#news from the house of bourbon

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, subjugation, Daddy-kink, chauvinism/misogyny, captive reader

fem reader

Board meetings and endless hours in his office, going from meeting to meeting, working over crappy proposals from other firms meanwhile surrounded by incompetent interns who’re only useful for making coffee runs. 

Only one pretty thing on his heavy mind…

He wishes he could keep you under his desk – no words, just your hot mouth wrapped around him – letting him spill all his frustrations down your throat.

He groans and quirks a brow at his watch.

It’s late. You’re probably at home with your hands between your thighs, waiting for him. Dressed up in pastel pinks – only frilly lingerie he’ll so easily tear only to buy more. 

Not that you need to wear anything at all when you’re not allowed to leave his house. 

But he likes the way it looks on you – next to nude, his little sex-kitten – all soft edges and warm plush flesh he can drown his burdened head in – soft fat he can card his ringed fingers into and squeeze tight – wrap you around him and just sink inside the comfort.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, cracks his knuckles, and downs the last two fingers of bourbon from his glass before standing up and rebuttoning his suit. 

There’s no point sitting here with a throbbing tent ruining the seams of his tailored suit. 

Might as well go home and take care of business there…

He saunters in after locking the door behind him, another heavy sigh leaving him as he loosens his tie with a mildly frustrated tug. 

“Baby.” He curtly calls for you, sitting himself down in his armchair while waiting for you to come padding over from wherever.

You’re dolled up in a new set of sheer pink.

“There you are, my baby~” He croons ruggedly and pats his thigh, gently pulling at your hips once you’re close enough, dragging you up to straddle his lap.

“Welcome home, Daddy~” You say meekly, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek before relaxing against him.

It’s all you can do to keep from whining.

He makes you feel like a pet project. Something only kept and done at home meant to take his mind off things. 

Otherwise, he makes you feel like an actual pet – greeting him when he comes home with your head bowed and your tail between your legs, seating yourself on his lap while listening pliantly as he grumbles on about how shitty his day was.

You answer by doing what you’ve learned keeps him happy, bringing your hands up to undo his buttons as his head falls to rest on your shoulder – rubbing the stubble of his chin into the dip of your collar with halfhearted kisses – leaving your skin wet.

His hands round your back, twiddling the lace of your panties, playing with it while lightly lolling you against him – making your hips roll over him oh-so-sweetly.

You know he’s pent up and prone to take it out on you – often harshly, with his tie wound tightly around your neck – so you do your best to help him relax before it happens – smoothly carding your fingers through his finely kempt hair, dislodging it from its strict slick back.

He groans gratefully in return, with goosebumps rising throughout him, coming apart at the seams and falling even further into your warm touch with another squeeze of your smaller body – and gruff words coming from his throat.

“Have you missed me, baby?”

You run your hands softly over the rigid muscles beneath his shirt, gently gliding over the fine silken fabric until all buttons are undone. Replying, “All day, Daddy~” with your lips cascading from placing small pecks on his cheekbone down his Adam's apple to his collarbones while continuing to help him out of his clothes.

“Already so needy… Won’t let a man rest a single minute first before begging to get your pussy fucked, hm? Such a shameless little thing…” He chides with a sigh – despite his hips jostling somewhat impatiently – pushing his crotch suggestively against your hands where you work to open his belt.

He encourages you by licking your neck with another moan, followed by a soft click of his tongue, giving your hair another tug while you release the button and slide his zipper down.

“Do you think you deserve it?” He hisses. “I haven't heard you ask nicely even once.”

“Please, Daddy~ please give me your big cock~” You kiss his neck with the pretty words, cupping the growing bulge before gently messaging him through his boxer, and he – somewhat begrudgingly, as though not entirely impressed – gives a heavy sigh while leaning his head back against the cushion behind him.

“Such a horny little girl... with such a filthy little mouth on you, I ought to rinse it out with soap…”

His hand rests on the plump of your ass – grinding you forward until the heat of your cunt kisses his stiffness with only the fine mix of cotton and lace separating the two of you.

He strokes your lip with the pad of his thumb before pushing two of his fingers past them to play with your tongue – making you lick his fingers clean of the gritty taste of salt and tobacco.

He hums at you, “That’s the taste of money, baby.” Pinching your cheeks together with a jaded look darkening his expression – kissing the pout of your plump lips with a tut. “All the hard work I do for you...”

You hold yourself steady on his shoulders and lift your hips as he tugs your panties to the side and slides the spit-slicked digits over your folds softly before splitting the lips and sinking them both inside you.

You bite your lip at the stretch it makes.

“Have you been touching yourself all day, hm?” He tsks at you with a shake of his head but pets your hair while at it, looking down at you with that silent subjugating gaze, bringing you to heel before giving you a kiss on the forehead. “Such a mindless little slut you are, only one thing in that ditzy little head...”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the sting of tears threatening to fall – you don't want to be pushed down and pinned beneath his strength – not with his fist riddled within your hair, forcing your face against the pillow – and rammed from behind like you’re nothing but a fuckdoll for convenience. 

