#my dealer is so sweet i love being what’s it called | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iheartcurlyfries · 5 months

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put it in a ponytail, fuck it from behind.

dealer!abby x nerdy!reader

CW: 18+, heavy mentions of drugs, wlw, strap sucking r!giving, strap fucking r!receiving, gentle abby, lots of uses of swears, car sex, praising, hair tugging, name calling, smut with very little plot, abby calls her strap her "dick", cringe (low-key)

requests are open!!<33

ever since you were younger you always loved the idea of drugs, you used them as an escape, a way to leave the real world even if it was only for a few hours.

and of course when you went to college you found out about the school's dealer, abby anderson. obviously you were excited, you knew if you ever needed a little help she'd hook you up, and when you did, she really did give you what you needed.

for some reason she always discounted you, never making you pay fully. you never understood why, maybe because you were a nerd? no one ever expected you to be into drugs, and when you asked her for some she was genuinely surprised.

'mm, here for your usual?' she'd smile as she saw you open her car door, she'd lean back on the leather seat, one hand on the steering wheel as her head lightly turned to you.

'yes please.' you'd say, you always got the same thing, a tiny zip lock bag of a few joints packed in. she knew you too well, she'd always make sure to pack the bag full, so you had extra.

she reached into her backpack, pulling out the bag before handing it to you, the smile forming into a sly grin. 'y'know what?' she whispered, spreading her legs slightly.

'hm?' you hummed, taking the bag into your hands and setting it aside. you reached your hand into your pocket, pulling out a stack of cash, handing it to her.

she chuckled before pushing your hand away. 'no no- it's on the house.' you shook your head, trying to hand her the cash again, she swatted your hand away. 'seriously, babe, it's free.'

'n' why's that?' you said, your back pressed against the leather passenger seat, gently and slowly putting the cash down. 'because you're my best customer, silly.' she'd smile, her hands sliding down her thigh as she looked at you. you returned the smile, 'are you sure? I always buy from you.' you mumbled, she nodded.

'it's fine, princess.' she teased, a soft giggle escaping her throat. 'I don't want cash from you.' she said, you noticed she slowly checked you out.

'then what can I do for a payment?' you rested your hand on your thigh, your eyes lingering on her as you almost admired her gaze on you. your tone was serious, you genuinely wanted to give her something in return, as always.

her gaze softened, she looked at you, wondering if you were being serious, but of course you were. you never understood sarcasm or anything, you'd never usually joke around like how she would, and that's something she liked about you.

she'd lean in, taking her beauty as you felt her heavy eyes gazing all over your body. her eyes were half lidded, she mostly kept eye contact with you, only stopping to gaze down your neck. she'd lean in more, slowly, so she could whisper in your ear. 'this.' she pulled back for a second, taking a moment to look at your lips before she crashed hers onto them.

your eyes fluttered as she kissed you, a sweet sound of ecstasy escaped your throat as she pulled you closer. she wrapped an arm around you, kissing you deeply. 'c'mere angel..' she whispered against your lips as her hand slid down, gripping your left hip before tugging on it. you obeyed, letting her guide you over the glove compartment and onto her lap, she slowly adjusted herself to make sure you were comfortable.

you leaned into her, the soft sounds of love escaping both of your lips as she guided both hands to your thighs. she gently rubbed them, she pulled at your thighs, reeling you in even more.

you couldn't help but lightly moan, her touch was intoxicating and you never wanted it to stop. her hands slid up to your hips, she gripped them gently before gently pushing them against her. a sweet sound escaped from a tiny gap in between your lips, you felt something, almost like a buldge in her pants?

your eyes widened as she pressed you into it more, almost making sure you knew what you were being grinded against. she pulled away from the kiss, letting out a pant before resting her gaze on you again. 'you feel that? mm.. it's m'dick..' she whispered, a smile growing on her face as she rubbed you against it, her smile only growing when you made more of your beautiful noises.

'do you want me to fuck you?' she'd ask, but you couldn't focus, her voice was already enough for you. you'd give her a slow nod, a soft smile on your face as you let her guide your hips. your nod was a good response to her, her hands left your hips and instead creeped up your sides. 'get on your knees.' she said, it was almost like a command, you slowly backed up, slowly lowering yourself down into the bottom of the car seat. once you were down there she slipped her jeans off, guiding them down to her ankles. she smiled at you, grabbing your chin and guiding it up to her strap. 'open up, angel..' you instantly opened your lips, enough for her to guide her strap into your mouth.

she slid a hand into your hair, guiding it into a ponytail so she could tug on it. you looked up at her, only the tip of her dick being in your mouth. she gently thrusted forwards, the head of the strap sliding into your mouth, it slightly hit the back of your mouth. she gently pushed in and out, slowly throat fucking you, she made sure to get her strap wet enough for you. she tugged on your hair, you closed your eyes, lightly gagging as her strap slid in and out of the opening to your throat.

she leaned back, staring at you, taking in every detail of you as she watched you take her dick like a champ. she uttered out light praise, smiling at you as the strap hit your uvula slightly. 'good girl..' she whispered before gently pulling the strap out of your mouth, putting her thumb onto your bottom lip. she pulled her hand back, patting her lap. 'c'mon pretty girl.' you smiled, the smile was so pure. you lifted yourself up, guiding yourself back onto abby's lap.

her hands grabbed at your hips again, leaning in to give you a quick kiss before she grabbed the waistband of your pants, quickly sliding them down. 'take em' off..' she mumbled. you giggled, helping her take your pants and panties off, sliding them down your ankles.

she smirked at you, the ends of her mouth curving up into a lustful expression. her hands pulled your hips fowards, guiding you into a different position. she turned you around, making you face the steering wheel, she rubbed her hands up your sides, her fingers circling them. she began to lift you up slightly, wrapping one arm around your waist before she guided you down on her dick.

you whined at the feeling, you felt a soft pain as she stretched you out, but the pain quickly faded. she leaned in to kiss your neck, whispering an 'I'm sorry, baby..' when she heard your whine. you cooed, reassuring her it was okay. she took your hair into her hand again, taking a hair band off of her wrist and guiding your hair into it slowly, making sure it wasn't tied tightly. with a light tug on your hair she gently started to thrust into you. rubbing down your thigh in slow motions as she leaned in to kiss down the back of your neck again.

you whimpered, her arm sliding around your waist again as she lifted you up and down onto her. tugging at your ponytail once more as a soft grunt left her lips. your eyes rolled back into your head as butterflies swirled in your stomach. her arms practically cradled you, her eyes took in your curves before she let her spare hand roam them.

'mph.. abby..' you grunted, your hands struggling to try and find something to grip. she slowly sped up her gentle thrusts, rubbing her hand over your stomach as she sucked a light hickey onto the back of your shoulder. 'do you like that angel? like the feeling of my dick fuckin' you?' she lightly teased, letting out a soft giggle into your ear as she pulled at your ponytail again, biting down onto your neck, not hard, very gently, making sure not to hurt you.

you'd nod, not sure if you were able to choke out a sentence, not when abby's dick being this deep inside you. she'd tug at your hair once more, 'use your words, sweetheart..' she mumbled. you whined, taking a second as you tried to get a sentence out. 'I love it-- mmggh..' your sentence got caught up as abby hit a weak spot, you gripped the steering wheel as she hit it again, and again.

she was driving you fucking insane, her dick fucked you so effortlessly, she slid in and out of you with delicate precision. your cunt started gushing around her dick, she only pushed in deeper, using the sound as a signal that you were close. you never felt this feeling before, a intense knot in your stomach growing and growing, desperately wanting release as she bucked her hips into you.

it all felt unreal, she was sending you to heaven and you didn't want it to stop. sweet moans left your mouth, another signal for abby to keep going, she loved the sound of your voice, the way you let out the prettiest noises that were only for her to hear. she needed to please you, making it a mission. she leaned back, letting go of your hair before she put both hands on your hips, helping you ride her. she praised you, her tone as genuine as possible, she made you feel good, amazing at that. 'you got this baby, cum f'me.' she said, her grip tightened on your hips, making it feel as if she was holding you down, making sure you couldn't get away. you squirmed, choking out a whine. 'm'gonna cum, abs..'

she'd chuckle, her hands gripping at the soft fat on your thighs. 'let it out, let it all out f'me..' she said, guiding you to your orgasm. it all felt like a blur, you bit down on your bottom lip, cursing under your breath as you felt it. you came down from your high like it was a waterfall, she helped ride out your orgasm. quickly speeding up as you'd moan: 'fuuuck.. abs..!' she'd smile, gently slowing down. your eyes would roll back again, as you felt your walls gush. she pulled you back, letting you lay on her. she'd kiss down your neck, rubbing her hands up your curves again. 'did so good f'me didn't you?' she asked, looking for an answer as you panted. 'mmhhmmm..' you'd say, your voice cracking. she'd chuckle, staring at your face with a gentle gaze, guiding a hand up your arm.

'I think I'd prefer this as payment..'

'me too...'

authors note: hsgshshsjs it's finally done, I seriously was tweaking writing this like my writers block rn is insane so sorry if it starts good and gets worse towards the end, idk I'm tired but yaah.

#SoundCloud #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby x reader #wlw

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holylulusworld · 9 months

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Jealousy a la Bucky

Summary: He’s not jealous.

Pairing: (Soft)Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: jealous Bucky, Bucky is smitten for the reader, Steve being a tease, fluff, flirting

He’s not jealous. Never. He’s not even looking your way when you talk to one of his business partners. Nope. He’s not squaring his jaw or balling his hands into fists. No, of course not.

What he does is sulk at the bar, a pout on his lips, and a grumpy expression on his face. He nips at his drink while following your every move.

“That her?” Steve finally asks. He watched his friend stare at you from afar for almost half an hour. Now he wants to tease him. “I guess she’s good at making new friends, huh? A pretty dame like her. All alone. Wearing a dress like that.”

“First and final warning,” Bucky points his index finger at his friend and brother-in-crime. “I saved your life more than once. But I will take it if you say one more thing about that woman.”

“Aw, it finally happened,” sipping at his drink Steve watches his friend frown deeply. You giggle at something Clint Barton, one of his confidants and notorious weapon dealers, said. “James Buchanan Barnes is in love.”

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky grunts. “If you say one more word, you’ll lose your tongue and more.” He angrily glares at Barton, swearing on his mother’s grave he’ll kill the man if he dares to touch you. “I’m not in love.”

He’s not in love. Not at all. Of course, not. James Buchanan Barnes, a notorious mobster, and stone-cold weapon dealer doesn’t fall in love.

Then, why can’t he take his eyes off you, his sweet new assistant? The woman taking care of his life. “She brings me food and makes my appointments. Y/N is only my assistant. Stop acting like I lost my dead heart to that beautiful, caring, and sweet girl.”

“You are so in love with her,” Steve grins and raises his glass. “To James Buchanan Barnes, the most wanted bachelor who finally got tamed. I hope you know I want to be your best man at your wedding.”

Bucky glares at Steve. He wants to say something, or (and) punch his friend’s face when someone calls his name. Your sweet voice brings him out of his rage and back to reality.

“Mr. Barnes, you should eat something,” you clear your throat to get your boss’s attention. “Sir, I got you a plate filled with all the things you like.”

“All the things I like?” He drops his eyes to the plate you hold. “You mean all the things you like, doll.”

You giggle at the pet name. Bucky Barnes is a dangerous man, and you should be afraid to be even close to him. Oddly, you feel the safest around your boss. He’s a big teddy bear when it comes to you.

“Fine, I got you the same things I like so we can share.”

“You want to share the food with Bucky?” Steve swallows thickly when his friend snaps his head toward him. “He’s a food thief. You should keep a close eye on that food.”

“I like sharing,” you softly say. “Mr. Barnes often forgets to eat. I made it my mission to take care of him and his well-being.”

Steve chokes on his drink at the look Bucky gives you. Puppy dog eyes. James Buchanan Barnes looks at you like you are a miracle to him.

“Uh-cool,” the blonde says. “I’ll grab some food too. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Same,” you are busy offering food to your boss and barely look at Steve. “Now, what do you want to taste first?”

‘Your lips’, Bucky thinks to himself but doesn’t say it out loud. “What do you recommend?”

“We could start with the salmon and then, you should try the green asparagus. It’s delicious and the best I ever ate. OH, and they have the best desserts, Bucky.” You gasp as you just called your boss by his name. “I’m sorry, Sir…I didn’t…I…”

“My name sounds like a melody on your tongue,” Bucky grabs the salmon to wolf it down. You just stare at him, and let his words sink in.

“That was…” you snort. “Oh my god! So funny. I mean…sorry…but…that was the lamest pick-up line ever,” you step closer to whisper in his ear. “You know, if you like me, you can just ask me out.”

“It was poetic and—” He tries to argue until he realizes you kinda asked him out. “Do you want to go on a date with me, doll?”

“Phew, finally,” you smirk. “I wouldn’t have made it through the night if I talked to Mr. Barton for much longer. He wanted me to have a look at his bow. I still don’t know what he meant.”

“His bow?” Bucky hiccups. “That bastard wanted to show you his bow?”

“Hmm…I told him that you already offered to show me your gun.”

“Right now?” He nervously shifts on his feet, and hopefully looks at you.

“No,” you pat his chest and smile. “I don’t look at a man’s gun before the second date…or the third.”

“I bet you’ll make an exception for me,” he takes the plate out of your hands and throws it over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll order room service for us.”

“I’m keeping you up on that promise, Sir…”

You will have room service, in Paris only a few hours later…

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #mobster!bucky #mobster!bucky barnes x reader #female reader #mafia au

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ohcaptains · 1 year

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don’t you dare fall in love | 3

pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader

PART ONE. PART TWO. MASTERLIST. synopsis. ellie tries her hardest not to mix business with pleasure. or, ellie gets a new customer and unfortunately falls in love with her.

warnings. 18+. blank & ageless blogs will be blocked. clichè comments on sorority girls (sorry), sexually explicit descriptions of female receiving cunnilingus, fondling, fingering, and dry humping. not beta’d.

an. well here ya go! thank u to all those who were so patient and lovely with me<3 to those who weren’t and were mean to me...i’m giving you the nastiest dirty look rn. pls comment and reblog!!!! love u.

When Ellie gets out of her meeting with her personal tutor, she’s just about ready to throw herself down the stairs.

Catapult herself out of the window and perish on the campus floor. That way, she wouldn’t have to rewrite this God. Damn. Essay.

It sucks that she has to do actual work to get her degree, but what sucks even more, is doing the work and being told you’ve done it all wrong.

At first, Ellie was angry. Now, she’s frustrated. Tired. Was up all night writing this essay because she’s been waiting for this meeting for a whole week, and all the man did was say, you’re not actually answering the question.

“Fucking asshole,” she murmurs, pushing through the doors.

She reaches the quiet hallway of the humanities block, the dilapidated building stuffy with age. She misses her uber-funded science building. Misses the cool white and sleek edges. Here, there’s paper covering everything.

The hallways go round and round – lift creaks from the weight of students carrying War and Peace in their backpacks, year after year.

She’s near tears when she hears you calling her name.

“Els?” you ask, tone confused and edged with excitement. Ellie’s heart does its little familiar leap. She turns to you, sniffing the tears away. It’s been a minute since she saw you in the flesh. Her body aches, eager to touch you. “Hey,” she greets, the presence of you brightening her mood for a sweet second. You’re wearing a casual pair of black jeans and a band tee – Ellie owns a similar one, and for a moment, she thinks you’re wearing her shirt. “I was just about to text you –” you start, but your face twists, noticing hers. “You okay?” “Yeah,” Ellie lies. The tears push harder now, your concern making her belly flop.

You frown. “No, you’re not.”

Her lip wobbles.

“Ellie?” “Sorry, just – fuck --” her eyes are rimmed red, tears pushing over the edge. “—had a really shitty meeting with my tutor about my essay that’s worth like, 50% of my grade and I’m so busy with other work and—” a tear slips down her cheek, but you’re quick to take her in your arms, murmuring, “oh, Els,” as you cup her head and pull it into your neck.

She releases a breath, leaning her full weight into your body.

You smell like laundry detergent and coffee. Smell familiar. She’s comfortable here. It’s why she lets herself begin to cry against your shoulder.

“Awh, sweetheart,” you whisper, hands running up and down her back, soothing her like a baby.

“What did the feedback say?” “Have to change the whole thing. And I have enough time, but I have other work.” “Yeah, I can imagine.” “He basically said that if I submit this essay, I’ll fail.” “Well, you won’t, because I’ll hack into the system and change your grade for you.”

Ellie hiccups a laugh, “you know nothing about computers.” “I’ll learn for you. Take some night classes. What’s the essay for?” you ask, still rubbing her back. “English.” “I can help you if you want.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, come to mine. I’ll look through the question with you, and help you plan.”

Ellie pulls away, wiping her wet, red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. You help her, drying the dampness from her chin and cheeks, and smoothing her hair behind her ears.

She beams from your touch. Her body goes hot from your care -- belly flips over.

You hold her shoulders, keeping her steady, and Ellie thanks the Gods you texted her that day. Your smile is resolute as you say, “It’ll be okay. We got this.”

When you open the door to your accommodation, Ellie is mid panic attack. “You live in a sorority?” she squeaks. When you sent her the address earlier, she hadn’t really read it, too busy trying to calm her beating heart. Going to her house going to her house.

Now, she’s standing in front of you, and thinking – this is your house? There’s a teardrop chandelier hanging behind you, and the staircase loops around the entrance hall, feeding into the back of the house.

