the looping design a few times, feeling yourself sinking into…something. A thrilling shiver raced down your spine, a mix of delight and terror that you found intoxicating and you had to shake yourself to remember where you were and what you were doing.

Raising your eyes to Steve, you told him you wanted the design, and once the words were past your lips, you felt a sense of rightness. You weren’t the type of person to get tattoos impulsively, but this one was calling to you, and you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get a tattoo from the hot shop owner. 

Besides, when in Hell…

Steve slid the paper off the counter and stood up straight, his eyes going sharp as he looked between you and the design. You got the same sense you had with Natasha, that Steve was judging your heart and soul and determining whether you were deserving of the design you’d chosen. You found yourself hoping desperately that he decided you were.

After a moment, an impish smirk pulled at Steve’s mouth before his expression shifted fluidly into one of theatrical uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, drawing out the tension of the moment and stroking his jaw like he was thinking. “I was hoping to save this design for someone special.” His blue eyes pinned you with a searching look, a charming smirk on his lips. “Are you special, sweetheart?”

Steve’s charm was turned all the way up, and you felt flustered under the weight of it. Not to mention that the way the pet name rolled off his tongue made you want to do anything he asked. Twisting your fingers self-consciously, you ducked your head a little. 

“Well, I—I don’t know,” you admitted, but for some reason, your thoughts strayed to the dark pleasure you sometimes felt when you frightened others with scary stories. Did that make you special, or just a little bit depraved? You didn’t know, but you hoped it was both, and that both were equally appealing to Steve.

The tattoo artist leaned back down on the counter, the veins of his forearms bulging from his skin as he crossed his arms. Since he’d ducked down, he could easily catch your lowered gaze.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he purred softly, his tone inviting you to lean in. So you did. 

A soft smile curled your lips when you smelled his cologne, and you relaxed a little while he kept talking in that alluringly deep voice of his. 

“Where would you like my design on your body?” 

A shiver of desire thrummed beneath your skin at the implication of Steve’s words. There was something so enticing about the way he’d phrased his question—his design on your body. It called to the darkness buried deep in your heart, and you began to suspect he somehow knew you were a little depraved. Like him. 

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you thought you saw something shift in the depths of his blue eyes, like a shadow passing in front of the sun. But it was gone just as quickly, and you questioned whether your eyes were playing tricks on you. 

Shaking yourself free of your strange thoughts, you finally managed an answer. “My ankle.” But it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own, because you found yourself flirting with the hot tattoo shop owner, a smirk curving your lips as you went on. “Do you think my ankle would be worthy of your design, sir?” you asked with feigned innocence.

As you watched for Steve’s reaction, you were rewarded with the sight of his eyes darkening, his pupils blowing wide like he greatly enjoyed the fact that you were flirting with him. His mouth spread into a hungry grin and he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while he considered you, finally coming to a decision.

“Mm, I think your ankle is the perfect place for my design, sweet girl,” he rumbled, smiling to himself like he’d made a joke only he understood. Then his fingers were trailing lightly along the line of your jaw, distracting you with the tingling warmth they left in their wake as he stood up. “I’m going to enjoy this very much,” he murmured enigmatically before pulling away.

Your mind was too frazzled by his touch and how bereft you felt without it to wonder over his words. Besides, he was already calling for Natasha, who emerged from the back of the shop to help you through the rest of the intake process. It was only then that you realized she’d left you and Steve alone at the counter a while ago. 

She slid smoothly in front of you with that friendly smile of hers while Steve retreated into the back to begin setting up. Natasha walked you through all the paperwork, none of which was new to you. That was why you felt comfortable not fully reading the fine print. 

You should’ve read the fine print. 

Once everything was signed, Natasha led you into the back and showed you where to stow your purse. She pointed to the privacy screen where you could take off your tights and boots, then helped you into the tattoo chair at Steve’s station. 

When you were settled, Natasha bid you and Steve a good night and grabbed her own things before leaving out the back door. It was a little abrupt and you were left feeling confused.

You asked Steve if the shop was closing for the night—it seemed a little early, especially for a Friday. And he explained that he’d decided to close the shop early since they had no more appointments and were unlikely to get any other walk-ins. 

For a moment, you fretted over keeping him late, but he waved away your concerns. 

“There’s no where I’d rather be than tattooing my design on you, pretty thing,” Steve murmured charmingly while he pulled on some black latex gloves. 

The earnestness in his voice soothed your anxiety and you relaxed back into the black leather chair, your legs propped on the footrest while Steve created a stencil of his design. Soon, the two of you were so engaged in a discussion about where exactly on your ankle to place the tattoo that you forgot you were alone with the handsome owner of Hell. 

After trying a few things, you decided to have the beautiful design lay across the front of your ankle, the sides wrapping around to the back so it’d look like a permanent adornment. You smiled when Steve complimented the placement you’d chosen and felt heat suffuse your cheeks at his praise. 

It all felt mostly familiar to you, someone who’d gotten a fair amount of tattoos in your life. But what you hadn’t been prepared for was the way Steve’s hands would feel on your body, the smoothness of the latex belying the warmth of his skin as he curled his fingers around the back of your leg to pull your foot onto his lap. 

Warmth cascaded from the top of your head down through the rest of your body in a gentle, tingling shower, settling heavily between your legs. You pressed your thighs tight together, both to stave off the ache that was building there and to make sure you didn’t accidentally flash the hot tattoo artist.

You weren’t looking at Steve’s face, your gaze tracing the dark black ink decorating his skin and curling beneath the cotton of his shirt, but you thought you saw something flicker over his expression as he took in your reaction to his touch. You almost thought you saw dark shadows creeping into his gaze, blotting out his blue irises and making him look…demonic. 

But when you flicked your gaze up to his, his eyes were a normal, glittering blue. You gave him a small smile and internally shook yourself, chalking up the moment to a trick of the light.

It was dim in the back room, with only a few warm lights positioned in Steve’s corner of the space. Natasha had closed up the rest of the shop, leaving you and Steve alone in the space, which was separated from the front by a wall and a doorway covered in a thick, maroon curtain. 

The walls of the shop were painted black and covered in more of the same artwork you’d seen in the waiting area. The main difference was all the tattoo equipment and the floor that was a bare dark wood, instead of the burnt orange carpet that covered much of the front room. 

Hell was dark, eerie and intimate, and you suspected the atmosphere must be getting to you, that was the only thing that explained what you’d seen in Steve’s eyes. Yes, that must be it, you told yourself, settling into the chair and letting Steve get to work.

The buzzing of his tattoo needle filled the silence and you prepared yourself for the pain that you knew was coming. Little did you know just how much pleasure you’d feel that night as well.

Nothing about the tattoo process seemed amiss until more than halfway through, when you began to feel a strange kind of tingling in your ankle where Steve worked, the sensation slowly creeping up your leg. It settled heavily between your thighs, making your core ache with a yearning emptiness as your slit leaked wetness into your panties.

It wasn’t painful, the tingling feeling, but it was unnerving, like it didn’t belong to you, and you couldn’t understand where it was coming from. 

“Uh-uhm, Steve?” you started, a hint of a whine in your voice, though it was mostly drowned out by the concern you felt. You sat up straight, forcing yourself to ignore the urge to rock your hips and grind yourself against the leather seat of the chair. “Can we take a break? I feel…weird.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve purred, instantly pulling the needle away from your skin and wiping away blood and excess ink with a small towel. After he’d deposited the tattoo gun and cloth on his station, he turned back to you, blue eyes filled with concern as he removed his gloves. “You ok?” he asked, his warm hands massaging the back of your leg that was still draped in his lap.

The urge to moan at the feel of his bare hands on your skin was almost undeniable. It felt so good to have his strong fingers kneading your muscle and you flopped back into the chair, pressing your lips together to stifle the sound of pleasure that wanted to slip free. But you couldn’t stop the way your hips squirmed, your body aching for something… 

“I think so,” you said, finally answering Steve’s question with a tremulous smile. You still felt the odd sensation pulsing up your leg and slipping between your thighs, prompting a delicious throbbing in your core, but forced yourself to ask, “There’s nothing strange in the ink, right? Something I could be allergic to?” 

An allergy was the only explanation you could come up with, even though it didn’t really make sense. You’d gotten plenty of tattoos, surely you would’ve had an allergic reaction years ago if that had been a possibility. And the way you felt wasn’t like any allergic reaction you’d ever heard of. 

You looked at Steve with wide, imploring eyes, hoping he could make sense of what you were feeling.

He shook his head, his fingers working higher to knead the muscle of your calf, nearly pulling a moan from your lips that would’ve drowned out his answer.

“I promise the ingredients are all-natural,” he said, his tone earnest and reassuring. “There’s nothing that would cause an allergic reaction.”

Your head fell back against the leather chair, missing the way Steve’s mouth curved into a devious smirk, and tried to gather your thoughts. The strange tingling sensation had calmed, you thought, having been replaced by the feeling of warmth that Steve’s touch inspired. 

Shaking yourself lightly, you told yourself it must’ve just been the tattoo needle hitting a nerve or something. You’d never had that feeling before with any of your other tattoos, but it must’ve been something to do with Steve’s method. It hadn’t been painful, so it didn’t mean something was wrong. It was fine. You told yourself you would be fine.

“Ok,” you said softly on a sigh, letting yourself sink into the comforting massage of Steve’s fingers. Your body felt a little heavy, a throbbing desire pulsing in your core, but suspected it had more to do with the hot tattoo artist’s fingers than anything else.

Blinking your eyes open, you met Steve’s steady, patient gaze. 

“We can keep going,” you said, giving him a smile that you hoped looked brave.

You must’ve succeeded, because Steve’s mouth curved into a pleased grin and his hand slid higher up your leg and settled on your thigh just above your knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. His big palm on your bare skin sent a riot of sensation through your body, and when he squeezed you, you felt a mirroring clench of your inner muscles, your body aching to be filled.

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured affectionately, his blue eyes glimmering with so much proud satisfaction that you felt your face heat and you ducked your head to hide a giddy grin. 

Steve gave your thigh one last squeeze before pulling away to put on a new pair of gloves and refill his tattoo needle.  While he worked, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh silently, your skin feeling much too cold without him touching you.

For the rest of the tattoo, you tried to sit still while the tingling warmth rolled through your body, settling deliciously between your thighs and teasing your throbbing core until you were dripping into your panties. You had the absurd urge to spread your legs, to beg Steve to fill you—with his fingers, his cock, anything, so long as it put an end to the ache pulsing insistently in your body. 

You tried to be good, to be still and quiet so Steve could finish your tattoo. But apparently you weren’t doing as good of a job as you hoped. 

“If you keep squirming, ‘m gonna have to tie you down, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, his head bent low over your ankle while he worked diligently. 

His voice was so low and deep, you swore you could feel it in your belly, the delicious rumbling tenor teasing your clit, and your hips shifted again, your thighs clenching tight against your needy slit. 

“Sweetheart,” he growled in warning, his hand gripping your foot firmly and tugging on it hard enough that you slid a few inches down in the chair. 