So, you bribe him with sweet nothings you know he wants to hear. 

“It’s all you, Daddy. Only you~”

He leaves his fingers in your cunt, curling them into the sponge and smiling at the wet that trickles down over his rings and knuckles, pooling in his hand as he pulls himself out from his boxers with the other – telling you, “Show me.”

You wrap your hands around the base neatly, one stacked atop the other, working the shaft while sticky precum spills down your fingers.

“Such a needy girl, always making Daddy work, never letting him rest…” He shakes his head, jerking his hips up into your touch.

He pulls his fingers from your cunt and brings them back up to your mouth – waiting for you to suck them off – groaning at the sight as his other hand takes his cock out of your smaller ones, giving himself harder tugs.

“This what you wanted, baby? This what you’ve been thinking ‘bout all day?” He babies while tapping his head against your mound, waiting for you to beg a little more.

“Yes, Daddy, please~ I need it so bad, please, Daddy~” You whine between licking his digits clean.

“Okay, Baby, don’t worry, Daddy’s got you.” He soothes before lining the sturdy shaft with your puffiness.

His tip glides between the lips, licking the slit before settling at the mouth – pressing in with a groan as he lowers you slowly – squeezing inside your taunt velvety walls until you’ve swallowed him down to his balls. 

“There we go, Baby~ time to give this needy pussy what she’s been crying for, hm~” 

You pout as he begins his tempo. It’s slow and deep as he unclasps your bralette and starts sucking your titties. Both hands grope each mound roughly, tweaking and pinching the nipple his mouth isn’t nomming.

It makes you buck your hips. And his hand finds your hair again, tugging it back as he sucks bites up your neck until licking your ear.

“Is Baby so impatient to come on Daddy’s cock she can’t control herself?” He croons condescendingly – as if he was talking down to a toddler about getting ice cream before dinner.

And though you despise it with every fiber of your being – feeling like the tone itself was gasoline to a raging fire – you do your best to swallow the smoke, knowing it would get you nowhere to spit it back in his face.

“Yes, Daddy. Pretty please.”

He hums at the way you beg, shifting in his seat to sink deeper until he’s properly kneading your womb. “Behave yourself, and we’ll see if you deserve it.”

That’s right. He just wants you to sit there and take it – cum when he tells you to. And if you defy those wishes, he’ll sooner have you bent over his lap with his handprint singed upon your ass than be done with you.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Daddy~ I’ve just missed you so much~ It’s so lonely here without you~”

He chuckles darkly. “Aw~ you sound like a little puppy – wagging your tail when your owner comes home.”

It’s humiliating, and the chagrin burns hot in your cheeks – enough to make your eyes water.

“I should get you a pretty collar.” He muses, cupping your ass in both hands, with blunt nails digging smiles into the fat as he lifts you up and down his shaft slowly – fucking you deep – his words still at your ear in hot gruffs. “Maybe a little tail, too, hm? Would you like that?”

You moan and nod your head. “Anything you want, Daddy~”

He likes that.

“You’ve become so good for me, baby. Only a couple weeks ago, I had to rope you up and muzzle you like a rabid dog, but now look at you…” He praises with a curled smile. “Begging to have your pussy fucked the moment I come home, all but jumping and humping my leg like a lovesick pup.” 

He clicked his tongue, locking his arms around your thighs in a tighter grip, with hands holding your ass steady – picking up the pace with a huff. 

“Are you my little housebroken cock-pet, hm?”

“Yes – yes, Daddy,” Your words shuddered as he jerked his hips sharply, hitting you deep and hard enough to make you choke on your moans. “I’m your little – ah- housebroken cock-pet~”

He groaned. “Cum for me, baby – cum while I fill you up – show me what a good and grateful cock-pet you are-” He spluttered while holding you tight, sinking deep as he spilled his worth inside your womb while you faked it for his pleasure – shaking on his lap with your head thrown back in a squeal, milking him while pretending to ride it out.

“Thank you, Daddy!”

He spanked your ass, grabbing greedily into you as he continued to empty himself. “Such a slutty little pet – cumming all over Daddy’s cock – moaning like a filthy little whore.”

“I’m sorry – but you feel so good.” You whine like he’s right.

And he eats it up – every drop of it – kissing you with need. “Yeah, you’re my pet – Daddy’s dirty little cock-pet.” He moans against your lips with tongue and teeth, sucking more sloppy hickies down your neck until falling to rest on your tits.

You both pant in unison while he hugs you tight – waiting for his cock to soften before sloppily slugging it out.

He breaks the silence after a while with a click of his tongue. 

“Such a mess…” He huffs with a slight shake of his head – but then smiles with a chuckle when kissing your cheek. “Why don’t you make dinner while I go shower, hm?”

BNHA – Kirishima, Enji, Bakugou, Deku

JJK – Nanami, Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji, Higuruma

[minhosimthings]

The Elysian Angel || 18+

Synopsis: For the second day of your pact, you make a good friend in a good angel.