You frown, confused. “Yeah, did I not tell you?” “No – “Ellie bursts, clearly flustered, “-- you failed to provide me with that information.” She makes a mental note to text Dina, simply – what the fuck, man? “Is it a problem?” you wonder, leaning against the doorframe, comfortable in your home. (Wearing pyjama shorts and a baggy top, you know, comfortable)

You didn’t seem like a sorority girl. But what did that even mean?

You did have a lot of…spirit.

Ellie imagines you hosting mixers and philanthropy events.

(Imagines you wearing a lot of pink and jumpers with your sorority name on it and nothing else.) “I don’t really sell to frats or sororities,” she explains, because, yeah, that’s the reason she’s having a hot moment. She thought she knew a lot about you. This, right here, is a big deal, and yet she’s only now just finding out.

What else did she not know about you? You think for a quick second. “Oh. Well,” you smile, patting your chest, concluding, “I’m the exception,” and you take her hand and pull her in, closing the door behind her.

When Ellie’s in the house, she doesn’t let go of your hand.

Instead, she uses it to tug you closer, and your wrist pushes into her belly. “They let queer girls into sororities?” she whispers, close enough to taste the mint gum you’re chewing.

Ellie has ideas of girls on the straight and narrow. No girl kissing here, unless guys are watching. Ellie cringes at the cliché, but you’re not offended – hadn’t heard her thoughts, so, that would be why – as your lips pull into a sly smile.

You lean forward, a ghost of a kiss. Ellie’s throat squeezes. “They don’t know that I’m a queer girl,” you whisper back, the heat of your eyes all-consuming.

Ellie watches you shrug.

“They don’t know that at least a quarter of them are queer girls, but – they’re not ready for that conversation.” “But you’re out, no?” Ellie quickly stumbles. If you’re not out, then that really messes with her plans to marry you and meet all your family. “Yeah,” you shrug again, explaining, “they just haven’t asked,” as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. In some ways, Ellie guesses, it is. She beams, “Well, they’ll ask when they see you hanging with me.” “What, why?” “Because I’m a known queer girl” “Oh, you have a reputation?” you quirk, and Ellie hums, “It’s possible I may have fooled around with some of your sorority sisters.” You chew on your lip, and cock your head to the side, “But did you share a really weird and intimate high with them where you cuddled all night, woke up mid-orgasm and then it made things super weird and odd to the point where you never really spoke about it again?”

Ellie grins, “No.” You shrug, “Oh, well. I win then,” and take her hand and begin to drag her behind you like a lost puppy dog.

She’s behind you on the stairs again, and you catch her staring when you turn to say, “Let’s go to my room.” As you drag her through the house, Ellie doesn’t see anyone, but she does hear the ominous sound of girl giggles and whispering. Heat blooms in her cheeks, as if she’s got omniscient eyes at the back of her head.

Ellie didn’t get along with peppy girls – too full of inner turmoil to match their happy-go-lucky attitude. The thought makes her clutch your hand tighter, and she speeds up, bumping her shoulders with yours.

“So, what’re the rules?” “Huh?” you ask, looking at her funny. The pair of you pass a group photo, and Ellie wants to stop and gawk – try and find your smiling face – but you tug her along, sensing her motives. “Like,” Ellie starts, stuck on her phrasing. “How should I be around you?” You frown up at her, deciphering her meaning. Slowly, your frown loosens. A small smile pushes into the side of your cheek. You squeeze her hand.

“Just be my Ellie.”

The pair of you go through Ellie’s question, and you help her write up a plan, noting all of her points and the quotes she should use.

Ellie tries to focus, but the whole time she’s thinking about how close you are to her – leaning against her, pushing your shoulder into hers.

She’s sitting on your bed in your room, and she’s hot all over as a result – smelling the scent from your burning candle and listening to the soft music you’re playing out of the laptop speaker.

Your walls are covered in posters. Pictures of you with family and friends and Ellie is surrounded by so much you that it feels like it’s always been like this.

Always been in your room, with her head on your lap, listening to your playlist – Ellie’s got Shazam out, but you’re just sending her the link. On her main phone, now – no busted one at the bottom of her bag.

She’s so busy being with you that she’s not wondering what she’s doing with you.

What are we? She wants to ask, but then your roommate decides to come in.

She pauses in the doorway, flinching as if she’s walked in on something intimate.

Ellie watches your eyes widen an inch, but then you catch yourself, smiling and waving. “Hey,” you greet, and your roommate – actually wearing a hoodie with your university name on it -- smiles, “Sorry, just grabbing my charger.”

“No problem,” you respond, and when she finally flicks her gaze to Ellie – kept on looking around her, like she was panhandling for money on the subway – her smile loosens.

She’s silent as she grabs her wire from her bed and doesn’t look at the pair of you as she leaves. When she’s out of the door, you get up and lock it. Coming back, Ellie gets comfy on your lap again.

“Did she look at me funny?” She’s not sure what your relationship with her is like, so she steps carefully. “I think she fancies me,” you casually explain, and Ellie’s belly flops. “For real?” You nod, wiggling your brows. “Should I be jealous?” she jokes, and your lips curl, tongue peeking out as you run it across the backs of your teeth. “We were together, once.” Ellie tries to imagine the pair of you together, and she comes up blank. Though, that’s probably because she’s too busy editing the image to clip her face in. “Yeah?” “Mm, at a Halloween party.” You’re grinning too wide. “You’re just fucking with me,” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m not! I was dressed as a cat, and she was this like, sexy nun or something.” “Really?” Ellie asks, raising a brow and pulling a face that says, you’re full of shit. “Fine – I won’t tell you then.” “No no, I wanna hear this.” “What’s with the tone? I thought you’d for sure want to hear about my sexual escapades.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” You pull your lips together and raise a brow. Ellie suddenly feels too hot. Suddenly wants to run very quickly out of your bedroom door. Butterflies swirl in her belly, blood rushes to her cheeks, to her neck, and she feels the tips of her toes go numb.

You’ve danced around each other with this flirty banter for a while now, but it means something more now that you’ve said it out in the open.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ellie lies, hoping the red of her cheeks isn’t too prominent in the warm glow of your bedroom. You don’t lose your pursed lips, and Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Just hurry up and tell me about how you fucked your roommate.” “Say please,” you quickly rebut, and Ellie chokes.

The fuck? “What?” She laughs nervously, ignoring the quick electric bolt that shot through her groin, “fuck off.” “Fine,” you bleat, leaning back against the bedframe. “I won’t tell you then,” and Ellie shakes her head, proclaiming, “You’re insane,” and you grin at her, raising a testy brow, “It’s just manners, Ellie.”

When Ellie had imagined the dynamics of your relationship – but not relationship – it was you saying please. Preferably whispering it with your fingers in her auburn hair. Please Ellie, please do that again.

Ellie sits up from your lap, shaking the image away.

She takes in the curve of your brow, and the teasing slip of your lips. She dips closer – sudden, quick – and relishes in the way your mouth falls open an inch.

“I’m not begging you,” she whispers, not bothering to hide how mesmerised she is by your mouth.

“No?” you speak, matching her lazy tone. You nod to her, “I thought you’d be into that.”

Jesus fucking Christ, what’s happening right now? Ellie thought you’d help plan her essay and be done with it – she’d hoped for some flirty banter, but this was different. This was… Ellie leans closer, propped up by her hand that she’s planted beside your thigh. “If I say please, I want intricate detail.” “If you say please, I’ll give you whatever you want.” This girl…

“Whatever I want?” Ellie quirks. “Yeah,” you respond, and you press your forehead against hers, tone breathy as you repeat, “Whatever you want.”

Ellie can think of a lot of things she wants. For starters, she wants to close this gap and finally kiss you, but she says, “Please tell me your story,” and you smile, all teeth.

“It was Halloween.” “You said that.” “n, we were really drunk, and she’s like – straight straight, right?” You say straight like someone would say sorry. “Mm,” Ellie hums, her belly swirling. She hasn’t moved a fucking inch. Her palm is cramping, but hell if she’s going to lean away from you right now. This is a whole other kind of foreplay. “We’re in the bathroom.” “Here?” she asks, needing details – information. What day was it? Time?

You nod, and your nose brushes against hers. Her face blooms red again, and the brush of your touch makes her brain fuzzy. “We’re making out, and I thought she only wanted to kiss, but then she starts tryna take my top off.”

There’s a sincere edge to your tone. Your eyes are wistful, but you’re beaming – spurred by the excitement evident in Ellie’s eyes.

“Things get heated. She’s touching me everywhere, you know, hands just, between my legs, on my chest. Says she’s wanted me for ages but couldn’t say it, I mean, she’s got a boyfriend.” “A boyfriend?” Ellie asks, and fuck, that makes it worse. Or better? Either way, her body begins to ache like it did that morning – when it was just the pair of you and the world was quiet. Thrums electric and Ellie’s suddenly worried about the electric bill. “Yeah – frat boyfriend. Frat president boyfriend.” “Look at you, miss home wrecker.” You roll your eyes, “you want me to finish the story?” “I said please, didn’t I?” “You’re the worst.” “So…she’s taking your top off.” “Yeah. Then she’s taking my pants off, too. Then says, she’s never been with a girl before, can I show her?” Ellie pulls back with a groan. She can’t help it. Pulls back and falls into your lap, imagining you showing her how to fuck.

Her eyes are glazed over, like she’s somewhere else, thinking, about something else. She rubs her face and listens to your sweet giggle.

“Sorry,” she says, settling back, and you hold your hands up.

“No worries, take your time.”

Ellie waits – patiently. Waiting for you to divulge more information. Please carry on, she thinks. Please please please.

She feels like a kid at camp listening to the teens tell a ghost story around the campfire. And then what?

“You made her come?” she whispers, failing to hide the excitement in her whisper. A small, thoughtful smile finds your lips, and you lean down, hair brushing over her face.

Your thigh pushes into the back of her head, and you smell like a forest.

Your room smells like a fucking forest. Pine and vanilla.

The lights are dim, cloaking the room in a warm glow. She swears she hears trees swaying in the distance, but she realises – faintly – that it’s just the blood rushing in her ears. No trees here, she thinks. No bloody forest.

You’re looking down at her, eyes glittering in the warm light. After a stress-filled silence, you nod, whispering, “against the wall, cat ears still on. Made her come so hard it was dripping down my chin.” “Jesus,” Ellie whispers. Her legs fidget, trying to squirm from the warmth pushing between her thighs. She pushes her hair away from her forehead, even those it’s already tucked behind her ears. “Then what?” she asks, moving in your lap. Then what then what.

Your lips curl into a small smile, “Then we never spoke about it again.”

Ellie feels her eyes go dark with the memory. Imagines a film over them — lost in her own brain. Pictures you crawling on your hands and knees, on the prowl with your cat ears sitting pretty.

What was it you said again? That she was dripping all over your chin?

Her tongue peaks through her lips, pretty in pink, and she notices your small smile curve wider. Though, it’s not kind. It’s edged with something, as if you’ve made a funny and she doesn’t get the joke.

Ellie’s belly drops.

A laugh bursts out of your mouth, and she freezes. Nononononono, you didn’t. “I’m sorry—” you start, hiding your smile, and Ellie’s lips open in shock, then she’s snapping to -- jumping up from your lap, red all over.

She’s looking for her coat, hands shaking “nah, that’s not funny,” she’s saying, all while the faux image of you between a girl’s thighs buzzes behind her eyes.

It was her. She was the girl. She’d even imagined taking your cat ears off and putting them on her head. “Yeah, it was – Ellie,” you laugh, reaching for her hand, and Ellie’s body reacts to the touch.

You spin her into you, pouting, “Come onnnnn, I was playing.” “You’re mean for making that up. You’re a horrible person.” “Awhhh, I’m sworry. I’m sworry, come here –” You pull her into you, wrapping your arms around her neck. Be mad. Ellie thinks. Be mad be mad be mad—oh, but you’re so soft and warm.

She falls into you, hands catching your hips — holding you steady, as her head pushes into the curved gap between your throat and shoulder. You hold the back of her neck, hugging her close.

“I’m sorry, that was mean.” “Made me all worked up,” Ellie admits. The all-familiar ache is back. Then again, it’s never far when you’re around. “Yeah?” you quirk, the tone saying: tell me all about it. “Mm.” “Thinking about me with another girl?” She breathes a laugh, then breathes in your scent, the smell causing her to hold your hips tighter.

“You gotta write my essay now, make it up to me.” Your laugh rattles against her body.

“What you on about? I gave you free material to think about.” “What?” she laughs, squinting her face together. She pulls away, and you look up at her, chewing on your bottom lip.

You glance down at her mouth, and a breath gets caught in her throat. “Nothing,” You grin, and she cocks her head to the side, tightening her grip on your waist. “No, tell me. You made fun of me, you gotta tell me.” “I don’t have to do anything, Ellie.” “I’ll get it outta you.” “Yeah, how?” “You won’t know until it happens.”

“Weirdo,” you scoff, pulling away. “Let me walk you home, they wanna do a group meeting about some charity event later.” “Ooo, little miss sorority girl.”

You smack her chest, “Hey!” but Ellie grabs your hand, laughing as she pulls you into her, catching your hips again. You gasp in surprise, hands catching hers, and your chest pushes into hers.

She feels you focus on the cavern of her eyebrow scar, then the dust of freckles over her nose. The wild brush of her eyebrows, and the small, circular, chickenpox scar on her cheek.

Ellie gets confident or forgets the proximity of your relationship — nothing new — and rests her forehead against yours.

The world gets quiet.

The buzz of your music fades out, and all Ellie can hear is the small, clipped, and shaky sound of your breathing.

Your eyes flutter closed for a brief second, and Ellie wants to kiss you. Always wants to kiss you, but this is different. This is new and sudden and sweet. It’s soft. Gentle.

Your fingers graze over hers, and she imagines holding you like this forever.

Imagines doing this, as often as she likes.

All you’ve done together, and you haven’t even kissed yet. Ellie gazes at your wet mouth.

“Wanna come to mine? We don’t even have to smoke; you can just help me with the intro to my essay.” Your lips twist, and a small smile appears. “Ellie,” you whisper, tinged with a double meaning. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I can’t,” you whisper.

She breathes in deep, eyes closing as she presses her forehead against yours. “Not even for a second?” “Ellie.” “Please?” she whispers, looking at you, and your face falls. Your mouth opens an inch, the red of your tongue alluring. When you don’t respond, Ellie slowly dips lower and tentatively brushes her mouth against yours. Your breath catches.

The skin of your lips is pillow soft, and for the first time, she’s able to taste your lip gloss from the source. “Doesn’t please get me anything I want?” Ellie hushes. The music has bled into the background, a hum in the walls of your room. It rattles through her toes and dances through her chest, forcing her heart to thrum with life. Your eyes are half-lidded, lashes brushing over your cheeks when you look at her mouth. “That was a one-time deal,” you manage to tease, despite the nerves radiating off of you. “So, I can’t kiss you?” “I never said that.”

Your tone is dangerous. Ellie’s lips quirk into a smirk. “I didn’t say please though?”

There’s a heated 30 seconds where you pluck up some courage. Ellie can hear the cogs turning in your pretty little head before you conclude that, “manners are overrated,” and press your cherry lips against hers, sticky and artificially sweet.

The world stops in that movie magic kind of way.

Reality flutters to a pause, the music switches off, the natter from your roommates downstairs goes quiet, and Ellie can no longer hear the constant anxious beating of her heart.

It’s just you and your mouth – the press of your lips, no tricks, just the delicate touch of yours against hers.

Ellie is 15 again and playing truth or dare at that camp her uncle forced her to go to.

She’s picking dare and kissing Jessica Carter, the daughter of a man that owned a slew of Ice Cream shops in Salt Lake, and it means so much more to Ellie than it does to Jessica.

She feels the electricity of the kiss pulse throughout her body, like she’s got her soapy fingers in a light switch socket, and as she pulls away and Jessica laughs – giggles, cupping her wet lips, I can’t believe we just did that – Ellie feels the cavern in her chest close just an inch.

She was about to thank her, but then she thought better of it.

Pulling away now, there’s no Jessica, it’s you, and you’re pressing your fingers to your lips like you’re holding them out to a cat, nervous as to what’s going to happen next.

Ellie leans her forehead against yours, lips numb.

You’re breathing like you’ve run a marathon. Then you kiss her again.

Ellie stumbles back from the shock, but you move with her, guiding her back until her legs hit the bed frame.

She makes a quick decision – pulls away and gets back onto your bed, hoping you follow her down. Thankfully, you do – quirk a nervous smile and knee walk over to her, spreading your legs and clambering onto her lap.

You sit back on her thighs with your knees pressed against her hips.

The position is a memory re-lived, except this time, you’re both alert – no sleep to mask the feeling, just the nerves pulsating through your veins. New new new, it’s saying.

Ellie reaches out and steadies your hips.

Taking a shaky breath, she slips her thumbs under the fabric of your shirt and runs the length of your shorts. The skin there burns, heat radiating off of you like a furnace, and it’s as if you enjoy the touch, as you take Ellie’s hands and cup them with your own, keeping them against your skin, before dragging them around your hips.

Ellie catches your eyes, breath lodged in her throat.

It stays there while you run her fingers up and under your shirt, painstakingly moving her hands over your stomach, over your rib cage, and Ellie’s heart swells in her chest as the tips of her fingers feel the underwire of your bra.

Ellie can’t decide what she wants.

There are too many options – kiss you, undress you – and she so badly wants all of them all at once. When you finally drag her palms over your breasts, she feels your nipples pressing through the thin and lacey fabric, and her belly swirls, the pressure pushing low.

Your breath rattles in your chest. “You okay?” Ellie asks, and instead of answering, you bow down to kiss her.