It took every ounce of your self-control not to whimper with desire at the evidence of Steve’s strength. Your imagination flooded with visions of him tossing you around in his tattoo chair, bending you over while he pressed his bulge into your ass or flipping you onto your back and folding you in half so he could pound into your pussy. 

A whine clawed up your throat, desperation flooding your body and making you want to writhe and beg and plead, but you bit it all back. Forcing yourself to be still, you asked, “Are you almost done?” in a tight, tense voice. 

“Almost done,” he confirmed, his voice soothing. He looked up briefly, giving you a rakish grin. “You can be good for me, can’t you, sweet girl?” 

Your heart lurched in your chest. It was all you wanted, to be good for Steve. So you nodded eagerly and tried to relax back into the chair. Your fingers were digging into the padded leather of the armrests and you pushed yourself deeper into the reclined seat, doing your best to ignore the heat and desperate, aching, insistent need pounding through your body.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you said on a small huff, your eyes shut tight so you couldn’t see Steve’s reaction. Your voice was little more than a whine as you went on, “I’ve never felt like this.”

You heard Steve chuckle, the sound rolling over you like a deep, delicious wave. Then, just barely over the buzzing of the tattoo needled pressed to your skin, you thought you heard him say, “Just wait, sweet thing,” in a dark, ominous voice you hardly recognized.

But you didn’t have a chance to try to parse out what he meant, because suddenly, you felt the sensation of a cold, hard shackle closing around your ankle.

It felt so real, and so at odds with the sensation of Steve pulling the needle away from your skin, that your whole body jerked. Quickly, you sat up and stared down at your leg, but there was no metal cuff. Only the tattoo. Finished.

Fresh black ink shimmered from your skin, and you had a brief moment to appreciate the artistry of Steve’s work, the beautiful, intricate design of the symbol. The phantom feeling of a manacle wrapped around your ankle remained, and you looked up at Steve, finding him wearing a smug, devious smirk. 

You couldn’t make sense of his expression, and in the next breath, it didn’t matter, because the fire that had been simmering in your blood suddenly blazed into an inferno. You couldn’t help the pained cry that fled your lips as you fell back into the chair, desire burning a demanding path through your body and tearing through your mind. 

Your legs fell open on the leather seat, a pornographic moan slipping from your lips when the cool air of the tattoo shop brushed against your inner thighs. Your fingers tugged fussily at your sweater, trying to claw off the once-cozy garment that suddenly felt too heavy and constricting against your scorching skin. 

Your eyes swiveled in your head, seeking and finding Steve, who was standing beside the chair and staring down at you. His gaze was lit with a depraved fire and his mouth was curled into a delighted grin.

“Aw, poor little plaything, are you feeling hot and bothered?” he cooed at you in a mean, patronizing tone that was so at odds with the charming affability you’d come to expect from the tattoo artist that you felt like you’d been slapped. 

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Steve’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, his smile hitching wider, growing more hungry and more eager at the same time. Leaning over your squirming body, Steve stroked the tips of his fingers down your cheek.

Your body’s reaction to his touch was instantaneous. The burning, blistering pain of need calmed enough that it no longer hurt, and you chased Steve’s fingertips instinctively, associating his contact with relief. He let you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chuckling darkly when you sighed happily, your mind moving too slow to process what was happening.

“Should we get this cumbersome sweater off you, sweet thing?” Steve murmured, his hands curving around your shoulders before stroking down your sides. His thumbs brushed over the tips of your breasts and your spine arched off the chair, pushing into his touch, needing more. 

You were so hot, so achy, so needy, and you somehow knew Steve was the only one who could help you feel better. Distantly, you knew it was highly inappropriate to let your tattoo artist undress you, even one as hot as Steve, but in that moment, you didn’t care. His touch through your sweater wasn’t enough—you needed him to touch your bare skin. 

So you nodded frantically, whimpering, “Yes, please, Steve, help.”

The man laughed, a dark, evil chuckle rumbling from his chest. 

You didn’t understand what was funny, but you didn’t protest because his big hands slipped under the hem of your sweater and he touched you properly. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused and rough against your belly. 

You sucked in a surprised breath when his touch sent sizzling tingles of pleasure through your body, gathering in your throbbing slit and making more wetness gush into your panties. 

If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve felt embarrassed over how wet you were from Steve sliding his hands up your stomach, but all you could do was revel in the pleasure his touch brought you. Your mouth curved into a delirious smile as you stared dazedly up at the supernaturally handsome man like he was the center of your universe.

Slowly, almost torturously, Steve slid your sweater up until it bunched above your breasts and he paused. His hands wrapped around your ribs, thumbs stroking over your skin beneath the band of your bra. He stared down at you, his blue eyes nearly glowing with hungry desire as his gaze raked over the lace containing your breasts.

Your chest heaved with your gasping breaths, and you took the moment to try to settle. The fire in your blood didn’t burn painfully with Steve touching you, but you still wanted—no, needed—more. Your hips squirmed in the leather seat and a whine clawed up your throat until it spilled free.

“Steeeve, please,” you begged, staring up at the tattoo artist with wide, imploring eyes. At the same time, you lifted your arms above your head and sat up a little in an effort to get him to pull your sweater the rest of the way off. Instead of spurring him to move, though, it had the opposite effect. 

Steve went still, closing his eyes like he was savoring the sound of your whining voice and begging words. When he opened them a moment later, they appeared darker—the soft, sky blue of his irises darkened to an almost midnight black, with inky swirls of darkness creeping in from the edges.

Then he blinked, and his eyes went back to normal. 

You were too distracted by your body’s need to think much about the fact that his eyes had gone nearly pitch black—that he’d looked, for a moment, like one of the monstrous demons from the art adorning the walls of Hell. 

Your delirious, desirous mind let the moment slip by unquestioned, instead focusing on your lust—and on Steve. 

“Lift up for me, pretty thing,” he cooed, his tone almost gentle despite the grit and gravel in his voice. 

You did as he said, lifting your back away from the chair so he could pull your sweater off, leaving you in just your bra, skirt and panties on his tattoo chair.

In the short moment when Steve’s hands deserted your body, the blazing inferno of need returned. You groaned in pain, reaching for Steve and latching on to his wrist. The burning sensation abated the second you touched him, but you didn’t stop there, dragging his hand back to your body and sighing in further relief when you pressed his palm to your breast. 

You didn’t know if Steve pushed you back into the chair or if you fell back and he followed, but he leaned over you, his big hands kneading your tits through your bra. A moan tumbled from you as you sank into the feeling, melting beneath his touch. It just felt so good—and the rougher he got, the harder he groped your tits, pulling and pinching on your nipples through the lace of your bra, the better it felt.

“That’s it, plaything, moan for me—let me hear how much you love it when I abuse your tits,” Steve growled, leaning so far over you that his head blocked out the light above the chair. His face was contorted into a greedy expression, his eyes sharp and hungry as he watched pleasure dance across your features. “You’re such a dumb little doll, you have no idea what’s heppening to you, do you?”

His tone was mean and mocking, but your body responded to the deep tenor of it all the same, wetness gushing between your thighs while your hips writhed on the leather seat, seeking something to grind against. 

Your mind was hazy with lust and pleasure and confusion. It took you a long few moments to understand what he’d asked and when you did, it sparked a bit of fear. But even that dissolved into pleasure and you moaned, your hands clinging to Steve’s wrists—not trying to pull him away, just anchoring yourself to him. 

“Wha-what’s happening to me?” you whined breathlessly, blinking your eyes up at Steve with an equal amount of uncertainty and trust. You still didn’t realize he was the reason for what was happening, but you’d come to learn that soon enough. Not that it would matter.

“Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that,” Steve cooed, his tone changing so quickly back to gentle and reassuring, it nearly gave you whiplash. 

Still, pleasure swirled in your chest at the sweet praise in his words, even if they were more than a little condescending. A smile curled the corners of your lips, but you forced yourself to focus. There was something you wanted to know—something Steve knew, and you were determined to get the answer from him. You knew it was important, even if you couldn’t remember why.

“Steve, pleeease,” you whimpered, your words dissolving into a moan when he shoved the lace cups of your bra down and pinched your nipples harder, pulling and twisting them until your spine was arching up off the leather seat. It took you a long moment to remember your train of thought and continue on. “Tell me, Steve, please, I can handle it—what’s happening to me?” 

A wide smirk spread across Steve’s face and his eyes flickered with shadows that seemed to want to consume his gaze the same way he looked like he wanted to consume you. Bending over your squirming, twitching body, Steve’s face hovered just above yours, an evil kind of mischief in his expression. 

“If I tell you, do you promise you’ll take it like a good girl?”

Images assailed your imagination—Steve shoving his cock deep in your cunt, growling at you to take it like a good girl while he fucked you like a bat out of hell. Steve pounding into your mouth, grunting his pleasure as he spilled down your throat and ordered you to take it like a good girl. Steve stretching your ass around his cock, smoothing a hand down your spine as he cooed at you in that meanly patronizing tone to take it like a good girl. 

A loud, debauched moan slipped from your lips as bliss pulsed through your body. It took you a long moment to push the images from your mind and gather your scattered thoughts enough to blink your eyes open and nod up at Steve.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you said fiercely, knowing somewhere deep down that if you were a good girl for him, the visions you’d had would become a reality. And you wanted so badly for them to become a reality—at any cost. 

A devious, delighted grin spread across Steve’s face at your answer, satisfaction shimmering in his eyes. Then one of his hands let go of your breast and skimmed down your body, over your hip and down your leg until his fingers circled your ankle, just above the tattoo he’d given you. 

“This design you chose, it’s not just something I designed—it’s my mark,” he purred, putting emphasis on the last two words as if you’d know what that meant. But you still didn’t understand what your tattoo had to do with what was happening to you. His explanation just made you more confused.

“What does that mean?” you whimpered, your voice desperate and pleading. You wanted to understand, you wanted to be good for Steve and grasp whatever it was he was trying to tell you, but the meaning of his words was still out of reach.

“Think hard, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, his voice turning sweet in a way that had your belly swooping deliciously. 

When you still didn’t seem to understand, Steve’s hand slid down, his palm covering your fresh tattoo and you gasped. His touch against the mark felt like he was yanking on a thread that had been tied behind your belly button. It felt like you were tethered to something…to him, you realized. 

You were tethered to Steve by some sort of magic. The mark he’d tattooed on your skin had bound you to him…

All the air fled your lungs as comprehension sank into your mind. Your face twisted in shock and understanding, though the expression didn’t last long. 

“There it is, that’s my girl,” Steve praised, squeezing your ankle and pressing his palm more firmly down on the mark. 

The touch dragged a reluctant moan from you as pleasure swirled through your body, and you weren’t certain if it was your own or the result of the bond between the two of you. When you got control of yourself, you glared up at the devious tattoo artist, letting him see the betrayal written plainly across your face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, baby,” Steve rumbled, his other hand wrapping around the front of your throat and tipping your chin up while he bent down until there were mere inches between you. “You heard the story, and you ignored its warning.” He tsked at you, shaking his head when you only narrowed your eyes in anger. “You weren’t careful about getting tattooed on Friday the 13th and now you’re enslaved to a dark force—you’re enslaved to me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to react to that declaration, only closed the distance between your lips, covering your mouth with his own to steal a kiss. And, god help you, what a kiss it was. 