This kiss is different. It’s desperate. Tinged with the need to tell Ellie it's okay, it's okay, as you slip your tongue in her mouth. She groans.

It’s deep and low, echoing around the room, and there’s a fleeting second where Ellie is embarrassed, but you swallow the sound down, hips reacting, pressing into her crotch.

Ellie aches with the memory of before.

She wants to tease you, wants to say, you gonna come like this again? but you drag your lips over to her neck, and she whines pathetically.

Oh fuck, she thinks. Ellie goes liquid, like syrup. She melts into the mattress, hands relax on your breasts, and just – lets you pepper kisses over her throat. Let’s you run your tongue under her jaw, and her hips buck in response. Jolt up into your crotch, and your breathing changes, now coming out in long, deep pulls.

You mark her neck with your mouth, and Ellie feels the suck of your lips in her gut. Her hands go exploring, sliding over your tits, and she rubs her thumbs over your nipples, listening for your breathing stutter.

When you mumble a desperate fuck, into her throat, Ellie suddenly wants you on your back.

She knocks the pair of you over, and you fall back onto your mattress, grinning up at Ellie with a wild smile. You take her in. Eyes flutter over her like butterflies, taking in her statue as she sits on top of you. Suddenly, though, your smile changes. Goes nervous.

“What does this mean for us?” you whisper, and Ellie shakes her head, moving to kiss you again. Now on top, she swells with the feeling of control.

“Don’t think about it,” she mumbles, then tastes cherry again.

Ellie’s a hypocrite because all she does is think about it.

Up all night in bed, thinking about it. Thinking about how she wants you as her girlfriend, but she hasn’t even taken you out on a date yet.

Doesn’t know about your family. Your friends. Doesn’t know your favourite movie, or colour. All she knows is your weed order. The thought makes her sick with shame.

The mumble of her name coming out of your lips brings her back.

You stuff her shirt in your hands, and Ellie wants it off.

Wants your hands all over her, wants to grind her hips into yours like you did hers, with your hands on her hips guiding her.

“Wanna see,” you mumble, tugging at her shirt, and Ellie’s skin prickles.

She drags her hips back, the seam of her jeans pushing against her crotch, and sits up straight. She grins, all teeth, then fists the shirt, pulling it up her chest. The lines of her muscles are revealed, along with a few white scars that dot her stomach and back. She’s wearing a casual cotton bra, but you look at her as if she’s donning silk. “So pretty,” you whisper, blinking up at her, and that shame that sat inside of her dispels. You slide your hands over her chest, and the warmth of them pushes into her bloodstream. “Pretty?” Ellie quirks, needing something to distract herself from the languid movement of your hands. You trail your fingers over her ribcage, then push your pointer up her breast bone, mouth open an inch, ignoring her, and Ellie’s limbs go jelly.

You’ve got your goddamn explorer hat on as you drag the base of your palm between her tits, your spare hand lazily rubbing her hip bone.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, words coming out as a breathy whisper. You flash a small smile, “committing you to memory.” A dangerous pressure builds in Ellie’s heart. Her cheeks bloom red, her skin prickles, and she feels light-headed, as if you’ve removed all the oxygen in the room.

You hook a finger around the elastic of her bra and tug her forward. Ellie catches herself on the mattress beside your head just as you kiss her, pushing your tongue into her mouth and crotch up into hers.

She shudders.

The kiss is all tongue, desperate, as she bumps her nose against yours to taste you. She’s preoccupied with your mouth, so she doesn’t notice your hand sliding between her thighs. When she does, she forgets how to kiss. “S-Shit,” Ellie stutters, caught off guard. Your touch is gentle, just, lazily rubbing your fingers into her jeans. There’s a lot of fabric between you, thus Ellie’s left the chase the friction.

Resting her forehead against yours, she clutches the sheets beside you, rolling her hips into your hand. She blinks at you, opening her eyes, and you’re staring at her like she’s an artwork – trying to memorise every brush stroke.

You bump your nose against hers, flexing your palm. Ellie hums again.

“You sure you wanna do that?” she jokes, clutching onto any semblance of sanity. You give her a lazy smile, lips wet with her spit. “’s ’only fair.

“Not –” Ellie starts, but chokes, your knuckle just hitting the top of her pussy. Her eyes flutter closed, mouth opening an inch, and you must sense the shift, because you keep your hand there, nodding, knowing what she was going to say before she said it.

“Gonna make you come 'cause I want to, not ‘cause I have to.” “Fuck – okay,” Ellie relents. There’s no way she’s going to leave in the middle of this. She can’t. She’d probably collapse mid-way. A pressure pushes between her thighs, hot and constant. Her pussy clenches around nothing and she whispers something. Sounds like your name.

Been a minute since she’d had a hand other than hers between her legs.

Ellie lazily chases your palm, thinking that If she moves too quickly, this moment will poof into a dream. Doesn’t want to scare it away.

To hide her red face, she nuzzles into your throat, roles reversed from that morning, except Ellie didn’t have her hand between your thighs. She tells herself it’s her turn to do that next.

You pop the button on her jeans, and Ellie glances down at your hands, seeing/feeling them tug at the band.

You turn into her head, “Jesus, these painted on or something?” and Ellie breathes a laugh, “Didn’t expect someone else taking them off.” “I need easy access from now on, only sweatpants.” “Noted.” Your smile goes silly, “preferably those grey ones you wore when I came over that time, when I made you dinner.” “Thought you liked those ones, caught you staring at my ass.” “No you did not.” Ellie kisses your neck, “It’s so sexy when you gaslight me.” You huff, “You gonna help me take them off, or watch me struggle?” and a slow grin builds across Ellie’s face. “Wanna see you work for it.” “Well, you’ll be watching for a while. Enjoy the show!” you joke, trying to drag the denim off of her hips. You grunt loudly, brow furrowed as you tug.

Finally, you throw your hands up with a huff, then pout and cross your arms. Ellie’s leaned back at this point, and she mimics your face.

“Defeated by The Gap,” Ellie sighs. “I’m gonna put in a complaint. Tell them that their stupid jeans stopped my girlf—” you catch yourself, eyes widening.

Ellie goes still.

There’s a second where she hears the crowd cheering in the background, but it turns out it’s a kid crying on the street outside.

“What did you just say?” she asks, tone filled with awe. She cannot help the shit-eating grin that splays across her face. It’s so big that you have to cover your face from the shine. “I said nothing.” “Um, I heard something.” “You didn’t hear anything.” “I heard the word girl and then an ‘F’ sound.” “You didn’t! I’m telling you; you’re hearing things. Going crazy.” “Ummmmmm,” Ellie drags, squinting down at you.

She tries to pull your hands away, but you won’t budge. “I heard something!” “I was going to say, girl fellow!” “Girl what?” Ellie laughs, eyes alight with humour.

“Yeah—” you start, pulling your hands away and masking your features. You’re a beacon of control.

“Girl fellow. It’s this new thing I coined. A girl who is a fellow, as in friend.” Ellie squints, “Fellow means boy, you weirdo.” “No it—” you frown. “Does it?” “Yes, have you not seen Robin Hood?” You pause, “No.” “Oh my god!” Ellie erupts. “How have you not seen Robin Hood? I used to be obsessed with it.” “Everything makes so much sense now.” “The fuck does that mean?”

You push your hands into her hips, fingers tickling. “Do you have a pointy bow and arrow at home? A little green hat?” “Shut up,” Ellie laughs, trying to bat your hands away. She catches them. “That makes so much sense,” you start, joking around, “You’re far too into social justice.” “How are you bullying me about world change? You just called me your girlfriend!” “Fellow!” you correct. “That means girl boy!” You grin triumphantly, “Welcome to the 21st century, Ellie.” She rolls her eyes, “you’re so annoying.” “Your jeans are annoying.” “My jeans are cute.” You point a finger at her, “I’m gonna fight your jeans.”

Ellie dips low and kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “mm, my money’s on the jeans,” and you wrap your thigh around her ass, using it as leverage to roll her onto her back.

You suddenly slide down, standing at the edge of the bed and shoving your hands into the band of her trousers. With a determined look, you manage to pull them down, “fuck your jeans.”

They end up on the floor, and Ellie’s left in a pair of boxers and her bra. She’d clap for you if she wasn’t so suddenly dazed. You appear on top of her, and she automatically wraps her arms around your shoulders, humming contently as you kiss her.

When her brain comes back to reality, she manages to switch positions again, knees pressing beside your thighs. With a tentative touch, you trace your hand over her stomach, distracting her with the wet of your kiss.

When your fingers touch the band of her underwear, Ellie’s breathing changes. It’s all suddenly real.

“Wanna stop?” you breathe, tone sincere and gaze gentle. Despite the bubble in her chest, Ellie has never wanted to continue something more. She shakes her head, eager. “Fuck no.”

Your sweet giggle distills the tension. “Good,” you grin, sliding your fingers lower, “wanted to do this since I met you.”

The tips of your fingers drag over her clothed pussy, gentle and soft. Ellie releases a shaky breath.

There’s just a piece of flimsy cotton stopping you from skin on skin, but she’s so wet that it feels that way, anyway.

Her eyes flutter closed, the sensation lulling her, fueling her with dopamine, and she buries her head in the crook of your neck, flexing her hips to meet your hand.

You drag the corner of your knuckle up her clothed slit, pushing into her clit when you get to the top. Ellie groans quietly, and you grin into the side of her head, rolling your knuckle into her, and she moans.

“Fuck, s’good.” “Yeah?” you ask, and Ellie nods. Propelled by her quiet desperation, you twist your hand and push a finger against her damp clit – the wet fabric showing the lines of her pussy – and roll it gently.

The fabric in the way makes it dirtier, more desperate, and makes Ellie moan pathetically into your neck, forgetting you’ve got roommates. She chases your hand.

Hips stir up, wet heat coiling in her belly and pushing into her cunt. Is this what you felt? That morning in her apartment?

The fire is quick to rise, and it’s only been a couple of minutes of her grinding into your palm when her pussy clenches, heat pushing at the back of her clit.

“Mm,” she hums, inhaling a shaky breath. Her thighs begin to shake. “Baby, you’re gonna make me come,” she hushes into your ear, and she swears she hears you whimper. You turn to look at her, and pout, “Want it on my fingers, Ellie,” you admit, eyes innocent, wide with wonder, and Ellie’s jaw clenches.

Her hips lose their rhythm, and how the fuck is she in control right now? She doesn’t feel that way. Feels like she lost any semblance of control when you flipped her over and pulled her jeans off. “Fuck, okay. Okay. Shit. Take my – fuck,” she stumbles, and you push your fingers under the band of her underwear, asking, “Can I?” in such a pure tone that Ellie has to close her eyes and breathe through her nose. “Yeah baby,” she nods, “s’okay. Fuck. It’s okay.”

You drag your fingers through her pubic hair – eyes on her the whole time – before you stuff your pointer and index against her wet clit. You start to roll the nerve, and Ellie chokes on her spit. Her body shudders.

She’s in your goddamn dorm room in your sorority with your hand down her pants.

You’re watching her intently. Glazed eyes gazing at her features, fingers controlling the way her brows furrow and cheeks bloom red. It’s wholly intimate. Ellie’s slick coats your fingers.

“So hot, Ellie.”

Her body flushes – she has to bury her head in your neck again, where she nods. She grinds her cunt into your hand, forcing you to press harder and roll quicker. “Mm, fuck,” Ellie swears, spit dribbling over her lips, drunk on your fingers, “Fuck, m’ gonna come.” She feels the familiar pressure behind her clit, the heat that sears – almost painful. You twist into her, nodding, saying, “Give it to me El’s.” Then, “please.”

The wave rushes up and pulls her under, rendering her voiceless and still, before it crashes, and she gushes over your hand, chasing the spin of your fingers as she shakes. “Mm, god, god, shit” she whimpers, voice muffled by your neck, trying so hard to keep quiet, but fuck, she’s not in control of her body. She clenches the duvet as her pussy clenches and un-clenches, clit spasming, whole body slick with sweat.

Her hips grind into your fist, eyes rolled back, mumbling curses into your throat, and she’s clenching the duvet so tight that her knuckles go white.

Then someone calls your name.

You freeze. Fingers go still.

Ellie wants to cry, but somewhere in her drunk mind, she realises the severity of the situation.

When you don’t respond, your name gets called again.

“Fuck,” you curse, then “Ellie, baby, I’m sorry, you gotta get off of me.”

Ellie manages to find the energy to roll off of you, and you get up, legs stumbling before you reach the door.

“Y-Yeah?” you call out through the wood.

Ellie lays boneless on your bed, breathing deeply through her nose. Her boxers are pushed low, pubic hair on show, but she doesn’t have the power to sort herself out.

She should be nervous at the idea of being caught, but fuck, her clit still throbs with the memory of your fingers. She languidly blinks at the ceiling, trying to calm her heart.

How the fuck did that just happen?

“Meeting soon, you coming?” the faceless voice calls, and you mumble a curse before saying, “Yeah! Gimmie a minute.”

When you turn to her, Ellie’s already gazing at you. You quirk a small, sad smile, and Ellie nods, understanding.

“Lemme just,” she starts, rubbing her face, “find the energy.” You giggle at her. “Let me help you put your stupid jeans on.” Ellie props herself up by her elbows, beaming, “My top down there, too?” “Got it.”

She manages to shove her jeans on, wincing when she knocks her sensitive clit. You eye her.

“Listen, I—” you start, clearly flustered. You motion to her, “—Would take better care of you after but.” “Whoa – what?” Ellie cuts you off, shoving her shirt on with a frown.

You purse your lips, “like, cook you dinner or kiss your forehead or something.” “You’ve already cooked me dinner, and you can kiss my forehead whenever you want.” “I mean. I don’t usually make a girl come and then dip.” “Oh,” Ellie frowns, “But this is different.” You pout, “Still feel bad.” “Don’t,” Ellie firmly spouts. She takes your hands and kisses your forehead. “I feel good, you should feel good.” “It was good?” you ask, suddenly lit up and eager to hear more. Ellie laughs. Her body is filled with a warm, buttery feeling. She’s still drunk on you, lethargic from coming, and she doesn’t have the space to panic.

Her subconscious tries to tell her everything that has happened that should cause her concern.

She nearly called you her girlfriend, then made you come on her double bed with a flowery bedspread. Now she feels bad because she doesn’t have enough time to give you adequate aftercare. Dude.

Still, Ellie shows no alarm when she kisses your forehead and says, “I’ll call you.”

It’s only when she gets home, looks in the mirror and sees her lips glittery with your lip-gloss, that reality sets in.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fan fic #the last of us #the last of us 2 #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #smut #ellie williams the last of us #dealer!ellie williams #tlou2 #tlou

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joeyb1989 · 2 months

Text

but daddy i love him* - joe burrow

word count: 2.6k

pairing: joe burrow x kelce!sister reader

warnings: smut, arguments, disapproval of relationship, cussing, angst(?), pet names, mentions of pregnancy

a/n: another joe fic inspired by a taylor song (is anyone surprised at this point.) this was my first time writing smut, so i’m sorry if it’s bad😭😭 anyways, hope you all enjoy 💗

This fic takes place in the offseason after the 22-23 season !!

——

“No Mom, he’s picking me up from the airport. He’s too much of a gentleman to make me call an Uber.”

You were standing in the middle of your bedroom, last-minute packing for your trip to Cincinnati tomorrow when your mom called you for your daily debrief with her.

“You’re being safe though,” your mom began, “right, Y/n?”

“Yes Mom, Joe’s a very safe driver,” you soothe

“I’m not worried about his driving honey,” she paused, hoping you would understand what she meant, “I mean with… certain… activities.”

“Oh my god, Mom. Yes, yes we’re being safe,” your cheeks heated up in embarrassment

“You should invite Joe to the cookout we’re having next weekend, you know everyone would love to meet him,” your mom suggested.

Not everyone.

“I’d love for everyone to meet him too, it’s just… you know how Travis acted when I told him about Joe,” you mumbled, “And that’s just when I told him, can you imagine when he has to come face to face with him?”

Flashback to Kelce family dinner a few months ago

“So, Y/n sweetheart,” your dad started, “What’s new with you?”

After the season was over, your parents made it apparent that they wanted to throw a family dinner. Especially after the high emotions that the Super Bowl brought to the family. With the different schedules, it was about two months into the offseason by the time you all got around to it.

“Um, well… I’ve been seeing a guy for a little bit now,” you said, cheeks turning pink

“Jason, would you listen to that, some guy stole our little sister’s heart,” Travis teased

“How long have you been seeing him,” your mom asked

“Coming up on about four and half months,” you gushed, “He’s very sweet, kind, and humble.”

“Well… why don’t you tell us about this lucky guy,” your other brother, Jason, asked.

“His name is Joe, and he… works in Cincinnati. Sometimes he travels for it,” you mumble

“He’s not a drug dealer…is he, honey,” your mom worriedly asked

“No, God no. It’s.. just hard to explain…” you trailed off

As soon as you were about to explain everything to your family, with hopes of your brothers not flipping out, your phone lit up.

Your phone was laying face-up on the table when you got a call from the contact name, “joe shiesty 💗”

As soon as you had time to process what was happening, Joe hung up and sent you a text, apologizing for butt-dialing you.

“Sorry… so umm, where was I-”

Travis cut you off, “Joe Burrow… Y/n, are you kidding?”

Your mouth slightly dropped open as your brows furrow. “How do you know?”

“You’re dating some guy named Joe, works in Cincinnati but ‘travels for work sometimes’, and his contact is ‘Joe Shiesty,’” Travis fake laughs, “It’s kinda obvious.”

You were honestly scared for how Travis was going to react. You cared about Joe a lot and really wanted to be in with him for the long run, even if you two had only been dating for four months.

“Do you realize that the Bengals have put us through hell for the last year?” Travis asked, “Had you forgotten all about that Y/n?”

The truth is, you had forgotten all about the Bengals and Chiefs rivalry when you started dating Joe. You forgot how the Chiefs won the West division and were the favorite to play in the Super Bowl that year, until the Bengals came along.

Even though you were cheering for Kansas City, you couldn’t lie that what Joe Burrow had done in his first full season in the NFL wasn’t impressive.

You thought that Travis would realize that all the stuff on the field was solely just football and move on.

“Travis, it was a football game. It’s his job as much as it is yours to win for his team,” You replied

Travis just shook his head. “And all that shit… calling Arrowhead, ‘Burrowhead.’”

“That wasn’t him,” you began to grow agitated at how stupid this argument was, “It was his team, and he’s going to go along with his team.”

“Why are you defending him like this?” Travis asked, looking directly into your eyes

“Because I…love him, Travis, and I just want you of all people to be happy for me,” you blurt out, “You don’t even know him, but here you are ruining my relationship with him over a football game.”

The only thing Travis did in response was scoff before muttering an ‘unbelievable’ under his breath while walking to his old room and slamming the door.

End of flashback

“Honey, you need to calm down,” your mom said, “I’ve never seen you happier, Y/n. Your brother just doesn’t want to see you get hurt. Maybe it will be better after we all sit down for dinner together.”

Deep down, you knew your mom was right. You loved your brother more than anything, but you also loved Joe more than anything. You knew that if you and Joe were to work out, and God did you want it to, then you needed to introduce him to your family; including Travis.

“I’m gonna go, Mom. I have to get ready for bed if I want to make my flight tomorrow,” You laughed, “I’ll talk to Joe about the cookout and let you know”

After you and your mom said your goodbyes, you climb into bed, excited to see your boyfriend in just a few hours.

The next day

After collecting your luggage at baggage claim, you see a large tall frame with sunglasses on and his head down.

As soon as he saw a someone walking toward him, he looked up to see his girlfriend walking towards him with the biggest smile on your face.

He stood up and met you halfway.

“There’s my girl,” he said softly, while picking you up and twirling you around.

After he set you on the ground, he set a sweet, gentle, but passionate kiss on your lips, resting his forehead on yours when you pull away. “I missed you so much, baby,” you said, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Joe kissed your forehead, “Let’s go home.”

You weren’t living with Joe yet, but he made sure that you felt at-home when you were in his house; even though you feel at-home when you’re simply with him.

Later that day

After cuddling and taking a nap together, you and Joe were exchanging small talk while eating over a candlelit dinner.

“Babe, would you want to go back to Kansas City with me next weekend,” you ask, “My family’s throwing a cookout, and they want to meet this boyfriend they keep hearing about,” you tease

“I’d love to, baby,” Joe smiled and lifted your hand up to his mouth, giving it a kiss.

“There’s just… one thing,” you break eye contact with him.

“What is it?” Joe asked, putting a finger under your chin to lift your gaze back to his

“Travis… isn’t… the biggest fan of us… or you,” you admit between pauses.

Joe furrowed his brows, “Did I do something to him?”

“No, no you didn’t. That’s the point. He’s being over-dramatic about everything. He says that your name is going to bring down my rep, and that you’re ’going to be a bad influence on me,’ you say, “But, even if he was right, I don’t care. You make me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. If anyone were to bring down my rep, I’d want it to be you,” you pressed a bunch of kisses to his face.

“I’m sorry though, I hate to know I’m the reason you and Travis are having problems,” Joe said, “but you make me the happiest man alive, sweetheart.”

“You didn’t do anything, baby,” you take his face in both of your hands and press a kiss to his soft lips.

The kiss starts off innocent, but quickly heats up. Before you know it, you two were making out in his dining room.

While he was kissing down your neck, he lifted you off of your seat and pulled you into his lap. He moved his hands down to your hips and began to grind you against him.

“Joey,” you whimpered, “please.”

“Please what, baby?” Joe asked with a big smirk on his face

“Touch me,” you whispered against his ear

Joe’s eyes grew with even more lust and love, if that was even possible.

He pushed the plates on the table out of the way, before lifting you onto it. He unzipped your pants and brought them down.

He ghosted his fingers over your lace-covered clit, groaning low in his throat. “So wet baby,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. He hooked a finger in your panties, bringing them down.

He brought your leg up to his shoulder, kissing up until he reached your core, then repeating the action on the other leg.

“Stop teasing Joe,” you said

Listening to you, he immediately attached his lips to your clit, sucking on it. Your fingers were intertwined with his blonde strands, pulling on them while moans escaped your lips.

After a few minutes of eating you out like you were his last meal, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to release. “Joe, I’m so close,” you whimpered.

“Joe,” you moaned, as he inserted two fingers into your dripping core.

“Come on baby, I’ve got you,” Joe said

Only a few seconds later, you were cumming on his face while he worked you through your orgasm.

He stood up and lifted his fingers to his mouth, cleaning off your juices. He leaned down and pressed a passionate kiss to your lips. “I love you,” Joe said against your lips.

“I love you more,” you smiled.

“How much more?” Joe asked with a smirk

“How ‘bout I show you?” you purred

A few hours later

After a few more rounds of sex, you and Joe were in his bathtub, relaxing together after not seeing one another for a couple weeks.

“Y/n?” Joe asked

You hummed in response

“What do you say to Travis when he brings me up?” Joe bashfully asked

“Well the other day, I was talking to my mom about the necklace you got me for my birthday, and Travis said some snarky comment. He said something about our relationship and how you um,” you paused, “lost the championship to them.”

“It really pissed me off and I was really thinking, so I said ‘Yeah I’m having his baby, actually,” you laugh, “You should’ve seen everyone’s faces,”

Joe busted to a fit of laughter, before trailing kisses on your collarbone.

“I really hope you told them otherwise, because if Travis already hates me, I’d hate to know what he would think if I got you pregnant,” Joe laughs against your skin

“Boy, there would be a whole search party after you if I didn’t,” You giggle

“You know Travis isn’t the only one that thinks I’m crazy for going out with you,” you laugh, “Some of the women in my mom’s book club told her that they’ve been praying for me at their church.”

“What is it about me that makes people think that I’m a bad influence,” Joe asked

“I don’t know… I would literally rather burn my life down, then listen to all this bitching and moaning. If they ever get the chance to know you, though, they’ll see how you’re different from how people perceive you.”

“How am I different?”

“You’re compassionate, driven, sweet, and a total dork, but I love you for it,” you joke, “But most of all,” you turn to face him, “you made me fall for you, even after I had put up a wall. You’re the man who shows me true, unconditional love, that I never thought I deserved to have.”

“You deserve it all, Y/n,” Joe kissed you, “I love you,”

“I love you,” you smile against his lips.

The next weekend

Joe squeezes your hand three times as the Uber pulls into your parent’s driveway. You knew Joe would be nervous, but you didn’t expect him to be this nervous. You honestly felt bad for bringing him here.

“You’re going to be okay, Joe,” you soothe, “Travis will get over his little fit, and the other guys are all football guys, you’ll get along well. Plus, they’ll see you as the guy who makes me incredibly happy.”

Joe offered you a smile and a short kiss before getting out and opening the door for you. Joe got your luggage out of the car and thanked the driver.

Before you could even knock on the door, your mom opens it and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you too, Mom,” you joke as you pull away, “Mom, this is my boyfriend, Joe,” you smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kelce,” Joe said

“Honey, you can call me Donna, but it’s nice to meet you, Joe. We’ve heard a lot about you,” Your and Joe’s cheeks both heated up at your mom’s words

Walking into the house, your mom tells you two to go get settled in your old room while your dad and brother’s are out grilling.

After a little bit, you and Joe decide to go outside. You two make it to the back door hand-in-hand, before you turn and kiss Joe on the cheek

“You’re okay, they’re going to love you,” you smile, opening the door.

You clear your throat to get everyone’s attention

“Guys, this is my boyfriend, Joe; even though some of you already know him,” you joke towards your brothers.

Your dad walks up to both of you, extending his arm out to him “It’s nice to meet you,son.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Joe shakes his hand.

“It’s good to see you, Joe,” Jason gives Joe a bro-hug after walking up to the two of you

Travis looks at both of you with bullets in his eyes, walking over to Joe.

“I’m sure Y/n here has told you all about my disapproval of your relationship,” Travis began.

Here we go, you thought

“I just want to say I’m sorry,” he looks at you, “to both of you. I was just so caught up in the past, I couldn’t see that you make my baby sister happy, in a way that I’ve never seen before. So, what’s past is past… fuck it, it’s over.”

Travis also gave Joe a bro-hug before walking over and giving you a hug as well.

After eating, and your family getting to know your boyfriend, you and Joe were swaying to the music that was playing. You two were farther away in the yard to talk and no one would hear you.

“You look really beautiful in this dress,” Joe said, playing with the hem of your sundress, “The way the sun is hitting you is making you look like a goddess, baby.”

“Thank you, Joey,” you smile, “My dad really loves you by the way.”

“Really?” Joe asked

“Mhm, when we were in the kitchen, all he could talk about was what a bright young man you are,” you smile

You look up to be met with a very gorgeous sky

“The clouds look so pretty, Joe! Take a picture,” you beg

Joe reaches for his phone, but says, “You’re so pretty,” while snapping the picture“You’re crazy,” you joke, “but you’re the crazy I want.”

Joe leans down and presses a kiss to your soft lips.

Time really does give perspective. All of your family loves Joe, almost as much as you love him.

Now that your family approves, there’s nothing from stopping you from having this wild boy and this wild joy, forever.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #Spotify

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ambermeh · 2 months

Text

Dealer!Chris headcannons

I was writing something for Matt and this was on my mind

⋆ So the relationship would have started with you probably getting drugs for your friends or even meeting at a party. The introduction of drugs would not really be necessary as, when you become a 'thing' (he doesn't want to give it a real label) I think being around him so much and just having them around you, you might be a bit curious. This would lead to him and you having many nights where you lay down together while he places the sweet powder over your gums. You just look at him wide eyes, as he places kisses to your neck while the two of you letting the feeling sink in

⋆ If you got into an argument (quite a lot), he would never shut you out but use the dealings as a way to make you jealous.

'oh yeah i'm dropping some off at Summer's party today so you don't need to come'

He states casually while waiting for your reaction, although he didn't realise that you had something even more frustration up your sleeve...

'yeah that's fine Chris, I'm going to get some weed from Harry tonight, haven't seen him in a while'

You smile at him, a little too sweetly while he clenches his jaw and gives you a tight lipped smile. (and proceeds to make the both of you stay home that night)

⋆ He would never admit it. but he does actually really like you and shows you in some quite unconventional ways. A discount on some pills, or even to come over and smoke some weed with you. Only the best for his girl. Brings you to parties to give you some more fun and excitement that the mundane day to day does not bring. Hits you up (or just calls begging for you to come over) late at night when he feels maybe a bit too alone for his own liking.

⋆ Pays for everything.

Nails, haircut, perfume, clothes. Basically lets you get whatever you want if you do something for him in return (he always jokes but really is it a joke)

'ma, you are not buying that, let me get it'

'you don't need to pay me back with money...... kidding'

later that night 'I want to see how that dress looks like under me when your writhing and crying'

⋆ this man fucks like he hates you. Not even kidding, I think Chris normally would be a bit rougher than average but dealer chris is another level. He loves the high and this does not only relate to drugs, but also the way he teases you and the words he says to make you whine. Teasing you with his tip as you beg for him to put it in you. Pushing your hips back, yearning for the release.

'my god, all that attitude but now you can't even get what you want poor girl'

'stop pushing back and be patient or I'll overstimulate you until you can't move let alone speak'

and the after care would be sweet but still in true dealer chris fashion

'my girl looks so good fucked out'

'can I take a photo, just to remind you what happens when you try to threaten me with other guys?'

'Sweetheart, you have some mascara running come here and i'll help. okay?'

hope you all liked it :)

(thanks @enchanthings for the banner)

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #matt x reader #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

hiiiiiii daisy, was wondering for mvm if you could do dealer!james getting high and then being obsessed with readers boobs, thank you thank you xx

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

"James," Sirius calls, snickering at the way the brunette's face is smashed into your chest, "Can you even breathe in there?"

"Don't need to," James groans, open-mouthed as he pulls his face out of your chest only long enough to let smoke billow from his lips, "This's all I need."

"Jamie," You pry at his chin when he tries tucking his face back into your boobs, "How about you take a break? Let's go get some water, your face is on fire."

"'Cause you're smokin' hot," James drawls, his rosy cheeks cupped in your hands as you try not to give into his antics.

"It's probably not good to cut off your airflow for that long," You hum, but you know you're fighting a losing battle when he brings his blunt to his lips for another drag.

"Can't help it," James sighs, wistfully so, like he's dreaming, "They're just so perfect, love. The left one, she's so pretty and sweet, 'got that gorgeous heartbeat of yours in'er. And the right, mm," He leans down to kiss the apex of your right breast, nose nudging the soft skin where it slopes into your collarbones, "She's sassy, y'know?"

"Really," You laugh incredulously, "My left tit is sassy?"

"Very," James chuckles, lashes fluttering as he rests his face on the aforementioned boob, "She and I have lots of chats, y'know."

"Yeah? 'Bout what?"

"Mm, all sorts of things. Sports, the weather, lefty, you, Sirius."

"Sirius?"

"Mhm. She's got beef with him."

"Yeah?" Sirius sneers from across the room, hooking a finger under his shirt to reveal his own chest, "Well my left tit doesn't like hers either, James."

He grips his pec, squeezing his fingers together to move the skin there like a mouth, "She stole my best friend," His chest informs you, voice high-pitched, and distasteful.

"Don't worry Pads," James drawls, smile lazy but charming all the same, "Next time, I'll bury m'face in your tits, since you're so jealous."

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gilverrwrites · 7 days

Text

The Best You Ever Had

Jason Todd/Reader, 1.7K

A/N: Welp, as promised here’s that self-serving, mildly fucked up Jason Todd/Reader scenario I mentioned earlier. I’m working on I don’t fall, I fly chapter two I swear, but I had to get this unhinged Jason idea out of my head if I’m gonna concentrate. I don’t remember the exact details of the plotline I’m branching off of here 100% so if it’s inaccurate sue me. Warnings: Darker portrayal of Jason. Unhealthy relationship to slightly less unhealthy relationship, non-graphic mentions of death, grief, dub-con, manipulation, abuse of authority kinda, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, swearing, size difference, hair pulling.

Right so, remember when Jason went balls to the wall on absoloutely fucking ruining Penguins’ life after finding out he was responsible for the death of his birth father?

Okay, now imagine you’re working at The Iceberg at the time, as a waitress, a card dealer, dancer, whatever you fancy, it’s mainly just a cover for the fact that you’re actually Ozwald’s sugar baby.

You’re practically attached to his hip. Sure, he can be a bit much at times, a bit mean, but he’s real sweet on you. There isn’t a thing in this world he wouldn’t do for you, no clothes or gadgets too expensive, no jewels too well-guarded, 'cause you’re his favourite gal. At least you were until you watched Red Hood shoot him in the head on live TV.

Ozzie had paid your rent, your bills, everything, he’d showered you with gifts, but he’d never dealt you actual cash. Without his bank account to fund your checks, you have nothing, not unless you sell off your material possessions. So, not only are you grieving, but you’re forced to pick up as many extra shifts as you can in order to afford to keep up your lifestyle.

Being at The Lounge only reminds you of him, which makes your sorrows worse. You were never bad at the cover job, in fact, it’s how you got your foot in the door. But your emotions are affecting your performance, and when your new boss, Jason Todd, calls you into his office for a performance review, you’re pretty much resigned to the fact that you’re about to be fired.

However, Mr Todd is surprisingly chill. Understanding even. He doesn’t grill you; he just points out that your performance as of late does not match up with Cobblepots files and asks why? What can we do to fix it?

You feel comfortable explaining that you and his predecessor were close, and so his sudden death has hit you hard. You need time to mourn but can’t afford the time off.

When a tear rolls down your cheek you start to feel self conscious until he rounds the desk, crouching in front of you and presenting you with a tissue. He offers you the weekend off, paid, and promises to look into amending the shoddy bereavement policy Oz had enforced. But for now, commiserating may help, and he’s happy to listen, to be a shoulder to cry on.

So, you take the tissue, dabbing up all the tears that fall as you tell him about your arrangement. How Oz had done so much for you, got you out of a pit, how no matter what your friends and family thought, Ozzie really did have your best interests at heart, you swear. Mr Todd nods along, offering a polite laugh when you tell him a funny story, or pulling faces when you recall some of Oz’s less-than-savoury moments. His disapproval makes you feel validated in your distaste for some of the seedier things you’d let Oz get away with because he loved you.

After a while, you move from the desk to the conversation pit which sits beside a floor to ceiling fish tank. You can’t help commending him for keeping on top of looking after the fish and their habitat, it’s a lot of work. He tells you it’s one of his favourite things in the whole building and you agree, recalling how you used to spend hours watching the fish go about their existence when Ozzie would call for you only to spend the evening ignoring you whilst he dealt with 'business'. Jason says that you’re more than welcome to come see the fishes any time you like.

He's so much kinder than you’d expected. Which is why you don’t move when you feel his hand on your back, drawing you closer with strong arms until the warmth of his breath brushes your neck. It’s been weeks since you’d gotten this close with anyone. You hadn’t realised how much you’d craved the intimacy until it was handed to you.