Steve’s mouth slanted perfectly to yours, his lips soft and seeking as they brushed against yours. His tongue flicked out, licking along the seam of your lips as if asking for entry, and you were helpless to the pleasure he offered. 

Your lips parted with a soft gasp, an invitation if ever there was one, and he wasted no time slipping in. Steve took possession of your mouth, plundering your body while his hands held you firmly pinned beneath him. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning into his mouth and kissing him back, your fingers plunging into his soft, blond hair and nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck until he was growling into your mouth. 

His hand around your neck squeezed harder, choking you lightly in retaliation for the bite of your nails and you pulsed with so much heat, you cried out sharply, the sound transforming into a whine of need. 

Steve nipped your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the coppery taste mixed with the heat of his tongue as he licked it from your mouth. When he pulled away a moment later, you could see the traces of red staining his lips—though that wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the sight of his eyes. 

Writhing shadows had blotted out the blue irises of his gaze, leaving only two fathomless pools of darkness shimmering in the warm lights of Hell. A shiver raced down your spine, unease and curiosity filling your chest as you stared at the suddenly inhuman visage of the handsome tattoo artist. 

Steve Rogers was still attractive, even with the unnatural eyes of a demon, but the shadows in his gaze changed the terrain of his face. His teeth looked sharper in his mouth, and the curve of his smirk looked more cruel. His jaw looked more angular and his body seemed bigger, broader, more intimidating as he loomed above you. 

And yet…

You liked how Steve looked when he’d shed the pretense of humanity. He was somehow, impossibly, hotter. More dangerous, sure, but also freer in a way that you found enticing. 

It took you a moment, your mind swimming with pleasure and the tingling remnants of his kiss, to pinpoint exactly what you liked about seeing Steve without the guise he must’ve been wearing. He was more himself. And this version of him, this demonic visage, called to the darkness inside of you in a way that made you feel like he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

Pressing a palm to your forehead like you could push that thought straight out of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the present. “Nooo,” you moaned in a small voice, mostly to yourself because you were already thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to belong to Steve, especially if he belonged to you, too. 

But, for all you could feel the bond between you and the demon strengthening and solidifying as your tattoo healed supernaturally fast, his desire and lust mixing with your own, he still couldn’t read your mind. And he must’ve thought you were protesting the newfound connection between the two of you.

“Ohh yes, sweetheart,” Steve growled, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat and tipping your face up so he could see your eyes. 

The two shimmering pools of darkness were writhing with agitation, and you stared at them in wonder, your mouth falling open with awe. They were just as beautiful as his human eyes, looking like the surface of the deep ocean at night. 

“You’re mine, pretty little plaything,” Steve rasped, his voice low and dark and vehement, like he was determined to make you understand your new reality. “Your heart, your body, your soul—it’s all mine,” he went on, pausing only to capture your lips in a brief, but searing kiss, like he was marking you all over again. “You’re bound to me for eternity, baby, enslaved to all my whims, and I bet you know what I want rigt now.”

You did know. You could feel Steve’s lust slinking through the bond, flooding your body and creating the burning need that was so painful when he wasn’t touching you. But beneath it, you could feel your own desire, too. The yearning you’d felt for the tattoo artist that had only grown since you’d discovered his true nature as the demon from the Friday the 13th legend. 

Watching your face keenly, Steve let go of your ankle, grabbing one of your wrists and bringing your hand to the bulge in his pants. It was so big and hot and hard, even through the stiff denim of his jeans, that you whimpered. But you didn’t pull away, letting Steve use his grip to make you stroke his cock. And when he groaned his pleasure, your fingers tightened, giving his thick length a curious squeeze. 

“This is what you do to me, pretty girl, this is why you’re the one I chose,” he growled, his voice so deep, it sounded animalistic. “I knew from the moment you walked into my shop with your sweet little skirt and your dark little heart that you were going to be mine—and now I’ve got you.” 

It occurred to you to ask what he meant about your heart, but you suspected you knew. He’d looked deep into your heart and soul saw the darkness there—and it was exactly what he wanted. 

The knowledge that you were what he wanted filled you with a sense of pride, and you took over from Steve. You stroked his cock through his jeans without his guidance, squeezing him while you stared up at him, devotion written across your face while you pressed your throat into his hand, knowing the tattoos on his fingers were making a pretty necklace.

“You’re my precious little plaything, aren’t you, baby?” Steve cooed at you, sweeping his thumb over your jaw and swiping it across your lower lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being mine.”

You ducked your head, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on him, your eyes going heavy lidded as you nodded your agreement. Steve grunted a pleased sound.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred, pressing his thumb onto your tongue and pushing deeper into your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good fucktoy for your demon master, aren’t you?”

You could feel Steve’s cock twitch beneath your fingertips and you squeezed him harder, moaning when you felt an answering pulse deep in your cunt. The burning desire that had been held at bay by the realization of what exactly he was and what he’d done to you returned with a fury that would not be ignored.

“Yes, master,” you murmured obligingly after tipping your head back to slide him from your mouth. You pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb and smiled up at Steve, your eyes hungry and eager.

The demon’s gaze darkened further somehow, filling with greed and lust and just about every sin you could imagine—all promising to do dirty, filthy things to your body in the name of slaking the desire that burned brightly in both of you. 

“I knew you were perfect,” he growled, grabbing your throat and pulling you in for another kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss inciting the fire in your body to burn hotter, making the throbbing between your legs impossible to ignore. 

While he kissed you breathless, your fingers kept stroking his cock through his jeans, your other hand sliding beneath the hem of his t-shirt to rake your nails through the thin trail of hair dusting his abs. Both of you groaned at the contact, Steve’s tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips thrust against your palm. 

Just as quickly as he’d dragged you into the kiss, Steve pulled away, shoving you roughly back into the chair. Your back hit the padded leather, a light, “oomph,” of surprise tumbling from your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh possessively, fingers digging into your soft flesh while he leaned down and pulled a lever somewhere on the chair.

The footrest dropped away, allowing Steve to step between your legs, his hands groping roughly at your thighs, your hips, your tits. A low rumbling growl sounded in his chest every time his hand touched a piece of your clothing, as if they offended him personally. You squirmed in your seat, trying to find the words to beg him to take off the rest of your clothes, but all you could manage was a desperate whine.

“Are you still feeling hot, baby?” Steve asked, his tone playfully condescending as he skimmed his hands up your bare legs and tugged on the hem of your skirt—which, at that point, was barely covering anything with the way your legs were splayed open around his hips. “Should we get rid of the rest of these tiresome clothes?” 

You were nodding your head before he even finished his question, his hands making quick work of unzipping your skirt and tugging on it until you lifted your hips so he could drag it down along with your panties. He stepped back so he could pull them off your legs, raking his gaze up your body and pointedly looking at your bra.

“Take it off, fucktoy,” he growled, his tone going mean again. 

The quick change of his mood had you gasping with surprise, even as his rough voice made you gush more wetness between your thighs. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the demon’s mercurial moods, but you liked the unpredictability—it meant you’d never grow bored.

Scrambling to do as Steve said, you pushed forward from the chair to unclip your bra and ripped it off, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. When that was done, the demon shoved your legs open and stepped back between them, pushing your legs up to drape over the armrests of the chair.

“Good girl,” Steve rumbled, stroking his hands down your thighs, digging his fingers in suddenly, hard enough to make you squeal and squirm. He chuckled, looking like he enjoyed your reaction, and pushed your legs wider, spreading you so fully, you felt a twinge of discomfort in your hip. But the pain was soothed away a moment later by the pleasure throbbing through your body.

A sharp exhale gusted from Steve the moment he laid his eyes on your bare pussy. He was staring down at you like you were everything to him, like you were the center of his universe. He looked like he was a mere second away from getting down on his knees and worshipping at the altar of your body.

More surprising than the way he was looking at you was what you could feel through the bond tethering you to the demon. You could feel his devotion in your soul, the sensation curling round your heart and filling you with a sense of adoration that was both yours and Steve’s. 

As much as you were his, you knew, with absolutely certainty, that he was yours, too. For better or for worse.

But the longer Steve stared down at your body, his hands unable to stop touching you—exploring every inch of your skin, his palms cupping your breasts, thumbs stroking over you nipples before he curved his fingers around your ribs and skimmed down to your hips, feeling you, learning you—the more you began to believe it wasn’t so bad being bonded to a demon.

You hadn’t noticed your gaze had drifted away from the demon, staring unseeingly over his shoulder while you reveled in the feel of him touching you, until his hand came down sharply on your slit, slapping your pussy so sharply, you cried out in surprise, tears springing to your eyes. Pleasure and pain burned through you, writhing and fighting for dominance, and you were helpless to the sensation.

“Eyes on me, fucktoy,” Steve growled, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His fingers dug into your cheeks, his face looming over yours while his hand came down again, spanking your cunt and making your whole body jerk in the leather chair from the sharp, stinging pleasure. “You’re my dumb little cock slave, and you’ll look at me like a good girl when I’m playing with you like you’re my own personal fuck doll—got it?”

The demon punctuated his seething question with another spank to your pussy, and it was the hardest of all, but though you expected pain, you felt only pleasure. A loud, pornographic moan, spilled from your lips while your mind swirled, your whole body throbbing like you were one big nerve ending. 

Forcing your eyes open, you found Steve watching you expectantly. You gasped for air and scrambled for words “Yes, master,” you cried, surprising even yourself when you shouted, “I’m your good little fucktoy!” 

Steve seemed appeased, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth while his fingers rubbed through your drenched folds. “You are, baby,” he assured you. “You’re such a good little plaything for your master.” 

His words were an alluring purr, soothing you. Then, he surprised you by shoving three of his fingers into your cunt, making your whole body shudder from the unrelenting and sudden fullness.

“Oh god,” you moaned, pleasure ricocheting violently through your body. You squirmed in the chair, feeling your pussy spasm with delight, your wetness gushing out of you and dripping down between your ass cheeks, making a mess on the chair. 

“God’s not going to help you now, sweet thing,” Steve rumbled with a smirk, pulling his fingers out of you before pushing them deep into your sopping wet hole again. “You sold your soul to me, He has no dominion over you anymore—you’re mine for eternity.”

His thumb rubbed your clit and you cried out helplessly, barely hearing his words as your body focused on the pleasure he was giving you. He pushed deeper, his fingers stroking a spot inside you that had your spine arching and your hips bearing down on his delicious intrusion. You were so wet, he fucked you easily with his three fingers, spreading them wide to stretch you open. 

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your whole body shaking with need while the demon fucked you slowly with his fingers. You watched them slide into you, your folds swollen and puffy from his rough spanking. He was moving with a torturous laziness and you squirmed, mewling for more, “Faster, Steve, please.” 

Suddenly, Steve’s fingers pulled free from your obscenely wet pussy, and a second later they were being shoved into your mouth. Your sweet, musky taste exploded on your tongue as the demon pushed them deep, making you gag on his slick fingers while he loomed above you. 

“What did you call me?” he seethed through gritted teeth, the dark shadows of his eyes roiling like a churning sea.

“M’m sowwy,” you mumbled around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin and tears spilling onto your cheeks. 