And shit, he smells good too. Looking into his undeniably handsome face you’re struck with guilt for having enjoyed the company, the touch of another man and can’t help the second? third? who knows, wave of tears.

The tissue he’s given you is too sodden to do anything, so he reaches up with his long, surprisingly coarse fingers to wipe up your tears, and you let him.

Your weeping soon starts to ebb after that, but the few droplets that fall regardless are dried by his lips as he boldly presses kisses to your cheeks, and again, you let him.

“You shouldn’t waste your tears on that asshole.” The way he stares into your eyes as he speaks, it almost feels like he’s daring you to challenge him. “You’ll be better off without him.”

Out of respect for Oz, or maybe to defend yourself you bite back at him. “He’s not- he wasn’t an asshole! Not to me.” But you both know it’s a lie.

Before either of you say something you’ll regret, you decide to do something you’ll regret instead. In sync, you both crash your lips together, and Jason all but forces you onto your back with his body weight, his tongue pushing between your lips as his hands work at your uniform.

He’s nothing like Oz. His hands are strong and deft, free of perspiration as they pop your buttons with precision and knead at your newly exposed skin. His mouth, while steeped with a hint of beer, tastes clean. He looks at you with a reverence you’d never experienced before as he draws back to look you in the eye.

“Let me treat you the way you deserve, the way a real man should.” He begs, and when you nod, he practically starts tearing at his clothes. You work on his belt while he pulls his shirt and waistcoat over his head, too impatient to bother with his own buttons.

Your eyes bulge, heart plummeting to your stomach when he pulls down his boxers, exposing a dauntingly large erection.

“Bet you’ve not seen something this big in a long time.” He suggests with a smirk.

“No, I’ve never seen anything that big.” You offer, shuddering when he teases the tips between your slit, grazing your clit. “I don’t think I can take something like that.”

“You will.” His confidence goes straight to your already hungry centre. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it easy on you.”

You gasp when you feel friction at your entrance, and Jason chuckles into the crook of your neck, gently fussing in your ear as he slips a single finger inside you. True to his word, Jason makes the whole thing (mostly) painless and effortless, working his fingers into you one at a time, scissoring his digits and massaging your sensitive clit until you're stretched out and cumming all over his palm, staining the sofa beneath you. Purring to you all the while about how tight and plush your pussy is, how fucking good his cock is gonna make you feel, how he can’t wait to make you forget all about Cobblepot by making you gush all over his dick again and again.

When you’re partly lucid again, coming down from your first orgasm Jason lifts you with ease. He sits back against the couch, settling between your legs so that you’re straddling him. Guiding you onto his cock, thrusting from below, drawing a sinful cry from you as he fills you in one quick movement. It wasn’t unbearable, in fact, you’re a little flustered by the ease with which your pussy sucked him up, but your walls still throb from the final stretch of him buried in the depth at which his impossibly long fingers hadn’t been able to reach.

His hands grip and caress and pinch every part of you, soaking in every inch as you ride him out, grinding your hips against his, using his body to chase your second release. His lips latch along your torso, sucking and biting his mark into your skin. This time, once you've successfully fucked yourself to climax on his dick, he doesn’t wait for you to come back down. Flipping you over and pushing you forward, he puts you on your hands and knees, presented for him on the coffee table so he can pound into you from behind.

Once he’s coaxed another orgasm out of you there, he carries you to his desk. He fucks you over and over. Revelling in every heated orgasm he rips from you, eating up your sob. He takes you on every surface. The floor, the walls, the window. He even presses you face first against the fishtank, making you watch your reflection in its mirrored back, and you are a pornographic sight to behold; lips dark and swollen from his kisses, hair tangled in his fist, tits pressed against the glass as he pistons in and out of your twitchingly overstimulated, cunt. Every thrust is slick, punctuated by the wet slap of your hips coming together. By this point, Jason’s unending strength is the only thing keeping you upright.

“That bird creep ever fuck you this good, baby?” He grunts into your ear, dark eyes glaring at you through the glass. From this angle you can see how his body practically engulfs yours; the reflection showcasing how his massive palms seem herculean when pinning you. All night he’d been throwing you around, bending and posing you to his will like a doll in his sturdy arms. Something Oz could never do.

“No, god no Jason!” You whine. Drool spills from your lips as you try to speak. It catches on the glass, smearing back on your face but you’re too utterly fucked, too cock drunk to be embarrassed. “Nobody… never been… fucked like…”

When you don’t finish your sentence Jason laughs, it almost sounds cruel and sends a shockwave to the clit you long thought had been abused to numbness. “Am I the best fuck you ever had?”

“Yes! Yesyesyesyes.” You chant. Completely oblivious to the fact that your sugar daddy, Oswald Cobblepot is not dead. He’s very much alive, and very much not well as he watches Jason Todd fuck the brains out of his best gal from his prison on the other side of the one-way mirror.

#gilverrrambles #jason todd #red hood #jason todd/reader #jason todd x reader #red hood/reader #red hood x reader #so originally reader was gonna be ozzies daughter but even at rock bottom #i dont think he would do this #at his absoloute worst #reader insert #nsft #f reader #please forgive me for the penguin slander #im sorry ozzie I love you so so so much

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wayward-dreamer · 11 months

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Hi, I was wondering if you could write a story where soilder boy is dating Y/n, and they start talking, and he asks her if she thinks he would be a good dad. Which leads to them talking about starting a family together. And then one of them says something along the lines of "Why don't we try now?" Then it turns into smut. If not it's okay, thanks!

Father Material

Pairing: Soldier Boy x F!Reader

Word count: 1,468

Summary: Curiosity from the public and media has Ben expressing his dream to be a father. Y/N wants to make his dream a reality.

Warnings: Swearing, some angst, mentions of SB's nefarious actions, smut: dirty talk, rough sex, breeding kink.

A/N: This request has been in my inbox forever, so I apologise for long it took! I hope you like it Layla! Happy reading! :) Thanks to my besties/betas @hintsofhoney and @makeadealwithdean for looking over this. Sorry not sorry for killing you hehe

also there's plenty more Soldier Boy content on the way because apparently I've become an SB smut dealer lmaooo

“Do you think I’d make a good father?”

That was the question that sparked the sex marathon they had been in for hours now. Given that he was a supe, Soldier Boy had the stamina for withstanding just about anything, and if he had it his way he could probably last well into the night. She on the other hand was flagging quickly, the downside of being 100% human, but she really couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop. Not when he always knew just how to make her toes curl and her body quake with euphoric bliss. He may have known what buttons to push to get her going, but that didn’t mean their encounters were predictable. They were far from it, and that day was no exception.

The day started out like any other. He had meetings with hero management, followed by filming a commercial for Cracker Jack, which then led to interviews with different channels. She finally stepped out of their penthouse that night to join him on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, draped in an emerald green dress to match his suit, complete with gold accessories. Usually interviews weren’t really her favorite thing to do, but being America’s golden couple meant that they needed to be seen in public in order to keep that status. So they did what they always did. They laughed and joked with quick-witted Carson, charmed the audience and made the nation fall deeper for them with each caress of a hand or sweet kiss. Some may have thought it was just for the cameras, those cynical spectators that didn’t have any business commenting on what goes on behind closed doors, but they both knew the truth about their relationship.

They were in love. They had been since the moment he propositioned her in the elevator of the Vought American building, leading to one of the wildest nights she had ever had. Most would call it lust, but when you understood someone on a deeper level like they both did, it was most definitely love. A warped, messed up kind of love, but nonetheless, that’s what it was. She wasn’t stupid; she knew the kind of man he was, what he had to do during the war, and in Vought’s name since he joined their roster. She knew there were some off the books black ops missions he had gone on, even if she didn’t know the details. She heard the rumors about Dealey Plaza, too. She knew that he was fucked up despite his God fearing, all-American persona for the public, but she didn’t care.

In order to love someone like that, she had to be a little fucked up too. Well, more than a little.

Despite distracting everyone with their incredible charisma, questions of settling down and starting a family came up, and she knew she had to think of an answer fast when she saw Ben’s face go blank. With her biggest grin, she turned to Carson and said “Well, if anything happens Johnny, you’ll be the first to know!” They covered it up with hearty laughs as the audience joined in, along with the host, before he thanked them for their time to raucous applause.

The drive back to the Vought building was quiet, her concern growing for him until his words: “Do you think I’d make a good father?” broke the silence.

“Why do you ask?” she questioned in return, softly as to not scare him from broaching the subject.

“That fucking Carson,” he muttered, staring out the window at the bright lights. “I just… I guess he got me thinkin’, that’s all. Forget it.”

She wasn’t going to. She knew there was something he wanted to tell her, something he wanted of her, and she needed to know what it was.

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinkin’ about… about how I’d do it better than my father ever did,” he confessed. “We’d make some perfect fucking kids, that’s for damn sure.”

She smiled softly, her hand curling over his as she slid across the backseat and pressed herself against his side. She nuzzled her nose along his jaw, leaving small kisses along his stubble as she reached his ear, her breath fanning against the shell as she whispered her own desire to do the same.

“Then let’s start right now.”

And that was how they found themselves in their bedroom twenty minutes later, with her holding herself up on her quivering hands and knees as he pounded into her from behind, his fingers digging into her skin with a bruising hold as his pelvis smacked against the curve of her ass. He had contorted her into every position possible since then for the last couple of hours, with barely a few minutes to breathe between each romp in the sheets. She had lost track of how many positions, and she was about to lose count of how many times he had spilled inside her, both of them getting closer to that release once more.

“Oh god, oh god!” she moaned wantonly, her forehead pressed against the mattress as her hands fisted the sheets. She was completely unbothered about how loud she was and the fact that people had probably heard them by now.

“No need to bring him into this, doll,” he chuckled, the sound broken up by his groans of pleasure. “Just me and you here…”

“You’re so fucking cheesy,” she mumbled, a guttural whimper escaping her at a particularly angled thrust against her g-spot.

“You fucking love it,” he countered, smirking as he suddenly pulled out of her.

Ignoring her whine of protest, Soldier Boy flipped her over onto her back and grabbed her legs, bending her in half as her calves rested on his shoulders, sliding back into her tight heat with a quick, hard thrust. The sounds that left them were nothing short of pornographic, as he began to pick up the pace with each push of his hips against her. He squeezed his eyes shut as her walls clenched around his throbbing cock, both of them balancing on the edge of their blissful climax, ready to go over at any minute.

“So fucking good, so fucking perfect, Y/N,” he growled, their faces close as he leaned over her. “You love the way I fuck you, don’t ya?”

“Yes!” she cried out, nodding frantically as she stared up into his green orbs. “Love the way you fuck me… you fuck me so good, Ben. So deep, and hard, wanna feel it for days.”

“Oh you will, sugar,” he groaned, between rough kisses against her lips. “Gonna fill you up, make you feel so full, make you full and round with my babies. You want that?”

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“Fuck, yeah you do,” he husked. “Tell me, tell me you want it.”

“I want it, I want it so bad, Ben,” she whimpered, the sound practically a sob with how desperate she was to finally let go. “I want you to fill me up, give it to me.”

“Cum for me, doll, soak my cock,” he said, looking deep into her eyes.

Y/N finally felt the dam breaking as a loud, shrieking moan escaped her, her walls contracting around his shaft as her arousal spread over him. He grunted loudly, his hips snapping harder against her, as he tried to hold himself back. His eyes fluttered, about to close, but her hands on his face stopped him, making him pay attention to her as their gazes locked. As she had with each time he had reached his peak that night, she stroked her thumbs along his jaw, slowly nodding her encouragement and desire to feel his seed deep inside her.

“S-Say it,” he stuttered, his neck straining as he held on just a little longer. “Fuckkk, s-say it-”

She bit her lip, knowing how it drove him crazy, before she parted them and uttered the words that sent him over the edge at the end of round that night.

“You’re gonna be a great dad… better than your own.”

Soldier Boy threw his head back, the veins in his neck pressing against his skin as he let out a guttural moan, his cock pulsing deep inside her tight canal. She moaned softly as she felt the warm spurts of his cum coat her walls, filling her up as he had done several times that night already. They both breathed heavily, trying to calm their racing hearts, neither of them wanting to move away from the other. He buried his face in her neck, planting soft pecks along her pulse point, bringing a smile to her face as they basked in the afterglow.

Both of them hoped that it wouldn’t be too much longer before their dream became a reality.

#reader request #Soldier Boy x Female!Reader #Soldier Boy x Female!Reader Smut #Soldier Boy x Female!Reader One Shot #Soldier Boy x Female!Reader Fanfiction #Soldier Boy Smut #Soldier Boy One Shot #Soldier Boy Fanfiction #The Boys Smut #The Boys One Shot #The Boys Fanfiction #Soldier Boy #the boys tv

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elsweetheart · 2 years

Note

no but like. dealer!ellie would be so loving and understanding with a really sensitive (crybaby) gf. like she’s at a party making great business and she gets a text from u saying that you miss her and you’re not feeling well and she drops everything to visit and make u feel better

:(((((

i’ll be your honey, if you’ll be sweet

🎀 dealer!ellie being a cutie, fem!reader being a crybaby, mentions of not feeling well, mentions of weed and alcohol. title is taken from mazzy star— give you my lovin

♡ ♡ ♡

Business was booming, as they said.

Another party at another frat house, where the guys knew nothing about the regular price of weed — and Ellie wasn’t above not pricing her stuff up to take advantage. Her stuff was good, she thought. They should be paying this much.

“How much you made so far?” Jesse yelled over the music to her, having made his way back over from doing shots. He was actually the one who got Ellie in, having friends from the house — that and the fact that no guy throwing a party was going to turn down a cool and discrete dealer with notoriously good product to keep the good vibes going.

“No idea, they keep handing me wads of cash — all I know is they’re way over paying me.” She chuckled, wiping her warm hands down her jeans. “Not complainin’.”

She’d usually be at these kind of ordeals with you on her arm, getting to watch over you having fun and dancing whilst she did her business. It made the evening go by faster, and the routine of the two of you going to grab greasy food from the nearest takeout joint was always something to look forward to. She pulled her phone out her pocket to text you, seeing you’d already left her a message.

‘how long until u come home?’

She glanced up, but she didn’t have to look to know that the party still in full swing with no signs of stopping.

‘Not for a while baby, you ok?’

Ellie watched the three bubbles on iMessage appear as you type, then disappear, then reappear, then disappear before you finally replied.

‘mhm’

A call came through on your end, Ellie walking out onto the porch with her cracked screen pressed to her ear, wandering away from all the noise for a moment to check on you.

“Hello?” You croaked, voice small and quiet.

“Tell me what’s wrong, babe.”

She wasn’t expecting you to start crying, not so soon anyways. Her stomach swirled in anxiety at the sound of you upset and her brows furrowed as she picked at her nail, waiting for you to tell her. “Why’re you crying?” Her voice was soft and sympathetic.

“S’nothin’ Els, just d’nt feel well and I tried everything but nothings making it better— n’I just miss you and I’m sorry cos I don’t wanna worry you whilst you’re out but—”

“Woah, hey hey hey.” She pacified you gently, trying to hide her concern. “Don’t stress. M’leaving now, gonna be with you soon okay?” She adjusted her backpack on her shoulders, leaning over to the window to see if she could flag Jesse down. The raven haired boy was too busy losing at beer pong so she turned away, spotting a back gate to leave out of.

“You don’t have to leave, I don’t want you to lose money.” You sniffled miserably, the sadness in your voice making her own frown deepen as she pushed open the creaky back gate onto the street, locating her car.

“Got plenty of money tonight babe. Hold tight okay? I’ll be with you soon.”

You were in her bed in her dorm when she arrived back, curled into a ball with a look of sleepy distress on your face. She shut the door behind her, slowly approaching you.

“Hey babe.” She whispered, her slender fingers pushing your hair back around your ear before placing the back of her hand on your forehead. Her hand was cold and it was soothing, blinking up at her in the dimly lit room.

“Think m’sick.” Your bottom lip wobbled and she shushed you gently, not wanting you to make yourself worse by crying. She perched down on the bed beside you, cold hand now stroking up your shirt (her shirt.) and rubbing circles on your back.

“Yeah, you’re burning up a little. Can you tell me what’s hurting?” She lilted, squinting a little in the low light to try and gauge how your face was looking.

“My head, and my throat too… and everything.” You groaned tearfully, rolling over to stuff your face into the bedsheets. She shuffled a little closer, hating seeing you in distress.

“Have you had any water?” Her hand moved up to stroke your hair, massaging your head slightly.

“Mm—mm.” You moaned into the sheets and she nodded, fetching your bottle.

“I’m gonna help you sit up, alright babe? C’mon, y’gotta help me out a little, yeah?” She scooped her hands beneath you, ignoring your whiney muffled protests. You used some of your energy to push yourself up with her help and she held you in her arms sat up. Burying your face into her, she held you letting you cry a little. “I know. Fuckin’ sucks huh, sweet girl.” Ellie sympathised before holding your pink water bottle to your lips. “Sip, don’t gulp it down.” She advised, her free hand that was wrapped around your shoulder stroking your arm. “Look, you got nothin’ to worry about okay? Not only am I the worlds best dealer… I’m also a nurse. And I’m gonna make you feel all better.” She smiled making you furrow your eyebrows, moving your mouth away from the bottle to cuddle her again.

“You’re not a nurse.” You accused and she blinked into space, continuing to hold you tight.

“Well. I am now.”

The night went on, and Ellie continued to soothe you well into the night, not being able to sleep or get comfortable — often bursting into tears and needing immediate assistance. “I just wanna sleep.” You sounded devastated, and she truly pitied you— nothing was making you feel better and she knew you were just going to have to ride it out.