Steve’s mood immediately calmed at the sight of your tears and he made a soft shushing sound as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “There, there, my sweet little plaything,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss and lick the salty tears from your skin. “I like it better when you call me master—can you be a good girl and call me master?”

The way Steve was bent over you, the bulge in his jeans pressed into your leaking cunt and you rubbed against him like a cat in heat, your hole aching to be filled, but you knew you had to answer his question first. 

“Yes, master,” you whimpered, “I’mma be a good girl, I swear.” 

“That’s my girl,” Steve purred, swiping the drool from your chin and pressing a kiss to your mouth. It was sweet and slow, his mouth praising you without words and making your head spin with the feeling of affection slipping through the bond. 

When he pulled away, Steve gave you a stern look, his brow lowered over his black eyes and his mouth pressed into a firm line. 

“Now, I can feel you rubbing your cute little cunt on my cock, baby,” he rumbled, his hands groping your thighs, but not pinning you down to make you stop. So you kept humping against him, your body shameless in its need for him. “But I want you to use your words—what do you want from your master?”

“Fuck me, master—please, oh g-fuck, I need your cock, master, please, please, please give it to me,” you babbled, blinking away the last of your tears to stare up into the handsome face of your demon. 

You could still feel his lust and desire and fondness thrumming through the bond he’d created, but beneath that, deep in your own heart, you felt your own affection swell. You’d had a crush on Steve before he’d sealed the bond, and—god help you—those feelings didn’t waver in light of his trickery. If anything, every touch, no matter how rough or soft, only strengthened them. 

Steve’s fingers dug into the plush flesh of your thighs, his grip possessive as he stared down at you with a satisfied smirk. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me, baby—not for a millennia, at least,” he murmured, ducking down to capture your swollen lips in a kiss. 

At the same time, he rubbed his bulge against your sensitive pussy, making you cry out so that he could swallow the sound down. 

Kissing him back, you whimpered into his lips, need burning through your body and making you impatient. Your fingernails raked down the front of Steve’s chest, reveling in the way his firm muscles contracted, and the sharp little breaths he took. 

You hooked your fingers under the lower hem and tugged the shirt up with a desperate whine until Steve yanked it off over his head, breaking your kiss for only a second. 

Your fingers explored the smooth planes of Steve’s chest, brushing over his beautiful tattoos as you traced his hard muscles. All the while, he kissed you, devoured you, his own hands kneading your thighs and your tits and plucking at your nipples until you were writhing mindlessly beneath him. 

“Please, master,” you keened, arching your spine and pushing your tits into his palms. “Fuck me, pleeease!” You tugged demandingly on the waist of his jeans, your fingers fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt.

Steve only chuckled maddeningly, rubbing his clothed cock into your sopping wet pussy while he pressed kisses to your jaw. 

“C’mon, baby, you can beg better than that, can’t you?” he rumbled, his tone playful and warm, but it quickly turned dark and demanding. “Beg me to split you open on my dick, to fucking ruin your pretty little pussy with my fat demon cock—use your filthy mouth, sweetheart, tell me all the dirty things you want your evil master to do to you.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” you groaned, squirming beneath him and humping shamelessly against his bulge. “Please, master—please ruin me, hurt me, abuse me,” you cried, not knowing where the words were coming from, but you suspected they were being ripped right from that dark place deep in your heart, your soul. “Fill my holes with your demon cock and pump me full of cum, wanna be bulging with your seed, master—wanna be your dumb little fucktoy for all eternity. Make me yours, please!”

You cut off on a broken, desperate sob, and Steve’s mouth covered yours with an animalistic roar, kissing you hard—like he was branding you all over again. It made you moan louder, kissing him back just as fervently.

Your head spun from Steve’s kiss, but you could feel his hands fumbling between your legs. Then, the hot, hard length of him smacked against your swollen, smarting pussy, making you cry out into his mouth. 

Steve drank down your sounds greedily, like they were the nectar of the gods. His tongue pushed into your mouth, licking into you as if trying to lap up your pleasured noises straight from their source.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Steve praised when he pulled away, his voice silky and earnest in a way that made your heart warm in your chest. 

His mood had switched again, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way it could shift like the wind. It was exciting and thrilling—like riding your own personal roller coaster. But no matter how his mood seemed to shift, you always felt his affection through the bond. Your demon was just fickle about how he liked to show that affection.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, ‘m gonna give you exactly what you want, sweet thing,” Steve went on, rubbing his hot, hard length through your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness. “Gonna bury my cock in your holes for an aeon, keep you dumb and drunk on my cock, gonna make you my precious little plaything.” 

“Yes, master, please,” you whimpered, your hands finding Steve’s waist and pulling your bodies closer, your ass sliding to the edge of the chair. “Fuck my tight little hole, please—please!” 

Something in Steve seemed to snap, and with a snarl, he folded you in half in his leather tattoo chair, pushing your knees to your chest and lining up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance. In the next breath, he shoved his cock deep into your cunt, splitting you open with such a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure that your screams filled the whole of Hell. 

Steve gave you only a moment to adjust to the sheer girth of his thick, massive cock before he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass making a loud clapping sound. 

Your mouth fell open, the most obscene, pornographic moans coming from your lips. Against your will, your eyes slid closed.

Grabbing the back of your head to hold it still, Steve slapped your cheek—hard—making your eyes fly back open. The stinging pain blurred into a deep, aching pleasure, and your cry of surprise devolved into a lewd moan. 

“What did I tell you, fucktoy?” Steve growled, slapping you again, harder. The pools of his eyes churned dangerously, his mouth twisted with determination as he reminded you of his earlier command. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

Though you knew his strikes were meant to be punishing, he was keeping a tight leash on his strength. His hand smarted but he never truly hurt you. 

It was more degrading, feeling Steve slap your face, and you enjoyed it much more than you would’ve expected. The sounds of your desperate, depraved pleasure spilling freely from your lips. 

When you managed to focus your gaze on your demon, you found Steve watching you with a smug smirk on his face. 

“Do you like it when I slap you, sweet thing?” he cooed, his hips driving into yours, fucking you deep and hard with his thick cock while he held the back of your head. He didn’t wait for an answer, slapping you again, letting your face twist to the side before forcing you back to look at him. “Do you want me to hurt you more, pretty girl?”

“Yes, master!” you cried, surprising even yourself. But you were greedy for the mixture of pain and pleasure Steve offered, finding you were quickly growing addicted to the wicked way he made you feel. “Play rough with your fucktoy—please, master, I want it!”

“Good girl,” Steve purred, grinning wider and using his free hand to slap your tits, your thighs, anywhere he could reach. The sharp smacking sounds joined with the clapping of his hips against your ass and the obscene wet noises of your pussy being fucked. “You’re such a perfect little plaything, baby, taking it like such a good girl for your master.”

Steve leaned more heavily on top of you, his hips pressing his cock so deep, you sobbed with pleasure, feeling like he was pushing into your cervix. Pain and pleasure made your mind spin, and your hands clung to Steve’s thick biceps, your nails digging sharply into his skin.

Your demon hissed out a breath at the bite of your nails, his hips stuttering and fucking more powerfully into you. He slammed against a spot deep inside your cunt that had you thrashing beneath him in the leather chair, clawing at him even more.

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart, hurt me back,” he growled, his tone taunting you meanly as he went on. “Show me what ya got, I can take it.” 

Darkness rose inside of you, and though it was tempting to believe it was solely the effect of the demon’s mark on your body, you knew it wasn’t. This was the darkness that had grown within you over the years, the one that had called out to the demon and had been so pleased when he answered your call by binding you to him for an eternity of sinful servitude. 

Skimming your hands up to Steve’s shoulders, you didn’t miss the way he looked a little disappointed at your light touch. You curled your lips in an impish grin—the only warning you gave him before you dug your nails deep into his skin, dragging them down over his inked shoulders and biceps as hard as you could.

Though you didn’t break skin, dark red lines appeared on his pale skin where it shone through and Steve groaned loudly, his hips twitching before he picked up his pace. He fucked you faster, with punishingly violent strokes that had you babbling an endless stream of pleasured noises.

“That’s it, plaything, let it out—take it out on me,” he growled encouragingly. 

You didn’t know what exactly he was prompting you to let out, but you suspected it had something to do with the darkness churning in your chest. And his reaction, his pleasure in response to the pain you’d given him, lit something inside you. The darkness unfurled further as you finally let it free, and you felt Steve’s encouragement through the bond you shared.

Tilting your hips up so that Steve could pound harder and deeper into your pussy, you reached around to his lower back, raking your nails up the long length of his muscles. You pressed so deep, you would’ve gouged into a human’s skin. But your demon was made of sturdier stuff, and he simply grunted in pleasure, fucking you harder—so hard, it nearly hurt.

Steve was glorious above you, his demented coal-black eyes staring down at you with a fathomless greed you could feel thrumming in your own heart. It made you want to hurt him. It made you want to love him. 

Frightened by both impulses, you grabbed Steve by the back of his neck, digging your nails into his skin as you pulled him down. Instead of kissing him, though, your face buried into the crook of his neck and you sank your teeth into the spot at the base of his throat, the one free of ink, biting him hard enough you thought you might actually pierce the demon’s skin.

He tasted like fire and smoke and salt. 

Steve’s growling groan rumbled in his throat and you felt it against your cheek, moaning in answer while you licked his warm, golden skin. You sucked on him hard, wanting to leave your own mark on your demon, sinking your teeth in further while his cock pressed deep inside you.

Your demon allowed it for a moment, then his hand wrapped around the front of your throat and he pushed you away, pinning you hard against the back of the tattoo chair while he climbed on top of you. The back gave way until you were laying flat and Steve’s big body was covering yours. 

The chair rocked dangerously, but stayed upright and Steve caged you in beneath him, fucking you in slow, lazy strokes.

“You bite me like that again, sweetheart, and ‘m gonna blow my load way too soon,” he grumbled, glaring at you, though there wasn’t any heat to it. Especially since you could feel his pleasure through the bond. 

“Oops,” you said, unable to hold back your giggle. Steve didn’t look nearly as amused as you felt, so you forced yourself to look a little contrite as you pouted and simpered, “Sorry, master.”

Shaking his head and huffing a laugh, you felt his humor slip through the bond and saw his mouth flicker in a smile. 

“Baby, baby, baby, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” he purred. Tilting his head to the side, he considered you with smirk. “You’ve only been bound to me for an hour and I’ve already corrupted you, sweetheart.” 

He ducked down, dragging his nose from the base of your throat up to your jaw, nipping at the spot just below your ear that had you moaning softly. Your legs clung to his sides, holding him close in the cradle of your body while he kissed your neck.  

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, even though you both knew it was the darkness in your heart that had drawn him to you in the first place, not that he’d corrupted you. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me, master,” you said sweetly, lifting your hips to meet Steve’s languid strokes, gasping when the tip of his cock hit that spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars. 

At your words, Steve huffed a laugh, burying his face in your neck and mumbling against your skin, “As if I’d ever be able to let you go.” He rocked into your body, wringing another moan from you as he grunted his own pleasure. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good, ‘m not gonna last much longer.”