“I know baby. We’ll get there… when we get there.” She huffed, almost frustrated with herself for not being able to help you more. “Y’want me to read to you, might help you get some sleep? Worth a try, right?” She leant down, persuading you in a hushed tone. You didn’t open your eyes, just nodded weakly giving her the green light to get up and grab one of her books from her desk. It was the Jurassic Park novel — always having it on her being one of her favourite books.

She settled down on her bed, letting you clamber up to lay your head in her lap. She had changed into her sweatpants around two hours ago, and you found comfort in the softness against your cheek. She began reading, book pulled close to her face to be able to read the words in the low light — not wanting to turn any lights on as to aggravate your headache. Halfway into Chapter 2, she finally heard the soft snore of your eventual sleep against her leg— and Ellie felt herself relax, knowing she’d completed her girlfriend duties for now to a satisfactory level. She knew you hated being sick, and that you were miserable — but Ellie would still choose to be here looking after you than dealing at some random party any day.

♡ ♡ ♡

#anon #dealer!ellie #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams prompt #ellie tlou2 fluff

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crazyk-imagine · 2 months

Text

Things I Hate... Oh, and Oranges

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Plus size!reader

Characters: Rafe Cameron, Plus size!reader, Topper Thornton, Kelce, Sarah, mentions of the pogues

Warnings: Biggest warning ever, yall ain't ready, their characters aren't as bad here, fluff, rafe being a simp, rafe totally in love with reader, topper and kelce are butt heads in a friend way, not the obx way, Sarah and reader are casual besties, like they did a group project, vibed and have been friends ever since

Word Count: 773

Based on this post

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

Sarah told you to come by around this time because no one would be home, and you needed somewhere quiet to study.

She forgot to mention she'd be out with John B.

You don’t mind though; it makes things a little easier since she won’t be around to distract you with her gossip.

Rafe walks in and stops as soon as he passes the entrance to the kitchen, wondering if what he just saw was real or not.

He takes a step back and stays in the shadows, watching you.

He brushes a hand through his hair, wondering if he looks okay or if he needs to change his shirt. He looks down and frowns, the blood stain from Barry is visible.

He runs upstairs to change his shirt, wincing at the tingling in his hand. He groans under his breath, “serves him right.”

He doesn’t regret punching his dealer, Barry knows better than to provoke him.

You wander around the kitchen, searching for a few items.

You stir up the better by hand, rather than trying to figure out how Sarah’s mixer works. You swear she only bought it so only she could use it and no one else.

A knock on the doorway alarms you causing you to almost spill the contents in the bowl. “Holy- you scared me.”

He chuckles, “sorry, I was- I didn’t mean to.”

You huff and smile, “it’s fine, a little jump start in the heart never hurt anyone.”

He chuckles, “what’re you making?” He takes a seat on the other side of the counter.

“My special bread.”

“I didn’t take you for a stoner.”

Your jaw drops, “I am not.”

He chuckles, “okay, Cheech.”

You shake your head and place it into the cute little bread pan you bought her. “Now we wait.”

His eyes follow you as you sit back down at your little study corner. “What’re doing?”

“Studying, what are you doing?”

“Watching you.”

You roll your eyes, “wouldn’t you rather be out, talking to some cute girl?”

“I already am.”

“Smooth, too smooth on your part, Rafe.” You glance up from your textbook, “did you practice that one in the mirror?”

“I’d rather practice on you.”

“I hate how good you are at this.”

The corner of his lip tugs upward, “I know.”

The ding of timer alerts you.

“Yay,” you cheer while running towards the oven to take it out and take a whiff of the goodness it’s giving off.

“Do you want to try some Rafe?” You ask, cutting into the hot loaf.

“You actually want to share with me?”

“Don’t be like that, Rafe. I’m being nice here and this is how you pay it back.”

He chuckles, “no, give me a slice.”

“Manners.”

He pouts, grabbing a plate and holding it out in front of him. “Please, can I have a slice?”

“Yes, you can, you dramatic little dork.”

“Nothing about me is little.”

You play off the heat in your cheeks as the air emanates off the bread. “Sure, sure.”

Kelce and Topper walk in, searching for the sweet scent wafting through the house.

“Yo Rafe,” Kelce calls out.

“In the kitchen.”

“You all speak so kindly to each other,” you tell him.

“Always, baby.”

“What smells so good?” Topper asks, stepping closer to you.

“Did you get a new perfume or something?”

You shake your head, “nope, just made my infamous bread.”

Their eyes practically widen at the sight. “We can’t wait.”

Kelce turns to Rafe and furrows his brow, “I thought you didn’t like orange?”

You turn towards him, seeing as he shoves the last piece of bread into his mouth. “You don’t like orange?”

He tries to argue and tell you he does but can’t as the other two take over.

“Yeah, he’s never been a fan of orange since he was a kid and his dad-” Topper smacks Kelce’s chest, causing the man to wheeze.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Rafe tells them as he takes a sip of water.

You grab his wrist and stop him. “Be honest, Rafe.”

He spins around and stares at you. “When am I not?”

You stare at him with a deadpan expression.

“Okay, I’ll be honest.”

“Do you or do you not like the loaf of bread I made?”

“It’s delicious. You know I think I could even eat it by myself.”

“You’re not lying.”

He shakes his head, “when have I ever lied to you?”

You shrug, “fair enough.”

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louierecs · 1 month

Text

— ୨୧₊˚ More Rafe Cameron

— outer banks fic recs

— even more rafe

— back to main masterlist?

- gun play with rafe

- hands of an angel

- rafe knows how to fuck with best friend reader’s brain in bed

- late nights

- Dealer!Rafe is the one who gives you lots of backshots

- rafe x cartgirl!reader (they deactivated so link to post on my page)

- sub!rafe

- enemy!rafe calling reader baby

- but daddy i love him!

- late on paying dealer!rafe, so he trades sex for the money

- favorite girl to see

- toxic!rafe blowing up your phone when you post something on instagram that he feels iffy about

- rafe letting you ride him because you're pissed off

- bsf!rafe waking up with morning wood

- princess treatment

- cowboy take me away

- bsf!rafe helping you have your first orgasm with someone

- riding rafe

- rafe bullying you during sex until you cry

- morning wood

- morning sex w rafey and it’s all sleepy

- Dealer!Rafe who keeps your purse full and your pussy fed

- mean!s1!rafe who just loves to have pogue!sweetheart!reader around because they’re polar opposites

- rafe is a tits man

- rafe who just shoves his fingers in your mouth to shut you up n ‘reset’ you if you're being a brat

- rafe sends you money to treat yourself while he’s away on some business

- the 'it' couple

- (not) my girl

- fwb!rafe x meanprincess!reader

- Dealer!Rafe who makes it up to you after a busy week

- i'm yours (bsf!rafe)

- sweet treat

- rafe lets his girl do a bump

- smarty

- reader and rafe going to pick their children at school, and the other dads stare at reader making rafe possesive

- after lecture punishment

- rafe being your designated driver and you just can’t keep ur hands off of him cause he looks so good

- rafe making her squirt for the first time

- bathroom break

- Pornstar!Rafe who almost makes you break the camera

- Rafe disliking his son friend's because they crush on reader

- being rafe's girl

- free use!rafe

- a little ruthless anal fun with pornstar!rafe

- rafe being an absolute dickhead to everyone but you

- faking an orgasm with bluecollar!rafe

- mutual masturbation with stepbro!rafe

- rafe fingering you hard till your crying and begging him to stop but he won't until you squirt multiple times

- talking with dealer!rafe at a party while waiting for your friend

- older!rafe x spoiled!kook!reader

- pornstar!rafe who bends you like a fucking pretzel

- babydaddy!rafe taking toddler!daughter out for the day because you have plans

- personal trainer!rafe who always compliments your gym fits at every session

- bsf!rafe who has dumbed you down so much that you don’t even feel bad that he’s cheating on his girlfriend with you

- rafe gets turned on when you slap him

- flashing rafe during an argument

- rafe cameron x bestfriend!reader who are secretly in love

- rafe cumming inside of reader then holding her open and making her push it all out

- reader and husband!rafe who have been on the rocks lately

- pornstar!Rafe who's showing off what's his

- hidden pleasure

- trailer park!rafe letting reader play dress up in his clothes ‘cause he knows his girl loves fashion and modeling

- shy reader is still a bit skittish and shy when her and rafe are fucking

- rafe x influencer!reader

- like her mama

- rafe pactically drooling at how his best friend looks underneath him

- scary? my god, you're divine

- the first time kook!reader had given bsf!rafe head

- Dealer!Rafe can’t go a day without spoiling you

- husband dilf!rafe who worships you and then fucks you hard

- riding rafe in the country club

- band!rafe overstimulating you after you flirted with another guy at his show

- band!rafe who eats you out so good

- mean band!rafe who loves playing rough

- Band!Rafe Who Just Missed You So Much While On Tour

⋆˚࿔ reblog your creators 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

#— ୨୧₊˚ fic rec masterlist #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #fic recs #fic rec blog

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fictionismyreality3 · 9 months

Note

CAN YOU GIVE US MORE OF JASON STALKING?? I SWEAR TO U, IS REALLY HOTTTT AAAAH

I loved your writing btw

Omgomgomg hi babes!!!! You’re my first ask ever!!! You’ll forever have place in my heart 🥲 but really that is so sweet of you, and toTALLY STALKER JASON IS SO HOT HERE YOU GO

A Little bit of Sunshine

Jason Todd x Reader

Tags: stalker!jason todd, innocent!reader

Warnings: stalking, mention of drugs

Notes: I’m actually dying at picturing getting stalked by Jay 😩 like that should not be hot but it is??? If people like this I might make it into a mini series or something 👀

He was going to stop the first night.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Since Jason had come back from the Pit, being alive was something of a nuisance. Whatever weird ass magic they used to bring him back to life had made it harder to control himself in every way. He went on a year-long violent rampage, much to Bruce’s disdain, that left Gotham in shambles.

Only now was he actually putting a good face behind the name of the Red Hood. It’s not like he wanted to hurt people, but when everything was so vivid, it was hard to listen to Bruce’s non-lethal policy. But as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted Bruce to trust him again.

So, when Dick was called out of Bludhaven for some other crisis, Jason volunteered to help with patrol.

It was the third day of what was supposed to be a week-long shift in Bludhaven, and nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Sure he had broken the legs of a few robbers when they tried to run from him, but it was all in good fun.

In fact, Jason was dying for some fun. Bludhaven was somehow even darker and dingier than the rest of Gotham, and it was getting tiring only having drug dealers to play with. The rain was coming down, casting a foggy overcast to the darkening sky, and most of the sane residents had retreated to their homes. Everyone who had ever been to Bludhaven knew that nighttime was when the dangerous criminals liked to do their work.

Which is why Jason was a little astonished that a seemingly random girl was stupid enough to walk home in the dark.

Living in Bludhaven wasn't ideal, but the rent was cheap and that's all that mattered. You had been working at a donation center for the homeless for the last few months, wanting to help out the city in any way you could. It wasn't that you were trying to be a hero or something, you just didn't like seeing other people suffering. It also helped that volunteer work looked killer on a resume. The staff loved you, and quickly entrusted you with the keys, giving you the last shift of the night.

You usually walked home with one of your co-workers, a woman in her 60s named Rose. It wasn't the typical company for someone your age, but her never-ending stories were nice to zone out to after a long day of work. Rose was sick today, which meant you had to walk home alone. Looking out the window, you saw that it was already dark. Definitely not ideal. But, you had made the trip hundreds of times and knew all the shortcuts to get you home quicker.

Jason watched as the girl walked down the dimly-lit streets. He was going to just leave it, and let you learn your lesson the hard way, but then he took a second glance at you.

He thought the Pit bringing him back to life was the closest thing he'd ever get to seeing heaven. But now?

Now he knew he was dead wrong.

A soft face with pretty lips and pretty hair and pretty everything. Jason felt his heart beat inside his chest with a vigour that betrayed the dead man he thought he was. All of the lonely, unclear and dangerous thoughts in his head suddenly vanished. His breaths were heavy and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the pretty little thing walking all alone. He felt like there was blood flowing in his veins again. He felt alive.

If you were walking alone at this time of night you were either innocent or stupid, and the innocence was practically rolling off you in waves. You were far too sweet for this place. His eyes scanned the logo of the bag you were carrying and his heart exploded and regrew in his chest all at once. The kind face you had made sense if you were generous enough to work at one of Bludhaven's seedy donation buildings. His mouth went dry at the idea of anything remotely distressing happening to you.

Fuck it.

He was just gonna make sure you got home safe. That's all it was.

Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, Jason silently followed you as you walked home, watching from above like a twisted guardian angel. He was always on high alert, he was raised to be vigilant, but he found himself paying extra close attention to every single movement he saw out of the corner of his eye. Logic was telling him that if he was going through all this trouble to make sure a random girl was safe, he should just jump down from the roof and walk you home instead of watching like some-

Oh, that was cute.

Jason's gaze followed your hands as you pulled your keys from your bag. The fabric keychain they were attached to was dotted with tiny drawings of the sun. He hadn't even realized that you'd gotten home. Perching on a rooftop, he kept you in his vision while he quickly scanned the area where you lived. It wasn't the best, nothing in Bludhaven was, but at least it wasn't at the south tip of the city.

You had finally gotten home after a long day. Oddly, the walk didn't feel as scary as you expected. Sighing, you took out your keys and unlocked your front door, slipping inside your apartment. After making sure your door was locked, you kicked off your shoes and hung up your jacket, a yawn falling from your lips. You were definitely gonna call it an early night.

The soft clicking of your front door shutting brought Jason's attention back to the present. You obviously got home safe. He should get going. He should get going.

But he stayed rooted on the spot.

The rain fell around him, hitting the concrete rooftop he was frozen on. His helmet suddenly felt claustrophobic and he took it off gasping, the rain soaking his hair. The cold rush of despairing thoughts that he had grown used to flooded back into his brain. His heart grew still in his chest and he felt his smile disappear.

He had smiled?

He hadn't smiled since the pit. He hadn't smiled since he died. You retreated into your apartment and took all the sunshine with you. The sunshine that hadn't been able to reach his skin for years. With a sickening thought, Jason realized that he was about to make a very, very, very bad decision.

Who was he to deny himself happiness? Didn't he deserve to be happy after everything he had been through? He argued with himself as his gaze remained on your front door, trying to will himself to push away the wickedly possessive desire that he felt for you. Jason ran through all the possible outcomes that could come from.. whatever this was, but nothing held a match at the prospect of having you. He had to have you.

Fuck it.

Locking away the part of his mind which screamed at him to stop, he leapt from the rooftop, landing softly on the balls of his feet. Carefully, his head on a swivel for anyone walking by, he took out his phone. His finger hovered over the photo button, his mind telling him that if he did this, there was no going back. He snapped a photo of your apartment.

As he made his way back to the safehouse he was staying in, he could feel you being cemented in his mind. Every raindrop that hit his skin felt like it was washing away everything that he thought was important until only you remained. The image of your precious face became ingrained in his mind. By the time he got back to his safehouse, the only goal he had was to know as much about you as he possibly could.

He was already at his computer, his helmet tossed to the other side of the room. His clothes were still soaked from the rain, but he didn't care. This was more important. You were more important.

Using Bruce's tech, being careful not to leave a trace, he uploaded the photo he had taken of your apartment and began to run a search. Within less than 5 minutes he had everything he would need to keep you for himself. Your school records, social media posts, and more were at his fingertips. He took the liberty of adding himself to your bank account, hacking in so he could be aware of every transaction you made. Soon he would be the one making them for you.

Jason spent the night scrolling through your information. For once he was glad for Bruce's training, as his disciplined mind allowed him to commit everything about you to memory. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, and he was vaguely aware that it was well past 3AM, but he was enraptured reading your search history.

How to change a lightbulb?

Cute.

As soon as he could get a copy of your key made you would never need to change a lightbulb again. Every so often he would come across a photo of you dressed up for some event; a christmas party, a graduation, whatever. When he saw those photos, every doubt that was trying to creep back into his mind was pushed away by his increasingly twisted desire for you.

Jason knew he had gone off the deep end, but if this is what drowning felt like he would gladly let you kill him all over again. When he went to bed that night, he fell asleep knowing you now belonged to him.

And you didn't even know it yet.

#oneshot #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfiction #stalker!jason todd #jason todd

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cherubispunk · 9 months

Text

CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world!

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wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

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The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

“You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.

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joannasteez · 9 months

Text

with me, the world is yours

pairing: roman reigns x black reader authors note: i wrote all of this late summer/early fall and after breaking away from it for so long, i've kind of lost the drive to finish the story in the original way i'd intended to write it, BUT, i am willing to add to it in small ways with little drabbles and such. so whoever reads this, please consider it as background/exposition and or a prologue to whatever gets added to it. if anyone wants to see something added to this specific story please drop me scenarios in my inbox!! word count: 8k

he liked to walk the floor

carpet smooth beneath the expensive drop of his heel and toe. hubris a limitless force, the broad width of his chest swelling. pride, unsullied, raw and ever simple in its existence. it was a deep elegant staining streak along his being that refused to leave him, unless of course he willed it so. and the casino floor of The Summer Isle Hotel, his hotel, filled with this great thundering of rage and joy and desperation. tiny drops of poker chips like small striking claps. the flipping of cards giving that easy slipping swoop against padded black jack tables. the hum of the room was loud, because the room itself seemed, to his eye, to never end. a tenacious buzzing that simmered his blood quick, excited.

the night was young. restless. ruby red suede heels moving, clever and seductive. the color of champagne at every corner his eyes took him, bubbling rich in flutes and set in the sweet form of silk dresses. pearls sitting tempting over cleavages and diamonds dressing the sturdiness of fingers that roamed the figures of excitable women. emeralds, jades and sapphires, taking every shape against the skin that would have it.

earrings, anklets, rings, bracelets......

whiskey and brandy swishing in glasses......

dry champagne hitting the tongue just right......

bodies hugging, lips kissing, eyes glazed over and just so damn greedy......

this...this ceaseless atmosphere. the un-quelled need to have. to take hold. to win.

roman loved to walk the casino floor of his hotel.

but he hated, absolutely hated cheaters. fucking thieves, cunning-less and eager. their tact lacking just as much as their ambition. roman figured, if their schemes were anymore complex, then he'd feel somehow better about their stealing. he'd at least respect their finesse before using their heads to shove them out the entryway doors of the establishment. and what a fine establishment it was, built off the sweat of his brow, his, others, blood and many tears. owning a hotel on the vegas strip was no easy feat and he'd be damned if someone disrespected it. disrespected his work. his vision.