“Master, please, ‘m so close,” you whimpered into his ear. You wrapped one of your arms around his broad shoulders while your other hand dove into his soft, blond hair. You clung to your demon while he dug his arms beneath your back, holding you pinned beneath his body so he could rut ferociously into you.

“Bite me, baby,” Steve growled, pounding into you with short, hard thrusts, grinding the base of his cock against your clit with each one. “Mark me—show me I’m yours.” His voice was a desperate, greedy rasp, his need thrumming through your body through the bond, and you couldn’t think of doing anything but indulging him.

Your teeth sank deep into Steve’s neck, in the one spot that wasn’t covered in ink, and sucked hard on his skin, licking his throbbing pulse point at the same time. He growled wildly, his thrusts turning harder and meaner, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your clit and rub ruthlessly.

You didn’t know which of you came first because it seemed like you both pushed each other over the edge in the same instant. 

The coil of pleasure deep in your belly snapped suddenly, and pleasure exploded through your body, leaving devastation in its wake as you screamed your release. At the same time, Steve groaned, long and loud, his cock throbbing deep inside your cunt while he spilled his seed into your fluttering channel. 

Your demon kept fucking you as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, your body clinging to his and milking his cock while he held you crushed to his chest. 

Your gasps for air turned to deeper breaths as you slowly came down from your peak, and you were distantly aware of Steve hauling you up from the chair and spinning around to sit while you sprawled in his lap.

As you recovered together, Steve’s fingertips danced up and down your spine while your head lay on his inked shoulder and you watched the red indents of your teeth slowly fade from his neck. A frown pulled at the edges of your mouth, and you wondered how on earth he’d managed to get tattooed if it was so difficult to leave a mark on his skin.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked in a deep, gruff voice, like he’d been on the brink of sleep. 

It took you a moment of being confused about how he could’ve possibly seen your frown before you remembered the bond. You still felt the tether to him, like a string tied behind your belly button, but you didn’t feel a tug on it until his palm skimmed down to your ankle and his hand closed over the tattoo he’d given you, which was healed somehow. 

“How did that heal so fast?” you asked, sitting up twisting around to look at your ankle. The sweeping, delicate curves peaked out from behind Steve’s hand, and you brushed your fingertips over the inked lines with wonder. 

“There was a drop of my blood in the ink,” Steve answered, and when you looked at him, he wore a mischievous smirk. “I told you the ingredients were all-natural, didn’t I?” he asked charmingly and shot you a wink, making you laugh and shake your head. 

But then your eyes fell on the spot on his neck where you’d bitten him. He’d healed so fast, you couldn’t see any trace of your teeth anymore, and you brushed your fingers over it sadly. Steve caught your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each of your fingertips.

“There’s a special method to tattooing a demon,” Steve answered your unasked question, skimming his free hand down his chest and over all the other ink on his skin. “I can teach you how,” he offered.

Your eyes had drifted down to his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos that had been hidden by his shirt, but at his words, you glanced up—and were surprised to see the darkness had receded from his eyes, leaving them a bright, sky blue. The look he was giving you was earnest, and you felt it reflected in the bond that hummed in your body.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, ducking your head into the crook of his neck and licking the spot you wanted to mark. 

He still tasted like fire and salt and smoke and you wanted to savor him for an eon. With a sigh, you gave into the urge, licking and kissing him idly while you cuddled into his chest. Steve held you securely, your body still impaled on his half-hard cock while his cum dripped out of you, and you thought you could stay like that forever. 

Instead, after a few moments, you asked, “So what happens now? Do you take me back to hell or the underworld or whatever?”

A chuckle rumbled in Steve’s chest. The sound reverberated through your sternum where you were pressed together and you smiled into his neck.

“I figured we’d stick around Brooklyn for a couple decades, then we can head down below,” he murmured, tracing patterns on your lower back with one hand while the other gripped your ass possessively. “I think you’ll like it there—I’ve got all kinds of fun toys to play with.”

You could hear the depraved excitement in his tone and snorted a laugh. But then something occurred to you and you pushed up from his chest to sit back so you could see Steve’s face. He looked confused by your suddenly serious expression.

“When you say toys, you don’t mean other people you’ve bound to you, do you?” you asked him with your eyes narrowed. Your focus was almost entirely on the bond, waiting for his reaction. You knew you’d be able to tell if he was lying, or hiding something.

But you felt only amusement from him, and watched as a grin spread across his face. “Nah,” he said, his hand wrapping loosely around the front of your throat to pull you in for a kiss. “I’m not actually the demon from the urban legend,” he confessed. “It’s just one of the ways we trick pretty little humans like you to sell your souls to us—you really should’ve read the fine print of that contract you signed.”

You huffed an exasperated laugh, because what else could you do, and kissed your demon again. He chuckled into your kiss before deepening it, his mouth sliding possessively against yours. When he pulled away, he nipped your lower lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue as he growled into your mouth. 

“You’re the only soul for me, sweet girl.”

Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you felt his deep affection swirling with your own in your belly, twining together around your heart to create something real and deep. It was something that would grow and strengthen over the millennia you spent together.

You knew in that moment that there would be no running from the demon you’d unknowingly bound yourself to, and that you wouldn’t want to escape him anyway. Steve may have tricked you—and you’d make him grovel for your forgiveness for at least a century for that—but he was yours now, just as surely as you were his. 

“You’re the only demon for me, Steve Rogers.” 

You moaned for your demon when his hands grabbed your hips and began bouncing you on his hardened cock. His cum was still leaking out of your cunt, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared. Your kisses turned messy with your grunts and groans of pleasure, your bodies pushing each other toward the edge of another release as you gave in to the insatiable need you both felt for the other.

It would be a long time before that need was finally sated—so long that it was no longer Friday the 13th by the time you stumbled out of Hell, Steve’s heavy arm draped around your waist. His strong body kept you upright on unsteady knees while he walked you to his brownstone around the corner.

For years after that fateful Friday the 13th, you helped Steve keep up appearances as a tattoo artist, playing his devoted girlfriend during the day. Then at night, he took you home and made you his personal plaything, bending you over and fucking your ass with his fat demon cock or unloading his cum down your throat. 

In the rare moments when you weren’t fucking, Steve taught you how to tattoo, and the method of how to tattoo a demon specifically, all so you could leave your mark on his skin. You tattooed an outline of your teeth marks on his neck, in the spot he’d left open for you since the night you’d met.

You’d even included a drop of your blood in the ink, even though Steve said it wouldn’t strengthen the bond. But afterward, you did feel like you were close to him, and he admitted he felt it, too. 

Years later, Steve surprised you by asking you to marry him, and though you thought it was a little unnecessary, you said yes. It just seemed a bit like overkill to have a whole wedding ceremony when your souls were already bonded for eternity, but you had to admit it was a good time. Plus, all your friends and family cried happy tears—even the demons. 

Finally, when it began to get suspicious that you and Steve weren’t aging while the humans around you were, Steve passed on ownership of Hell to one of the other artists and he took you down below to the real thing. He carried you across the threshold of his house and welcomed you home, where you’d live happily together until you decided to go topside again.

There in hell, Steve spent centuries shattering you apart with his cock before rebuilding you, only to break you down into his dumb little fucktoy all over again. Together, you used every toy Steve owned. You were your master’s good little plaything while he delivered pain and pleasure that sent you to new planes of existence. 

Then, of course, Steve taught you how to use them all on him, too, because your demon master liked a little bit of pain, too.

You’d loved your time in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers, the tattoo artist and owner of Hell, but you loved your time in hell with your demon master even more. Together, you allowed yourselves to be truly free and give in to your darkness together. You allowed yourself to love him, and let him love you in return. 

It was everything you could have dreamed of, living a happy life for the rest of eternity with your demon in hell.

And all you had to do was follow one rule: When in hell, do as the demons do.

[illumose]

boyfriend! dean winchester • headcanon

⋆⭒˚.⋆ PAIRINGS: female reader x bf! dean winchester

⋆⭒˚.⋆ CONTENT: fluff, allusions to sex

masterlist

author’s note : requests are open

｡𖦹°‧ dean’s pretty bad at being the boyfriend type, at first. he’s not the lovey-dovey type, his life as a hunter takes up most of his time and he has a tendency to flirt with every woman he crosses paths with.

｡𖦹°‧ your relationship started out as casual sex. throughout the months, he grows accustomed to your presence, to the point that he no longer seeks out other women. he continues to flirt but never with the intent to take them home, or rather, to a shitty motel.

｡𖦹°‧ of course, he doesn’t tell you that things have changed on his side. you still believe that he sees you as a friend. all of that until he sees you with another man. and damn, his eyes turn dark green and he feels sick to his stomach. who is he, what is he to you?

｡𖦹°‧ the next day, he avoids you like the plague. he doesn’t want to be told you’re seeing someone and getting serious. he spends the whole day simmering with anger on the couch, a beer in hand. he ignores your texts and calls.

｡𖦹°‧ you’re confused as to why he’s blowing you off. your date ended terribly. it was meant to take your mind off dean, but this failed spectacularly when you realized the man had no snark or sarcasm in him. he was boring you to death so you sneaked out through the bathroom window.

｡𖦹°‧ tired of being left on seen, you show up on his doorstep. and before he can fully open the door, you do something out of character and pretty insane. you kiss him, and what a surprise, dean’s lips move against yours and his arms go around your waist.

｡𖦹°‧ he never officially asked you to be his girlfriend, and neither did you. he may not he the most romantic man out there, but he does his best to be what you need. sometimes he brings over takeout when you get too burnt out by your work to cook. he repairs your car whenever you encounter even the smallest problem. he draws you a bath when you’re on your period and your uterus commits literal murder.

｡𖦹°‧ his favorite nicknames are ‘princess’ and ‘love’.

｡𖦹°‧ when you two are alone, he’s clingy. you cannot even get out of bed to pee, he’s trailing behind you, lips turned into a pout, and arms extended to trap you between his arms.

｡𖦹°‧ he’s also a big tease. even when sam’s here, he doesn’t refrain from grabbing your ass. he has probably forever scarred sam with his sexual innuendos at diner time.

｡𖦹°‧ he’s so caring. maybe it comes from his years raising sam, or his need to protect and save. but he’s always making sure that you’re safe. he brings salt over your house and gets you a knife, just in case a demon decides to attack. he teaches you how to shoot.

｡𖦹°‧ you take random car trips just to spend time together. he could drive for hours if it meant having you by his side. he loves listening to your little rants about politics or the drama between two divorced actors from Hollywood.

｡𖦹°‧ one thing he knows for sure: he wants you to be in his life forever. he cannot imagine growing old without your little comments about his possible receding hair.

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (09)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.7k

Aliyah's Notes: y'all are getting fed cause this chapter and the next one are gonna be cute asf so enjoy :)

Three days before the engagement party felt like an endless marathon, with every hour packed to the brim with decisions and errands. The morning started early—too early for your liking—as Aisha and Nina practically dragged you out of bed.

Nina, ever the “mom” of the group, had already prepared an itinerary. She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, her phone in hand, while you slumped in a chair, still clinging to the remnants of sleep. “Alright, ladies,” Nina began, her tone brisk, “we’ve got a packed schedule. Venue first, then flowers, then caterers. We’ll fit in the designer appointment after lunch, assuming someone,” her eyes flicked pointedly toward you, “doesn’t take forever to make decisions.”