...so then why?...

your eyes flit over to a table just some feet away.

...why did he let you play your games?...

a man in muted clothes gives you a signal. many silent signals, ones roman was once oblivious to, but now overly familiar with, as if he created them himself.

...four seconds of a stare. one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four. four meaning spade, given they were following the alphabetical order of the suits.

the man, face more punchable by the minute, touches his nose. meaning, the spade is a face card.

and the fucking dealer is young, flips up his card too easily, exposing just before he deals.

roman wants to do many things. to the man, the dealer, and the other pairs around the other blackjack tables following the same system. his fingers curl, ball inward till his palm pains him but his eyes remain as they always did. fiercely void, teetering delicate on some fine line of violence, until you move. speak.

"blackjack", you call. with just enough disinterest that prides the flow of his blood. makes him smirk.

"they've all been at it for days", paul bristles.

"end it", roman calls, walking away.

---

you despised most men, despised their presence, looking at them, unnecessarily speaking to them, breathing the same air as them. they'd bred more trouble than they were ever worth and always, without fail, served up to you, on some disgusting dish, half baked and ill formed, the least discreet of charms, to win even slivers of your attention. it was the usual lousy song and dance, artless and heavy handed. you despised most of them, because they led you to places like these with promises too alluring to ignore. all you wanted, want still, is the money. its all you need.

and they'd all but manhandled you from the casino floor to a room. two men, one barely distinguishable from the other, but then again...they donned shades that matched their disapproving looks. lips turned in scrutiny. but what the fuck did they know anyway?... fuck them and this...this room. a holding of some sort. walls white, chairs black, a purposeful minimalistic touch crafted to intimidate. and it was working...even if just slightly.

your chair creaks, wooden and anxious. you hated this, always would. this forceful feel of surrendering.

and you don't speak first, but because of that neither does he.

grey's scattered about his beard, scarce but still there. slight face lines...stress maybe?...and tawny specks living as freckles. he's groomed to perfection but still there's something about him, a flare in his eye that lends itself to a buried ruggedness. a meticulous sort of brutality.

and he's just sitting there...

...close to you but not too close. enough to open you with his eyes, but not enough to leave you breathless...

he's practiced in this. patient.

...he can't do this all day... you think, till his body sits more comfortable than before. he will if he has to, and he will. to prove a point. to win.

the room is cold. sterile. you shiver some, the first to say anything.

"i didn't do anything wrong".

"then why so defensive?"

you felt some ways away from lethal and the reasons for such a feeling mounting more every second. forming knots in your belly, heat and pressure. guilt and a sickly intrigue. his voice was rich and deep. smooth and commanding. if in another place, at some other time, you could see yourself falling for that voice, lulled and taken by it. you hate it, the hot twinge it drives into your skin. you grow sharp, words throwing like daggers.

"if you were me, sitting where i am, you'd be defensive too".

"i could have you brought up on charges", he presses. toying really. flip and flopping between seriousness and sarcasm. the heels of his shoes click the floors, and you fall slow into the creak of the chair, pulling away from the size of him as he approaches. he bends, levels with you, but even this feels like a looking down upon. "cheating and swindling. maybe even restitution".

"what?" you start. you cant help your self. "not nice enough for a little jail time".

you see his jaw shift. "smart mouth".

you move in with a sudden spell of boldness. "fuck you". your lips twist to spit against the floor. "and fuck your casino".

it's quick. harsh. his fingers long and curling at your jaw. he's warm, grip steady despite the push of your hands. he feels the fight in you, regardless of how soft you are to the touch. skin tender, like untouched feathers.

but still... that damn mouth of yours.

"you tried remember", mirthless but not.

"don't fucking touch me", you rant. hitting at him harder. attempting without end to pry away his fingers, until finally he lets go.

and it's rather shortsighted but brave nonetheless, the way your feet carry you to go at him. to do what exactly? you're not to entirely sure. but it doesn't matter much anyways, not when he's this mountain of a man. herculean and spiting. resolute in fucking with you a little for whatever enjoyment he can get out of the situation, and you know this to be true when your momentum to him is soured, a scream bleeding coarse through the walls.

the dense walls block most of the action, but the scream of pain is undeniable. the faint crush of bone breaking through to where you are, fixing you to the floor where you stand in some sickly mixture of fear and surprise.

"the money or their fingers i asked them". his stare is heavy. daunting. "some of them chose money, but of course they get to keep neither". he walks to the single entry-exit door. body taking up most of the frame. "paul, escort the young lady back to her room".

you scoff on instinct. hating the condescension his tone takes. you shift by them both in a way that knocks your shoulders into their arms. paul's chalky, round face as amused as his boss.

"i can escort myself".

---

amongst the other's lining the vegas strip, The Summer Isle Hotel is the second largest. and where the floors lack that bold blood red carpeting, there is laid instead a fine marbling, in the endless halls and walkways, polished enough to see even the faintest of facial details. the ceilings venture high, littered with crystal chandeliers and in the walls and on ceilings are engraved these renaissance inspired paintings. there is this rhythm to the place, something archaic and forever far away, that is meant to always be desired. as people sip champagne, drunk and more verbose by the second, bleeding their pockets dry to their hearts content, the artistry of the hotel leaves them wondered and greedy. that even as they eat the finest food and drink the oldest wines, there is more to indulge in. more to have, to reach that unreachable place of pure luxury.

it was extravagant and all consuming, and pieces of you wondered what it all felt like. to never want or lack for it, because it was just simply there, at the edge of your fingertips.

the hotel was big enough to get lost in, big enough to lose others in, so when paul sits himself at your table for two, security detailing not too far, just at the edges of the bar, you grow weary and annoyed. he'd been looking for you.

you swirl your drink with a cocktail straw. feeling the pressure of his stare. "im being babysat now?"

his hands fold with an instinctive diplomacy.

"just call it reassurance".

reassurance...that was bullshit. you didn't need to be told things more than once, especially when the talk was as loud and showy as it was earlier. "he made it pretty clear what can happen. i'm a cheater, not stupid".

"there isn't always much of a difference between the two".

you hum, sipping what's left of your drink. "if you're gonna chat me up, buy me another drink then". his brow raises, as if in waiting. you sigh, annoyed at having to perform niceties. "please".

its expert and concise, a look and just under a handful of gestures to the bartender, but his awareness never wavers from the already empty cocktail glasses where vodka-cran once filled. three to be exact. this fourth, he hopes, would be your last, as it was now that the glazing over of your eyes was coming underway. and he'd originally been an advocate for roman's earlier display of brutish prowess, and still is in all honesty, but seeing you, it did unsettle him in very few but poignant ways. he knew enough to know that you were attempting a drowning of frenzied nerve. sitting here, he hopes you understand, like everything else on the strip... its just business.

paul shifts. bringing his chair slightly closer. "the system you use on the blackjack tables, how long did it take to come up with it?"

"not long, maybe a few minutes", you start. sipping and thinking on whether to indulge him or not. but it seems to you now that the whole trip has gone to complete shit so why not. "it's all about assigning basic signals to cards but it's the memory part that fucks people up. memory and performance anxiety". paul chuckles at the absurdity and you grin, slightly pleased at his interest. "practicing in a warehouse versus being on a casino floor, at a table. it's different. anything can happen".

you push away the drink. satisfied. paul's eyes turn soft, with what you think is relief. why relief?

"and then theres the whole finding a weak dealer situation", you continue. "no offense, you guys have a better looking hotel but the venetian runs tight security".

"noted".

its your turn to shift in your chair. asking the question you've been wanting the answer to since the moment happened. "why didn't he break my fingers?"

"who knows. maybe he's waiting for you to get stupid", paul jokes.

"you either are or you aren't. no in between".

"that means you'll stay put then?"

you scoff. "what, i'm on lockdown?"

"the boss says you're free to do as you please. just no stealing".

you smile coy, standing to leave. "you wouldn't mind covering the tab then? can't seem to find my wallet".

---

thief. cheater. schemer. you've heard many names and resented none of them, because at their root, the truth remained what it was. it was artistry. and if you're clever enough, sharp enough, quick enough, finessing could be masterful. the constant putting together of a challenge, a game. and it was practical to love games, because good players win.

but this? this was not practical. he was not practical.

he seemed to be playing a different game entirely. you figure solely to spite you. a figurative spitting in the face if you will.

every waiter of every bar in every corner of the hotel knew your cocktail order. vodka-cran with lime, extra ice. a splash of club soda.

the security detail seemingly doubled overnight and each of them never failed to greet you. a smile and a head tipping nod.

casino floor personnel, always with a subtle but sudden direction, pointed out to you the slots that paid out the biggest and the most often.

the restaurants you dined in refused to give you the check and when you asked why, flustered and confused, they gave the same answer every time.

"because the boss said so".

complementary goods in your hotel room. aged wines and sweets.

tickets to shows you neither wanted to attend or cared for.

if you were a different woman, who lived a different life, you figure she'd find this every bit as enticing as it was. enchanting even. grand gestures made out of some sickly sweet distant admiration. but you were not her and most men you knew or had known only did things; provided, loved, cared, with condition. so only one questioned remained. why? and after days of guessing games, a stomach turning foreboding shifted swiftly to irritation. he'd upped the ante finally, moving from these fairly small gestures, which to you were not small at all, to something a little bit too much for you to take.

and you wonder now if he knows that he's reached your end, knocking hard at the ceiling of your limits. body simmering hot with this slow to finish unraveling feeling. as if at any moment unknown to you, you'll break in some uncontrolled fit of rage. he was becoming more persistent, silent still but more persistent and the affects of such persistence were all around you. soft wool carpeting where marble floors ended, a detailed fretwork spanning every corner of the ceilings, and french sliding doors connecting you to a wide stretched pool looking over the vegas strip.

"the boss sends his regards", housekeeping said after it was all said and done.

from the 6th floor straight up to the 39th, he'd gotten them to move everything you'd bought with you. your clothes, shoes, purses, from a studio room you could just barely pay for, to the penthouse suite.

all of this, and a tiny note atop the dresser.

enjoy your stay - roman

"roman", you try aloud.

it isn't till the next day that you realize he's quite fond of leaving these little letters. words thin and cursive. messages brief enough to never reveal even a semblance of his thoughts.

friday morning his words scribble a small card stuck to the center of a bouquet of white roses.

white desdemona's. enjoy the roses - roman

you struggle for sometime in the bright silence of the morning. the busyness of the vegas strip bleeding a hum in through the sliding french doors. it wouldn't be hard, indulging him. cling fast and easy to soft petaled gestures, quelling finally that wayward need for a romantic sort of fascination. buried so long ago but clawing upwards tirelessly still, begging for relief. but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, which in the same breath meant denying him. tearing that pristine white card in two and setting the roses out to sit just in front your suite door. to send a message, simple but strong, enough for him to understand.

a sudden knock urges you to settle into a resolution quickly. quicker than you were prepared for. the white card now in your hand tearing into two pieces with a twist of your wrist as you go to open the door.

its house keeping.

you place the torn paper in their hand before stepping out of the suite, furthering more down the hallway to the elevator by the second. the roses themselves were too lovely to get rid of anyways.

"tell your boss i send my regards".

---

would you believe them?

a less than modest woman from the north east, standing above the illustrious wonder of the vegas strip. and from your glass flute a slow, smooth sip, along with some restless awakening of a dream, even if it last only for a moment. an imagining from this high place, that with a deep sure breath like some figure from beyond with a vast primordial power, you gave life to this idle desert, and with sun and sand, birthed from pure will what they call fabulous las vegas. but this must be what he feels, day after day, night after night, standing above the rest, the staunch rush of pride, like something simmered well into the run of his blood. for you it was this endless day dream, the money, the power, the access, but for him, it seemed real. it was real.

and still the question remains... would you believe them? a cunning woman, wrapped strapless in leather fine enough to please even the most marred skin, and heels that extend the vicious form of your legs.

just tuesday you were cursing the good name and fortune of this place with your dna splat just mere inches from his shoes, and now here you are friday, waiting for him.

if they, whoever they are, told you sometime ago that you'd be here, you wouldn't have believed them.

he'd done well to send another card, and with it, another gift.

the rendezvous. 7pm - roman

he'd gotten house keeping to do more of his dirty work, the poor bastards, but even their precision was daunting. the placement of the card, and the gift, and the complementary wine, and a single blooming stargazer. the petals dainty and blushing. it'd left you standing deep in a well of emotion, finding everything he'd left, and your bed taken by a box. the lid pulled off quickly by that gnawing urge to indulge him. and despite his initial brutish behavior and persistence, it was safe to say that the man was not void of taste.

but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, like a chant, it'd echoed, and your fingers ran over the plains of something silky. a dress, cool raven color, strong and subduing, but the fabric was so fine to the touch it'd felt criminal to hold. and with it had lived perfumes, bottle after bottle, as if he feared you'd somehow go without. and... fuck... sitting, waiting really, in a satin pouch... two pairs of goddamned diamond earrings. one pair smaller than the other, but both far more delicate than most things you'd ever owned. and soon the short warm swell of excitement had grown cold and hesitating. why was he doing this? what did he want from you?

they were questions you intended to get answers to and it seemed if they weren't answered now then who knows when, unsure if you'd ever see him again.

"you didn't like the roses"

your heart takes to some quick instinctual beating. a ragged fraying of nerves just off the simple sooth and strength of his voice. before, in that silent white room, you were sharp, aware of him but the power of his aura did nothing to sway your wanting to see him pained by your indifference to him. now though... it was so damn different now it seemed, as you were a small ways away from a purely formed nervousness.

you turn just enough to give him your profile, sipping slow at the flute, steeling one buzz under your skin away with another. "i'd like them more if they were red". you face him finally, staying leant up against the balcony railing of the restaurant. "but it seems i don't have much option or choice here".

"no need to choose when everything is the best".

"that doesn't sound self important at all".

"doesn't make it any less true".

champagne has never tasted so good, you think, sipping and fighting the impulse to look away from him. his eyes softer than before but still lying in them are traces of searching for some unspoken truth. it was a much more subdued attempt compared to before, every pass his eyes made about your own, short flickers to your lips, the way you clutched the glass, your hair, your jewelry, the dress you were wearing, like a gentle pealing back of a layer. less scrutiny out of a short bout of anger and more of a learning. he'd come to the conclusion after watching you leave the white room all those days ago that he wanted to learn you.

here now, watching you sip champagne, he wondered if you'd let him.

"listen", you start. taking a closer step to him, with some new found form of resolution, and its hard to keep this will strong and steeled away when he's this close. scent heady and soothing to your senses. "i don't know what you're thinking, but i do know that you got me a lot of fucked up for just hauling my shit-"

"the suite is yours for as long as you want it"

"i'm not paying for it"

his grin is warm. inviting. long fingers slipping the flute from your hold after its been emptied to set it down at a nearby table. "it's yours anyways".

your confusion is palpable, lives in the way you retreat closer to the banister again, for fresher air void of him. in hopes to think more clearly. "just the other day you practically had me hemmed up and now you're-"

"that was different. it was business".

you scoff. "business my ass, fuck you-"

"and fuck my casino, i know".

it's your go to insult it seems, this time having less of an affect on him, but still there is something there. a small stinging pain bruising the very large stain of ego.

you look to him with searching eyes of your own. "so the wine... and-and the roses and just... everything, i mean thats?..."

"gifts. just gifts. not to be payed back ever".

your face fixes in a fashion similar to the first time you spoke to him. eyes defensive and unsure, brows pulling in for a full measure of scrutiny. "why?"

"have dinner with me".

you press again. "why?"

"because", he starts, with a streak of vulnerability. "all of my attention is taken up by a casino resort on the strip of one of the busiest places in the world but for some reason, for the last 72 hours or so i've only been able to think clearly about you".

your eyes roll off instinct despite the flutter feeling in your gut. "am i supposed to be flattered?"