Aisha smirked, sipping her coffee as she leaned against the counter. “You know she’ll take forever. She was debating the color of napkins for twenty minutes for her birthday party.”

“Because they matter!” you protested, sitting up straighter, your natural energy kicking in. “The wrong napkin can throw off the entire table aesthetic. Imagine gold chargers with plain white napkins—horrible!”

Aisha groaned dramatically, while Nina pinched the bridge of her nose. “God give me strength,” Nina muttered in Tagalog under her breath before clapping her hands. “Alright, let’s move. The decorator is expecting us in twenty minutes, and I’m not letting us be late.”

The three of you piled into Nina’s car, and the drive to the venue was filled with your endless chatter. You couldn’t help yourself; you were excited. Ever since your night at Rafe’s, you’ve been walking around with a weight lift off your shoulders, and a smile on your face. “Okay, but seriously, do you think white and gold is too basic? Should I add a pop of color? Like blush pink? Or emerald green! Oh, that could be so chic—”

“Breathe, Miss. Yapper,” Aisha interrupted, shooting you a look from the front seat. “You’ve already settled on white and gold. Don’t backtrack now.”

“She’s just overthinking again,” Nina said from the driver’s seat, her voice calm but firm. “You always do this, sweetie. Just trust your instincts. They’re good… most of the time.”

“Most of the time?!” you repeated, feigning offense.

“Girl, you’re the one who almost ordered heart-shaped balloons for your ex’s retirement party,” your best friend deadpanned.

“He always complained about his job, alright! I thought he was happy to retire.”

The two of them burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in. They always knew how to make you laugh, even when your perfectionism threatened to take over.

When you arrived at the venue, the decorator was already waiting, surrounded by samples of linens, centerpieces, and lighting options. The grand ballroom looked beautiful even in its unfinished state, with its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows letting in streams of sunlight. But you could already see a million tiny things that needed to be fixed or adjusted.

Nina took charge of logistics, confirming delivery times and setups with the decorator, while Aisha kept you in check. Every time you tried to change something—a table arrangement here, a floral display there—Aisha would cross her arms and give you a warning glare.

“Focus, Y/N. You’re going to drive this poor decorator insane,” Aisha muttered as you debated, for the third time, whether the table runners should have a satin or matte finish.

“It’s not insane to want things to be perfect,” you argued, though your voice was tinged with doubt.

“It’s insane when you’re deciding between two things that look exactly the same,” Aisha countered.

“Pale beige and normal beige are completely different—”

Nina swooped in to mediate, her tone soothing. “Look, kids, both options are gorgeous. Y/N, pick one and move on. We still have three more stops today.”

You sighed, finally nodding and pointing to the matte finish. The decorator gave you a grateful smile, and you moved on to the next decision.

By the time you left the venue, your head was spinning, but there was no time to slow down. The next stop was the florist, where the three of you pored over bouquets and arrangements.

“Peonies are elegant, but are they too soft for the theme?” you mused aloud, holding up a sample.

“Peonies are fine,” Nina assured you, already checking her phone for the next appointment.

“Roses are boring,” Aisha chimed in, inspecting a cluster of orchids. “But these could work. They’re dramatic. Like you.”

You stuck your tongue out at her, earning a rare laugh from Nina. “She’s not wrong,” Nina said with a small smile.

The florist walked you through the arrangements, but your perfectionism struck again. You wanted everything to complement the aesthetic without feeling overdone. Nina stepped in when she sensed you starting to spiral.

“Y/N, just pick a theme and stick with it,” she said gently but firmly. “You can’t have every flower in the world at your party. Less is more.”

Aisha nodded in agreement. “Listen to her. She’s right. For once.”

Nina rolled her eyes but didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

Eventually, you settled on a mix of peonies, orchids, and eucalyptus, feeling a little more confident as you left the florist.

Lunch was a quick stop at a café, where you barely had time to scarf down a sandwich before heading to your next appointment. The designer fitting was a whirlwind of fabrics, sequins, and pins, with you trying on dress after dress while Nina and Aisha offered their unfiltered opinions.

By the end of the day, you were utterly spent. You stumbled through the door of your apartment, exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter onto the floor, and flopped onto the couch with a moan. Your feet ached, your head was pounding, and the thought of the work you have for tomorrow made you want to cry.

Just as you were debating whether to order takeout or crawl into bed and call it a night. Your phone buzzed—-your new phone that you bought yesterday after losing your original one and your keys at the charity event—-on the coffee table. You reached for it, squinting at the screen.

Rafe: “Longest. Day. Ever.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite your fatigue. You propped yourself up against the armrest and typed back.

You: “Tell me about it. I’m so dead! Who knew choosing flowers could feel like a full-body workout?”

His response came almost immediately.

Rafe: “Yeah? Well, at least you didn’t have to run for AN HOUR!!! My legs feel like they’re about to give up on me.”

You: “Poor baby. Want me to send you a trophy for Most Exhausted Future Fiancé-to-Be?”

Rafe: “Ha. Ha. So funny.”

Rafe: “Are you sure we’re not married yet? You already sound like a nagging wife.”

The audacity of him made you chuckle and roll your eyes. You typed quickly, unable to help yourself.

You: “Excuse you? If I’m a nagging wife, then you’re a whiny husband.”

Rafe: “Whatever you say, nagging wife.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you sank further into the couch. The teasing back-and-forth was an oddly comforting way to unwind after such a chaotic day.

You: “Seriously though, did you at least eat? Or are you surviving off your ego again?”

Rafe: “Does a protein bar and water count?”

You groaned audibly, your fingers flying across the screen.

You: “No, Rafe. A protein bar and water do NOT count. A protein bar is not food; it’s a snack. Please tell me you’ve got something decent in your fridge.”

Rafe: “Define ‘decent’…”

You: “I’m going to kill you.”

Rafe: “That’s very romantic, baby, but you’re avoiding the question. What’s the verdict? Is my fridge decent enough for you, Your Honor?”

You: “No.”

You: “Knowing you, it’s probably full of water bottles, expired vegetables, and mystery leftovers. Am I wrong?”

Rafe: “I don’t like this attack on my character.”

You: “Answer the question, Cameron.”

Rafe: “Fine. Maybe you’re right. I don’t have the energy to argue. Or to cook, for that matter.”

You sighed again, a twinge of concern sneaking past your teasing. You guessed he pushed himself hard during training, but the least he could do was take care of himself after.

You: “Alright, what do you feel like eating? I’ll bring you something.”

Rafe: “What? No. You just spent all day running around. You don’t have to do that.”

You: “Too late. I offered, and I’m not taking it back. So, what’ll it be?”

Rafe: “...You’re really doing this, huh?”

You: “Absolutely.”

Rafe: “Fine. Surprise me. Just nothing too fancy. I’m starving.”

You: “Got it. Be there in an hour.”

Rafe: “Angel.”

Shaking your head, you pocketed your phone and headed to the kitchen. After a quick assessment of what you had on hand, you decided on a simple but satisfying dish: chicken biryani. 

Cooking helped you relax after the chaotic day. The process of measuring spices, chopping onions, and stirring the pot grounded you, your mind focused on creating something warm and filling. By the time the dish was done, the air was fragrant with the scent of saffron, cardamom, and cloves.

You packed the biryani into a container, added a side of pudding kheer for balance, and grabbed some naan for good measure. After a quick freshen-up, you were on your way to Rafe’s penthouse.

When he opened the door, the sight of him hit you like a punch to the gut. Rafe stood there in low-hanging sweatpants that clung to his hips, no shirt in sight, leaving every inch of his toned chest and sculpted abs on full display. His damp hair was a tousled mess, drops of water clinging to his skin, catching the light as they slid down the defined lines of his torso. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his gaze raking over you with a mix of cocky amusement and exhaustion. The lazy grin tugging at his lips was enough to make your pulse stutter—and the way his voice dipped, low and teasing, when he finally spoke didn’t help. 

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Look who showed up. My nagging wife bearing gifts.”

You rolled your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on the container in your hands instead of his sexy, very sexy abs. “You want dinner or not, Cameron? ‘Cause I can take it back?”

He instantly straightened up. “Come in, Your Honor,” he stepped aside to let you in, his grin widening when he saw the bag in your hand.

The penthouse was dimly lit, the warm glow of the city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You set the food on the kitchen island, trying to ignore the way he was watching you with that infuriating smirk.

You looked at your attire, and rolled your eyes. “Stop staring at my ass and grab plates,” you ordered, sounding stern.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, clearly amused, but he obeyed.

The two of you sat at the island, the meal between you. You put your hair in a bun, and said; “So, this is chicken biryani—” you pointed to it. “—and this is kheer and some naan.”

“This looks amazing, Y/N,” he let out a groan of appreciation.

You blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. You ever had Asian food before?”

“I had sushi and ramen with my team—”

You chuckled. “I meant South Asian food, Rafe.”

“Oh. South Asian…”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You know, Indian, Sri Lankan, Pakistani, etc… Did you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember. I eat basic white man food, to be honest.”

“I realized,” you laughed. “Well, eat well.”

Rafe took his first bite, and his eyes widened. “Yo! This is delicious, what the fuck?”

You smiled, watching as he devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Told you protein bars wouldn’t cut it—”

“You’re not going to eat?”

“I already ate,” you lied.

“Bullshit,” he said, giving you a pointed look. “Have some with me. I don’t like eating alone.”

You hesitated for a moment before giving in, grabbing a fork and joining him. The two of you ate in companionable silence, the tension of the day melting away with each bite.

For a brief moment, it didn’t feel like you were preparing for an engagement party or navigating the complicated arrangement that had brought you together. It felt easy, natural—like something that didn’t require overthinking.

You stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, rinsing off the plates and containers. Warm water rushed over your hands as you scrubbed away the remnants of biryani and naan. The scent of spices lingered in the air, a comforting reminder of the meal you’d shared. Behind you, Rafe leaned against the counter, his tall frame relaxed but his eyes fixed on you.

“You know,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the faucet, “you really don’t have to do this.”

“You’ve said that already,” you replied without turning around, focusing instead on rinsing the plate in your hand.

“Because I mean it. I can clean tomorrow,” he quipped, folding his arms across his bare chest.

A chuckle escaped you, and you tossed him a look over your shoulder. “Some of us were raised to clean up immediately after eating. It’s a brown girl thing—no one leaves the kitchen messy in my house.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “Ah, so it’s cultural?”

“Hell yeah,” you replied, turning back to the sink. “If my mom ever caught me walking away from a pile of dishes, I wouldn’t live to see another day.”

“Sounds intense,” he teased, though his tone was laced with curiosity.

“You’re just white,” you shot back, and he laughed. “But also… I kind of like it,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “It feels wrong to leave things undone. Like you’re disrespecting the meal or something.”

Rafe was quiet for a moment, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, not with judgment but something that felt closer to admiration.

“You’re kind of incredible, you know that?” he said finally.

You blinked, caught off guard. “For doing the dishes? Your standards are low, Cameron.”

He laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “No, I mean… just in general. You don’t have to cook for me or clean up after me, but you do it anyway. And you don’t even make a big deal out of it. You’re just… thoughtful.”

His words made you pause, your hands still under the running water. For a man who often masked his feelings behind sarcasm and cockiness, the sincerity in his voice hit you harder than you expected.

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, “don’t get used to it. Just because I cleaned your kitchen tonight doesn’t mean I’m signing up to do it forever.”

Rafe grinned, stepping closer. “Noted. One-time deal.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you shut off the faucet and reached for the dish towel. “Besides, I wasn’t cleaning for you. I was cleaning for my own peace of mind.”

“Still,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “thanks. For all of it.”

You glanced over at him, caught off guard again by the softness in his tone. The cocky grin he usually wore was replaced by something more subdued, more genuine. It made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t ready to think about.

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Just food and a few dishes.”

“To you, maybe,” he said, leaning against the counter beside you. “But it’s been a while since anyone’s done something like this for me. I don’t even know the last time I had an actual home-cooked meal.”

That admission tugged at something deep inside you, a mix of sympathy and affection you weren’t quite prepared for. You focused on folding the towel in your hands, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks warmed.

“Well, someone has to make sure you don’t live off protein bars and bad decisions,” you said lightly, trying to steer the conversation back into familiar territory.

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Guess I should count myself lucky it’s you.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, and for a moment, you forgot how to respond. The way he was looking at you—soft, unguarded, and almost reverent—made your heart skip a beat.

“Alright, stop,” you said, breaking the moment and brushing past him toward the counter. “You’re making it weird.”

“Making what weird?” he asked, following you with an amused grin.

“Everything,” you shot back, grabbing your bag. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you slacking off while I did all the work. Next time, you’re cleaning.”

“Deal,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “As long as there’s a next time.”

You hesitated at the door, looking back at him. His smirk was still there, but so was that softness in his eyes, the one that made it hard to look away. Bag slung over your shoulder and shoes slipped back on, ready to leave Rafe’s penthouse and head home for what was left of the night. The day had drained you, and though the quiet domestic moment you’d just shared with him was nice—unexpectedly so—you still needed to recharge for tomorrow’s chaos.

“You don’t have to leave yet,” he said, almost too casually, as if trying to disguise the sincerity in his tone.

You paused, glancing back at him. “Rafe, it’s late. I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. We both need sleep.”

He shrugged, his mouth curling into that boyish grin that usually meant trouble. “So? Five more minutes won’t hurt. Sit down, relax. You’ve been running around all day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but relented, curiosity getting the better of you. “Fine. Five minutes,” you muttered, dropping your bag onto the floor again and heading to the couch.

Rafe followed you, sitting on the other end of the couch, though he shifted closer. His arm rested along the backrest, his entire posture relaxed in a way that only made you more aware of him.

“So,” he began, his tone lighter now, “what did you actually do today? Besides fighting with tablecloths and flowers, I mean.”

You groaned, leaning back into the cushions. “It feels like that’s all I did. The decorators kept bringing me options that were either too tacky or too plain. And don’t even get me started on the florists. Nina kept trying to keep me on schedule, Aisha rolled her eyes at every single arrangement, and I was stuck in the middle.”

His laugh was low and warm. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It was,” you said, though there was a faint smile tugging at your lips now. “But somehow, it’s all starting to come together. Slowly. Painfully. I think we’re making progress.”

He tilted his head, watching you with that quiet intensity he always seemed to have when you weren’t paying attention. “You really care about this party, huh?”

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze making it harder to brush off the question. “Yeah, I guess I do,” you admitted softly. “I mean, if we don’t make it believable then I’d have to go back to my country, and I can’t let that happen.”

Rafe was silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft light in the room cast shadows across his face, making him look more vulnerable, less guarded than usual.

“You’re putting so much thought into it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “More than anyone else would, I think.”

You shrugged, your gaze dropping to your hands. “Just doing what needs to be done. Nothing special.”

“It is special,” he said, his tone firm but gentle.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment that felt like it stretched on forever. There was something unspoken in his expression, something soft and unfamiliar that made your heart stutter.

“Okay, your turn,” you said quickly, needing to break the tension. “What did you do today, besides run yourself into the ground?”

His smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Practice, drills, meetings. The usual.”

“You make it sound so thrilling,” you teased, crossing your arms.

“Oh, it’s a blast,” he said with mock enthusiasm. “Nothing like running suicides and lifting until your arms feel like they’re gonna fall off. And then sitting in a room listening to people tell you how to market yourself better.”

“Sounds glamorous,” you said, leaning back into the couch with a small laugh.

Rafe chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched you. “It’s not. But then again, you make flower arrangements sound like boot camp, so I guess we’re even.”

You smiled, letting the comfortable quiet settle between you for a moment. The hum of the city outside was faint but constant, a reminder of how late it had gotten.

“I should really go,” you said, breaking the silence and sitting up.

Rafe’s hand reached out, brushing against yours as he spoke. “You don’t have to.”

The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you stayed still, his fingers lingering near yours. The space between you suddenly felt smaller, charged with something neither of you were ready to name.

“Rafe,” you said gently, pulling your hand back, though your voice betrayed your hesitation.

“Stay a little longer,” he said, his eyes searching for yours. “This is… nice. Just sitting here. Talking.”

Your heart thudded in your chest at his words, and you looked away, pretending to straighten your bag. “I can’t. I’ve got another long day tomorrow, and so do you.”

He sighed but didn’t argue, leaning back into the couch. “Alright. But you owe me another five minutes next time.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood. “Sure, Cameron. I’ll pencil it into my busy schedule.”

He followed you to the door again, his presence warm and steady behind you. As you stepped into the hallway, you glanced back at him, your smile softer now.

As you moved toward the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, Rafe trailed behind you, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his sweatpants. The quiet between you was comfortable, a marked contrast to the constant noise of the day. Just as you reached for the handle, his voice broke the silence.

“So… my dad called today,” he said, his tone light but deliberate.

You paused, turning slightly to glance at him, curiosity flickering in your expression. “Oh? What about?”

Rafe leaned against the frame, his posture deceptively relaxed. “He wanted to ask about you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted in a faint smirk. “Me? Why? Should I be flattered or scared?”

He chuckled, though it came with a hint of exasperation. “Because you’re about to be my wife, and you should definitely be flattered. He’s been… curious, I guess. You’re kind of a hot topic at the moment.”

Your brow furrowed as you adjusted the strap of your bag. “What do you mean?”

Rafe shrugged, though his eyes flickered to yours briefly before looking away. “He’s been asking when he and Rose can meet you. Sarah’s been on my case about it too. She wants to meet you again. It’s like they’re more excited about this whole engagement thing than I am.”

There was an edge to his words, not quite bitterness but something close to it, and you stepped back from the door slightly, your curiosity deepening. “Is that… a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not bad,” he said quickly, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “It’s just… predictable. My dad’s all about appearances, and this engagement makes us look good. You make me look good.”

His words were meant to sound casual, but the weight beneath them was unmistakable. You softened your tone as you leaned against the couch. “Rafe, if you’re not comfortable with all this, you can tell me. I’m not going to—”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s just… complicated.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “How so?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “My family has this way of… making everything feel like a performance. You know? Like, they’re not just happy about this engagement because it’s a good thing for me. They’re happy because it’s a good thing for them. My dad’s already talking about how it’ll ‘strengthen the Cameron name,’ and Rose keeps mentioning how much she ‘adores your poise.’”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait, your step-mother said that? About me?”

He laughed lightly, nodding. “Yeah. I think she’s obsessed with you already.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Wow. And here I thought winning over your dad would be the hard part.”

“Oh, don’t worry. He’ll grill you like a steak the second he gets a chance,” Rafe said, his tone teasing but his smile tinged with something softer. “He doesn’t trust anyone, especially not when it comes to me.”

You frowned at that, your arms crossing instinctively. “Why not? You’re… I mean, you’re his son. Shouldn’t he trust you the most?”

Rafe’s smile faltered for a split second before he masked it with another shrug. “Let’s just say my track record isn’t exactly spotless. And my dad… he’s always been more interested in results than reasons. This marriage? It’s a result he likes. That’s all.”

The raw honesty in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Finally, you stepped closer, your voice quieter now. “Rafe, if this is too much—if your family’s involvement is making it harder—I can talk to them. Set boundaries or whatever.”

He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. “You don’t have to do that. It’s not your problem to fix.”

“Maybe not,” you said, your gaze unwavering, “but it’s my problem now too.”

“Such a good wife already,” he caressed your cheeks softly, the corner of his mouth twitched, his smirk returning faintly. “You’re really taking this whole ‘teamwork’ thing seriously, huh?”

“I’m a perfectionist,” you replied, matching his tone. “Can’t help it.”

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re too good at this, you know. My family’s already halfway in love with you, and you haven’t even met them yet.”

“Maybe I should be worried,” you teased, though there was a softness in your voice now.

“Don’t be,” he said, his tone quieter as he let his hand down your face. “If anything, they’re the ones who should be worried. You’re gonna walk in there, charm everyone without even trying, and leave me to deal with their unrealistic expectations.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and Rafe found himself leaning just a little closer, caught up in the warmth of the moment.

“Well, if they’re anything like you,” you said, your voice still tinged with amusement, “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

Rafe’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer, something you couldn’t quite name. “They’re nothing like me,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His gaze lingered on yours, steady and unguarded in a way that made your breath catch.

“Rafe…” you began, your voice trailing off as his expression shifted ever so slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face.

But just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. He straightened, his usual smirk slipping back into place like a mask. “You should probably get some rest,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but nodded. “Yeah. You too.”

He followed you to the door, his presence steady behind you as you stepped into the hallway. As you turned back to glance at him one last time, his expression softened again, his blue eyes holding yours for a beat longer than necessary.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Goodnight, Rafe,” you replied, your chest tightening slightly as you walked away, the weight of his gaze following you long after you’d gone.

chapter ten

[nyctoaerah]

yandere satosugu x female reader? can you do jealousy headcanons (like what makes them jealous and/or what they do when they get jealous)? sorry if that wasn’t specific enough!

╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere behavior (duh) murder, possessiveness, gore. (Ooc maybe) satoru being an oa little shit. Poly relationship.

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Satosugu x Fem! Reader

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: WHAHAHA i didn’t knew if you wanted it to be separate or not anon, you said satosugu so i immediately assumed that it was a threesome. But heree, some hc’s:33 sorry pookie, i got lazy on suguru’s part:< SJAKEKSKA i did this first cause hc’s are the easiest to write💀💀💀

Masterlist

🔪Satoru struggles with pervasive jealousy issues, particularly when it comes to you and Suguru.

🔪This dude is like the embodiment of jealousy. he’s so envious he’s practically green with it. Hell he’s even jealous of himself. There was this one time he bet he could pull off dressing up as a girl for a dare, and oh boy, did he go all out. But then he got all pouty when you gushed all over him and got all touchy, something that you don’t really do often. And his reason of getting jealous with himself? He thought that you prefer him as a girl, like hello? you were supposed to prefer the original satoru and not his genderbent!