"its the truth".

roman hadn't been a man who lent himself to believing in chance or possibility for sometime. if he wanted something, or hell even someone, it simply happened, because thats the way it had been, since the first burst of the resorts success till before this very moment. when he spoke, the world of the resort opened and bent, twisted and curved till it formed to his liking, so much until the effects of his wants rippled through the whole of the strip till they echoed miles away, through the rolling of nevada desert dust. but you...

the click of your heels, the soft sway of your hips, the way words twisted from your lips comfortable because you knew yourself well enough to know that regardless of his capabilities you'd do something drastic and a bit ways away from reckless before ever letting him get the best of you.

that bravery, an unflinching flame, new and unpredictable and different and more exciting than anything he'd seen in sometime.

whether you were leaving or staying, he follows you and savors even the cut of your eyes. it's quick and fierce, unsure of its power but stripping the resolve of him all the same. and of course a curt look is all you give him, as he opens the door to the rendezvous and follows you in, not a word to him as waiters and well off patrons pass the both of you by. a leisure walk around pristine white cloth dressed tables and velvet chairs, each of your steps like some small conquering of a widely secured territory. his territory. you move more sure of yourself by the second and it rushes his warm and wanting.

with no real hurry, roman pulls out the chair you've picked to sit in just before you can make to do it yourself, finding himself closer than he needs to be, just some inches from your face. each breath in, sweet and tempting. the perfume he bought you...

you sit without a word, not even a thank you, and he finds himself more drawn in by the second.

it isn't until he sits himself that roman realizes you've chosen a seat at the center of the restaurant. and whether it's purposeful or not, it's damn sure fitting.

a trivial orbit of faces and voices.

"you don't take no for an answer do you?"

"when you're where i am, after a while, you stop asking and getting asked. you never even have to hear no".

its arrogant, eye roll worthy even, but you don't miss the truth in it. the pull of his brows together, lending themselves to a pure honesty. and it's hard, quelling that pull up of envy. to be so well off, so rich, never having to answer to any one. i wish, you thought. i wish

your finger trails along the fine table cloth. "i must have you so out of sorts then, how rude of me".

"it's fun", he grins. a single finger signaling someone. " 'm learning my manners again".

and there was this fidelity to his words ......everything is the best because i am the best...... a quality that spilled over into everything that he touched, spoked to, looked at, and did. it was this undeniable thing, a force, that caused such a natural hesitation in you, but also this impulse to fight. you wanted to struggle against him, war with the easy diligence of him till he folded. cracking under the weight of his hubris till large fragmented pieces ground to dust. but you would not win that battle today, no, not as waiters execute their level of precision, plate after plate set atop the table in such a meticulous manner that it seemed to be planned. a well thought scheme with the intent to impress. dish after dish, revealed, one after the other smelling more divine than the one before it.

the waiter, an adorably eager young man, falls into a spiel about the wine you can't be bothered to care about. his work of a perfect pour all for nothing. it nearly pains you. "i'll take a water please".

the waiter flattens. a curt nod as he hurries away.

"it's vintage", roman says. seemingly unaffected by your disinterest in old aged wine.

" 'm sure it is". eyeing him. the sip his lips take. "seems you've had things all planned out. what if i'd said no?"

"someone else's lucky night then. a free meal on the house".

"do you have a ready made answer to everything?".

"i am who i am. it's impossible not to". the cut of your knives into plated steaks reveals this smooth buttery finish. the meat tender against the blade and more so to the taste. and it takes everything in you not to moan or go cross eyed, not when he's watching your every move. seemingly studying and committing your eyes and lips and words to memory. no, you simply chew. sip at your water and live as quiet in your delight as possible. till of course it hits you, not as hard or sudden as one would expect, but it's more of a washing over. a stilled piecing together that quickens your pulse and frowns out the apathy on your lips.

you stare down at your plate. a short ways away from dumbfounded. "you know how i like my steak". even the way he chews is perfect. measured and steady. a luxurious sort of etiquette steeped into the make of him. but you find that his manners are selective, as he doesn't even bother to meet your eyes. low sitting and accusing. he chews as you did, but with more leisure. the slice of his knife and the clink of his fork fighting against the waiting you do in the silence. even when he works to indulge you, he abides in his own time, lets you wrestle with the trivial chatter of the room the way you did not so long ago with the abundance of his gifts.

he wipes his mouth with a cloth. a feigned unawareness about him.

"the chefs know how you like your steak".

you scoff. maybe your tenth eye roll of the night. " and the bartenders so conveniently know how i like my cocktails too".

he sips his wine easy like he would water. "they have an eye for detail, thats why they work here".

"or maybe", you start. fork an obnoxious clinking at the plate as it drops dramatic from your fingers. "just maybe it's someone else's eyes they're looking through. someone else's words they're following".

"maybe".

...so fucking goddamn frustrating... you think. eyeing the full table of food. and it's less anger and more confusion, that slow to finish fraying of nerves. these things that he does, says, that leave you emotionally inconvenienced.

"you don't know how insane it feels, night after night, trying to pick up a check for dinner and the waiter refuses your money. it feels like stealing".

he chuckles. "something you should be used to then".

"fuck you. i only steal out of necessity".

and this was it, the thing from which his curiosities where born, feverish in his fingers. an ache to flex broad and wide, to do and make till need was just a distant word laying dead at the recesses of your mind. necessities were strange, and if it became flesh and bone with legs and the will to speak it too would be a stranger to him. roman had not wanted for anything in some time, and if he felt in himself that he needed something, the readiness by which it came to him revealed only that he did not need it, but that he wanted it, in that covetous way that a man wants another mans woman. and so it became natural, that others around him would not need for anything either.

the way he's settled into the velvet of the chair becomes less leisure, leaning in slightly with a more focused determination. "what do you need?"

your smile is wry. unconvinced. "like you care".

"if you could have anything, what would it be?"

the list was endless it seemed, a question you'd asked and answered thousands of times and then thousands of times again. cars, houses, shoes, clothes, jewelry, yachts, boats. trivial and obnoxiously expensive things even, if it meant that you could feel the freedom of just being. it was an easy thing to answer, but so hard still when all the answers were far away from you, never even brushing faint at your fingertips.

and he thinks in this moment, your eyes softening, this is the most serious he's ever seen you.

"i wanna be comfortable. enough not to worry about anything".

"and why aren't you there yet?"

"i tried", a finger of yours slipping against the grip of the cutting knife. "but you stopped me".

but how could he question you? was your drive, your diligence to get what you wanted not legitimate because it was not legal? and with this, the question forms clear again, why the fuck were you here?

"a man at the top asking me why i'm all the way down here", your head shaking in this sly build of indignation. he had some nerve. "you don't see how shitty that is?"

roman feels something in him lessen. a deep pulling away that reflects in the flare that takes to your eyes. an edge that leaves the room a bit cooler than before. how could he have been so stupid and blind? judging you for the very thing that had left him in this whirl of curiosity and admiration.

" 'm not tryin to offend you".

"but here i am. offended".

he shifts, reaches the wide stretch of his palm to lay open against the table. an olive branch close enough for you to reach out and take. "let me make it up to you".

you consider him. the outstretch of his palm. fingers strong and waiting. the way his eyes settle into this mild sort of kindness that still lends itself to something not so pleasing. the warm lights amongst the crystals of hanging chandeliers casting along his face in such a way that it shadows his eyes some but still shines against his features. speaking so clearly to the deepened well of his hubris, always revealing and hiding itself in his own time. he is a sure man, wanting only what he wants, but seeks it in such a diligent way that it suffocates the things, the people that he desires. but maybe, just maybe, if you leave him wanting, challenged and needy, he would give you everything.

your finger tips move to tease at his. this faint dancing along his palm. "if you're gonna send me gifts, make sure it's things i like". touch a sly caress at his wrist. "i'm not a wine girl, and i hate seeing flowers die".

he lets your touch play along his skin. revels silent in the rush it sends, a jetting stream into his blood.

"what do you prefer?"

you slip off a ring that shines against his pinky. fitting it onto your middle one. your stare is this rapturous thing. hypnotic and breath taking, and he understands why you've probably gotten away with so much till now.

"i have a sweet tooth".

"i can work with that".

you hum into a sigh, considering still. your hand balling his own to close that reaching opened palm before you settle back into your chair. more eased now than you've been the whole night.

"i hope so for your sake".

and roman does not hesitate often, certainly never out of fear. he doesn't mind the manner of his words much, or their phrasing and the life it breathes into his expression. he doesn't suffer much to care for the thoughts of others and their own words, unless of course it somehow seeks to exist against his money, the resort or the greatness of his name. roman wasn't fearful, no, but being here with you, caution takes him all the same. like those tentative seconds where the lucky struck gambler is suspended in possibility, waiting for the dealers reveal.

his words take to a mindfulness, as if each word is brought out selectively. "has anyone ever offered, to take care of you. buy you things. take you places".

you laugh in that small uncontrollable way, when something, after so much confusion, becomes clear. because of course this is what he wants. of-fucking-course.

"some have. i always told them no".

"why?"

to think of it, even if just slightly, annoyed you. "conditions. restrictions. rules. you can't go there, you can't do this. that's not care".

"control is an acquired taste".

a grin slips into the seam of your lips. curious. "is it yours?"

his tongue peaks, a short run against his teeth, and something deep within, this buried and slow to rise feeling tightens at your core. maybe it wouldn't hurt to have a taste of wine.

his grin matches yours. "not if it ain't yours".

"out of all the woman everywhere, why me?"

"you try to steal from me, you spit on my casino floor, and you ain't missed a chance yet to tell me how you feel".

"we're into degradation i see", you joke. and it gets a laugh you think not many have experienced. it's something sincere, crinkling for some seconds the corners of his eyes. and despite the short bout of fondness that forms at hearing him laugh, he's got to be joking right? pulling your leg hard for an even bigger laugh. "i'm a thief roman".

"a very transparent thief. i don't meet people like that a lot".

it's a losing fight but still, it's hard not to push back.

"you barely know me".

"i could know you, if you let me".

"what's in it for you?"

sex, you think. when he's given you enough of his money and access, he'll ask for sex.

"your company".

---

riverside, california was not the vegas strip, and by all intents and purposes did not claim to be the notorious sin city. the breeze here was something warm and patient. a soft flowing about, satisfied only by its own directionlessness. but in a small whispered taunting way, it was unadulterated. the vegas strip was loud, this harsh numbing sort of droning that buried the more subtle, truthful noises and those skittish undercurrents in the skin that lent to fervent thoughts and ideas. the silence of riverside and the quaint rooftop air of antonella's was this exposing thing. and you'd come west to unashamedly connive your way into some money, but now you were here, unsure of the minutes, hours and even days to come, with him. sipping at coffee, and picking gentle but anxious at his diamond ring, feeling as aimless as the riverside wind.

and then, seemingly from no where, his shoes click against the cobblestone, steps slow and uniformed, a pace all his own. and as he sets down a fine spread atop the table; meats, cheeses, fruits, and small cakes, he can sense rather acutely this refusal to acknowledge him. from you, an amusing fight; one leg crossed over the other, a fidgeting in your fingers and this far away look else where, feigning indifference.

antonella's at noon - roman

he'd written as he liked to do, and yet it was a little passed two in the afternoon. the drive over to riverside lengthy and unknowing.

"you're late"

" 'm sorry?"

roman is amused but taken a back all the same. in the years of his success, lateness was not something to treat with avoidance or fear but just another trivial idea. something purely subjective. or maybe it was because things just ran on his time, started and stopped when his desires had not been met or when they'd exceeded his expectations. it was new to think that something like that was so bothersome for you.

he sits in the empty space of a double seated chair beside you. the wood fine and stripped, carved with intricate designs. his arm falling against the top. your bodies closer now than they've ever been.

"if i'm-", you shift to face him. eyes taken by the tan of his cheeks, sprinkled with freckles. lips full, and beard thick. his eyes softer than normal but still traces of an intensity to them. he's beautiful, even in his arrogance and persistence. "if i'm gonna do this. whatever this is, you have to be on time. i'm not a woman who likes to wait".

his eyes drop to the plump of your lips. existing there this thin tempting line of gloss. "yes ma'am".

and his stare lingers, a gentle taking in of the slight pout forming into the line of your lips and the soft round out of your cheeks. your eyes under the cast of the sun, more ethereal than not, but guarded some still in this impatient game of waiting for something that will quell that burden of unknowing. the small tells of your anxiety live in the way you play aimlessly at that ring you took from him, or rather the ring he let you take. even with your demands that fight against his own desires and your quick wits and your curt looks and your own bouts of teasing, you still hesitate for fear of the feelings that come with great disappointment. he wonders now if his words for you are not enough, and that though it had been enough for mostly everyone, you are not them. you are new and different and he'd have to treat you as such.

roman cuts a piece of cake easy, and on a fork it waits for you to indulge in it.

"taste this", he gives, handing you the fork.

"what is it?"

"panettone". his voice deep and delicate about the shape of the vowels, taking on a slight accent in reverence of the treat. italian?, you wonder.

the cake is buttery and sweet, a taste of fruit with each pass it takes over your tongue and theres something there as you sit with the taste of it that tells you that it's homemade. its a perfect mixture of everything, as if the baker had made it a thousand times, and then a thousand times more.

he reaches to pick off a piece of fruit with a slim pick, sleeves loose and revealing the beginnings of what you think is a full arm of connected tattoos. you wonder how far they travel, and where they possibly might end.

the strength of espresso wafts against the flow of a simple breeze as he takes to refilling the teeny size of your cup and then a splash of his own to taste.

he sighs, satisfied at the warmth of it. "you like it?".

"mhmm", you give. a sincerity lining your lips as you give him a small smile. it's something new, relaxed. an earnestness lacking that natural wary look you wear when you look at him. "you're taking my words to heart. i like a man who listens".

"i aim to please".

you slip the ring back onto your finger, less fidgety with it now. an easy settling of the tensity in your shoulders that allows your body to rest closer to him. facing inward so that the cross of your leg touches his. and it's this innocent, dainty step towards intimacy. where the gentle quiet of the day fills the air with a more tender possibility. guards are fallen away, more than before if anything, and your eyes shimmer warm and a little more accepting. i'll try, you think to your self, to believe him even if only for a moment. i'll indulge him.

"you like that ring?", he asks. staring at the way it shines against your finger.

at the mention of it, you twist the band about your finger.

"my mother thought the best thing a woman could do for herself was have jewelry. it's the only thing that doesn't disappoint". nostalgia a fine thread in your words. remembering the woman that taught you everything. and he sees the soft way your cheeks turn up. feels a need to keep them that way, but even more so when you look at him. "it's a little big, but it goes with my earrings".

my...my earrings. claiming fully the things that he'd gifted you.

his longer, stronger fingers reach for yours, for the ring, seemingly possessed by memory. and his touch is a light caress. featherweight and reverential. a shiver strums your skin there. teeming with the want for a heated relief found only in another pass of his finger, till it folds, along with the others, his over yours, to lock in an embrace.

"i had it made ten years ago", he tells you. "about a month after the resort opened. a gift to myself".

his thumb dances with a sweet brushing along your skin, with nothing particularly amorous, but there is comfort here, in your touch, a stranger. the way skin passes slow and steady to feel the other, lax and patient.

"it's still beautiful", your hand dropping to your lap, locked with his still, and the pull brings him just that much closer. a comfortable leaning in that gives way to him taking in more readily the heady sweetness of your perfume. his eyes and his mouth something like a foot away, but feeling so very close, so much so that it steals breaths. kickstarts that harsh beating in your blood, a drumming pulse in your fingers. you wonder if he feels it.

"it doesn't disappoint".

you smile. interested in him. "how old were you then?"

"28. you?"

you can see him at 28. untainted by the burning pace of vegas. his eyes ever intense but in them more of a smolder. his hair longer, with no flecks of grey. more unsure and less persistent. grasping at things that come to him so easily now.

"24".

and he'd love to meet 24 you. maybe not as quick witted but clever still. fast in your schemes with a maybe not so predictable temper. but still, a covetous touch to the things you wanted. needed.

"causing trouble where?", he chuckles.

"new york".

he looks at the ring. loose on your finger.

"ill have the ring resized to fit".

you shake your head. unsure. "it's something special. i don't wanna take that from you".

"you don't ask and you don't say thank you. if i give it, it's yours. simple".

he is as serious now as the day you first met him, and beyond all of your own doubting, there's this burden to believe him. the quiet fervor of his words and his touch, the warm glow of him amongst the day light and the unwavering hold his eyes take to yours. and his thumb runs a simple caress over where your pulse quickens harsh at the inside of your wrist, from surprise and need. a soft lulling that only seems to stoke the flame of a slow but sure to rise desire. it's yours, words promising and unfazed by the endless unknowns of tomorrow. so much so that he proves it, slips an envelope from his pocket till it finds its way into your hand.

and the envelope is mere trash compared to whats inside. a sleek black card, engraved with his own name.

your fingers slip at it. failing somewhat to hide the growing excitement. but there is disbelief here also, coming alive quick but dying quicker the more you feel the fixed weight of his decision, heavy in his eyes and warm at his touch. his intensity is a power all on its own, working well to lull you in. to subdue. a twinge at your core tells you that you are not immune. "is there a limit?"

"why would there be?"

you chuckle. "you're serious?"

"dead serious".

there's that twinge again, lingering hot and teasing. scares you away from his eyes and the tender hold of his touch, but he doesn't falter, even when your fingers leave the tangle of his. and then, caution breaks against the luxurious sort of excitement teeming quick, tightens into your fingers so that the card feels heavy. too fine to hold in your hands. but still, he remains, sitting with an endless patience, sure that he will win you over fully. if not today then soon.

the moment still seems too good to be true for you.

you sigh. "this all isn't just some round about way of trying to fuck me is it?"

but he doesn't hesitate. amused even.

"that only happens if you want it to sweetheart".

and it takes courage not to imagine it. the details of a daydream where his lips slip against your skin, hands strong and leading as they push and prod to his will, till you're just how he wants you, playing in these fast to leave flashes in your minds eyes. you think though, under his heavy gaze, that it's something to wonder about when he's not this close and determined to commit your every expression to memory. so you steel your face, fingers grabbing his cup to sip at his espresso, the curiosity of your daydreams attempting with a desperate sort of vigor to run away from you. they barely succeed.

with roman, you were in for something interesting.

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