🔪But seriously, this guy’s jealousy knows no bounds. If Suguru flashes a flirty grin at someone else, bam, jealousy strikes. And if you dare compliment another soul? Jealousy overload. You hugged another man that isn’t suguru? He’s trying to force himself not to throw hands. This dude craves all the attention, all the affection, like a toddler hoarding toys in a playgroup. He’s aware he’s selfish, probably knows it’s not the best look, but he’s powerless against the possessiveness that overtakes him when it comes to you and Suguru. You both have this unique power to bring out the best and worst in him, after all, you two were the only one who sees him as “Satoru” and not as the “Strongest.”

🔪Satoru’s neurotic tendencies and jealousy issues stemmed from his messed-up childhood. The poor guy got stripped of his carefree youth and was thrust into the adult world way before his time after all. the jealousy bug bit him hard when he saw other kids having the time of their lives, while he was stuck with grown-ups fawning over him and expecting way too much and pressuring him. That childhood envy stuck to him like glue, and it grew into a full-blown mess when you, him, and Suguru became an item.

🔪The thing that grinds Satoru’s gears the most and the absolute worst, is when you and Suguru says something about other people’s eyes like; “Their eyes is so pretty” Blah, blah, blah, bullshit like that. It kills him inside that you don’t shower the same love on his eyes. His eyes are prettier, more powerful, and literally very unique, and you hardly ever mention how beautiful it is.

🔪Satoru absolutely loathes it when you’re completely oblivious to someone flirting with you. He’ll shoot menacing glares at the culprit when you’re not paying attention, as if daring them to keep it up, and he would end up threatening them.

🔪Satoru doesn’t bother in hiding his emotions, he’ll whimper, pout, and stick to you and Suguru like glue. And would play the melodramatic card, guilt tripping you. Or he’ll just straight up threaten you or tell suguru about how naughty you are.

🔪🔪🔪

Satoru’s head rested delicately upon your lap as your dexterous fingers ran through his snow white tresses. He gazed at you upward, sky blue eyes peeking from beneath his snowy eyelashes.

“Can you give me your phone for a minute baby? I just wanna do something”

Without pause for consideration, you obliged his request and gave the phone into his outstretched hand.

“Yeah, sure, here.” You responded with a hum.

“What are you gonna do with it, anyways?” You questioned, before your eyes widened as you saw how satoru’s digits hastened across the interface, focused intently on blocking specific contacts from further reaching your line.

“Huh, ‘Toru, what the hell?”

“Wait—why are you blocking them? Those are my—” Your words faded as Satoru lifted his head from your lap and moves away from you, his piercing gaze fixed on yours as he gently grasped your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“Why do you always insist on conversing with them, hmm? Do you like them?”

“What— no! It’s not like that, what the fuck?”

“If you really love me and Suguru, then you have to sever ties with that girl/guy and keep your distance, okay?”

🔪Suguru really isn’t the jealous type, because he’s all about trust and loyalty when it comes to you and Satoru—He trusts you two.

🔪But, every now and then, a feeling of jealousy creep up inside him when he sees you and Satoru hanging out and having fun without him. He tries to brush it off though, understanding that you two are really close. He just wants to see his pretty lovers smiling, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

🔪When Suguru starts feeling jealous, it’s not a pretty sight. Beneath that kind and laid-back exterior lies a man who doesn’t really forgive that much. Suguru doesn’t forgive, and he doesn’t forget.

🔪Suguru may be a master at concealing his jealousy, but when it does surface, it’s like a storm crashing down. Picture this: you innocently text someone he’s really jealous of, and before you know it, your phone is pulled from your hands and tossed across the room while he summons a cursed spirit to destroy it completely, only to be replaced with a brand-new one moments later. Oh, and that person you were casually chatting with? It’s either you can consider them ghosted or consider them dead.

🔪Mentioning your ex around him was a big no-no. Because it immediately triggers him. can’t you just keep the spotlight on him and Satoru? One tiny mention of your ex’s name or Satoru reminiscing about his past flings, and Suguru’s mood immediately becomes sour.

🔪In stark comparison to Satoru, Suguru remains nonchalant about compliments being thrown around. He’s all for lifting people up until those compliments take a flirtatious turn. If that line is crossed, however, his cursed spirits will have its new meal.

🔪If Suguru was jealous and it led to an argument between you two, he would turn on his ultimate weapon—the silent treatment. He’d nonchalantly start hanging out with other people, making sure you noticed just to annoy you and make you jealous. He was well aware of his petty tendencies, but deep down, he simply wished for you to drop the bratty act and apologize.

🔪If you don’t really apologize and just pushed him over the edge... Well, you’ll have to say goodbye to your sanity because suguru is brutal as fuck when it comes to giving punishment.

🔪Unlike Satoru, who would guilt trip and manipulate you, Suguru would take it up a notch on the intensity scale. He wouldn’t shy away from using violence after all. And that doesn’t only apply to the person that he’s envious of, that applies to you too, and satoru. But that’s the difference, Satoru is a good boy, and you’re not.

🔪Suguru would be more than glad to kill someone in front of you and force you to watch it after all. He’ll hurt you too if you thrash and scream instead of being a good girl.

And you can’t really escape the both of them, after all, their love is like a noose.♡

🔪🔪🔪

Suguru’s hand forcefully clamped over your quivering lips, stifling any cries that tried to escape. His breath was hot against your skin, his fingers digging into your flesh with an iron grip, rendering you immobile. The metallic tang of blood invaded your nostrils. Your eyes were wide with terror, pupils shrinking, and your pulse quickening. A sickening view of gore played out before your horrified gaze, crimson splattering the walls, each nauseating squelch echoing through the room.

“I told you to stay away from them and you didn’t listen...” Suguru whispers, his breath hot against your neck, his delicate mouth parting to suck hard upon your pulsing skin, his mouth works its way slowly along your skin. And you shudder involuntarily beneath his touch, fear coursing through you as his lips close around a patch of flesh, sucking hard.

“See...? This is what happens when you disobey.”

The sharp prick of his teeth sends bolts of pain ricocheting through your body. Your already unsettled stomach lurches violently at the sight that greets you as you raise your head, struggling against his grip.

Before you, bound fast to a wooden chair, was the friend you had jokingly flirted with. Tears stream unchecked down their pallid cheeks, mingling with traces of dried blood, as their cries continue to ring in your ears.

Every limb was callously severed, Their bones was protruding out—the metacarpal bones, the carpal bones, the humerus, the ulna, the fibula, and other bones,  Their arms and legs are covered in long, vivid scarlet lines that are three inches wide, intersecting each other in a crisscross pattern and the wounds appear to have breached the surface of their skin, While suguru’s cursed spirits feeds on their severed flesh.

With a low, self-satisfied hum, Satoru drags the tip of the scalpel upwards your friend’s cheek, cutting them and the skin opens, revealing their inner facial muscle. He then reaches out to grasp a fistful of your friend’s hair, yanking their head back sharply to force clouded eyes up to meet your own.

“Suguruuuu, what do i do next? Do we gouge their eyes out for looking at our pretty girl that way?” 

“Do it. She said that she likes their eyes anyways... She’s probably implying that she prefers their eyes over yours.” Suguru smirks, humming as he pressed his body against yours, enjoying the way satoru’s face suddenly fell.

“Haah... Looks like i’ll be enjoying gouging their eyes then.”

[its-avalon-08]

why did you leave me (cl16)

part1 !

multipart story! find masterlist here

summary : charles and y/n have always been best friends. but y/n has been in love with him forever. when charles starts dating a new girl, out of respect y/n distances herself. but how much is too much?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Y/N and Charles had been inseparable since childhood. They met on the first day of school, when Charles, a shy boy with striking green eyes, had been sitting alone during lunch. Y/N, with her boundless energy and warm smile, had plopped down beside him and declared they were going to be best friends. And they were.

Over the years, they shared countless memories. They would often sneak out of their houses at night to sit by the waterfront, talking about their dreams and fears. Charles, who loved racing, would talk endlessly about becoming a Formula 1 driver, and Y/N, who adored his passion, would listen intently, offering unwavering support.

One evening, they were at their favorite spot by the water. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over everything. Y/N watched Charles as he animatedly discussed his latest race, his eyes sparkling with excitement. She loved how passionate he was, how he never gave up, even when things got tough. It was in moments like these that she felt her heart swell with feelings she was too afraid to voice.

"Y/N, you’re the best," Charles said, grinning. "I don't know what I’d do without you."

She smiled, her heart fluttering. "I’m just glad I get to be here with you, Charles."

Another time, they were at a party. Charles, always the life of the event, was in the middle of a group of friends, telling a story. Y/N stood on the outskirts, watching him with a mixture of pride and longing. He caught her eye and gave her a wink, causing her to blush and look away. She knew she was in love with him, but she didn’t want to ruin their friendship by confessing.

Then there was the day he had his first major racing win. Y/N was there, cheering the loudest. When he crossed the finish line, she ran to him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

"I knew you could do it!" she exclaimed, her heart pounding with pride and something deeper.

Charles laughed, lifting her off the ground. "We did it, Y/N! We did it!"

But the moment she cherished the most was when they sat by the fire at a family camping trip. The night was cold, and the fire crackled between them. Charles looked at her, his face illuminated by the flames.

"Y/N," he said softly, "you’re my rock. I couldn’t have done any of this without you."

She smiled, her heart aching with unspoken love. "And I’ll always be here for you, Charles. No matter what."

Their bond seemed unbreakable, and Y/N cherished every moment, even as her feelings for him grew stronger. She knew she would rather have him as a friend than risk losing him by revealing her heart.

But one day a few years later, everything changed.

They were sitting in Charles' living room, watching a movie. Charles turned to her, a hesitant smile on his face.

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you," he said.

Her heart skipped a beat. "What is it, Charles?"

"I’ve met someone," he said, his eyes shining with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "Her name is Camille, and she’s amazing. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now and she is so lovely. You'll love her!"

Her heart stopped. Y/N's insides felt cold as she felt her heart shatter like glass. Tears started to form and her breath got stuck in her throat. She felt the world tilt on its axis. She forced a smile as hard as it was, her happiness vanishing. "That’s so great, Charlie!. I’m really happy for you."

He grinned, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I knew you’d be so happy. I won't bother you every weekend for a movie anymore Y/N/N! I just want to thank you for putting up with me for so long. You’re the best."

She nodded, trying to keep her composure. "Always."

As Charles went on about Camille, Y/N's mind raced. She knew things would never be the same. She would have to make a choice: to stay close and risk her heart breaking every day and potentially damage his relationship or to distance herself out of respect for Camille and protect her own feelings. But right now, all she could do was listen and pretend to be happy for him, while her heart shattered silently.

Y/N stood up abruptly, needing an excuse to leave. "I just remembered I have to help my mom with something. I’ll see you later, Charles."

"Are you sure?," he said, looking a bit puzzled. She nodded. Charles muttered, "See you later, Y/N."

She walked out of his house, her chest tight with suppressed emotions. Once outside, she took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her unspoken love pressing down on her. She knew things would never be the same again.

And with that realization, she made her decision. She would distance herself, for both their sakes, even if it meant breaking her own heart.

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