Pairing: detective!Jake × fem!reader

Warnings: smut minors Dni, oral (f receiving), anal sex, switch Jake, slight dom!reader, praise, degradation, p in v sex, dumbification, use of petname 'pup', mention of food and alcohol, Heeseung being an asshole

A/N: My apologies that this took a lot of time. Unfortunately I was travelling and i didn't find time to edit and do all that crap. Also my dumbass wrote the smut on the plane so again, apologies if it is not satisfactory. No I cannot for the life of me praise myself

Series Masterlist

The tiny cactus pot near his bedroom window had never seemed more interesting to Jake than now, as he thought over the events that had occured this evening.

Now, hungover and somewhat peckish, Jake thought of his two best friends, a drunk woman, and even more drunker pact. What had he called it? Something with Heeseung and jealousy and whatnot.

Ah yes Heeseung, Jake had a eureka moment, he had cheated on his wife had he not? And she had come to the police precinct and she had beat him in drinking bourbon...yes he remembered now!

Jake sighed to no one in particular as he cuddled into his blanket, watching the way his cactus blocked the shimmering moonlight from entering the room. He was weirdly craving sugar at the moment.

Maybe he should treat Heeseung's wife to his favourite cake tomorrow, he thought, what was her name again? Lee Y/N.

No not Lee, Jake yawned, no she's divorced now, his last thought came as he drifted off to an eager tomorrow.

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"So—" Jake leaned on the table, staring into Sunghoon's eyes, "—how was it last night?"

"Heavenly." Sunghoon sighed dreamily into his coffee, "She gave me some advice on how to-."

"I meant the sexual part." Jake chuckled, "You know, the part where your peni-"

"Yeah yeah I got that!" Sunghoon coughed loudly, though there weren't any other officers in the break room at the moment, save for Jay and Jake who had been listening fondly to Sunghoon show off his new coat, "It was... great! Might I add, she can take a lot. And I mean a damn lot." He widened his eyes to maximise the effect.

"Maybe you just have a tiny dick." Jay snickered, which made Jake spill a waring amount of coffee out of his nose.

"Jake what the fuck!" Sunghoon recoiled, as Jake cleaned himself up, still laughing, "Hey don't do that around her alright?" Sunghoon made a disgusted expression, wiping off the coffee from the table.

"So where is she staying right now?" Jay asked, taking the attention away from Jake's sopping wet shirt, "She can't go back to Heeseung's so—?"

"I dropped her off at a friend's." Sunghoon sipped his coffee, relishing the bitter taste of the grinded beans, "And before you ask, Mister lover boy—", Jake laughed raucously at his quip, "Yes she's fine. And weirdly happy too."

"Where is this friend's place?" Jake asked curiously, glancing at Jay who was looking suspiciously at him, "I-I wanted to take her out...for some cake." He finished awkwardly leading the two men to look at him with raised brows.

"What?" Jake scoffed, "Can't I treat a lady to some cake before I- you know."

"Fighting Jongsoeng for the lover boy position Jake?" Sunghoon laughed, "I'm impressed." He took a look at a glaring Jay, which motivated him further, "Her house is on Baker's Street, the second one when you enter."

"Is that really necessary?" Jay questioned, the gravel in his voice was evident, "She never asked you to buy her cake."

"And yet I want to." Jake answered, downing his coffee in one go, before getting up briskly, "See you later boys."

"Um, sir you have files to complete." Sunghoon interrupted, but Jake was faster in striding out the door.

"Do them for me would you Sunghoon?!"

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

The atmosphere around the cafe was pleasant, as the cool evening wind blew against your face. The light brown coloured cake sat patiently in front of you, with only a few bite marks decorating it.

"Thank you for taking me here." You said to the man in front of you, who looked up at you with widened brown eyes, before offering a smile.

"No harm in treating a lady is there?" He poked at his own piece of cake with his fork, "I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything before we—" he smiled awkwardly, "—go into the details of the pact."

You felt him internally cringe at what he had said so you quickly diverted the topic. "Do you come here often?" You asked.

Jake's ever present grin appeared again, as he nodded, looking fondly at the small cafe, which smelled like pine trees to you, though perhaps it was from the fact that you were sitting outside. "It's one of my favourite places to come when I need to take a breather."

You smiled at the man's words as you took the last bite of the cake, closing your eyes to taste it properly. It melted right into your mouth, and you savoured the caramel flavour, sweet yet having a tinge of salt in it. You almost felt like you could have-

"What the fuck are you doing with her?"

That voice.

Your eyes burst open, to locate the source of it, the siren like tones which had once intoxicated you, not irritated you. You first landed on Jake, who was looking behind you with a somewhat terrified expression. Whipping your head around you saw him.

Lee Heeseung.

"And might I ask what you are doing here?" You tried to keep yourself calm, reminding yourself it's a public place.

"Y/N, what are you doing with him?" Heeseung's brow was dripping with sweat and his face was formed in a glare. He looked ferocious.

"I'm not your wife anymore Heeseung." You stated calmly, though you were internally fuming, "So please, can you leave us alone?"

"So you're fucking my colleagues now huh?" Heeseung chuckled loudly, catching the attention of a few people around, "Sort of forgives me for just fucking one other girl doesn't it?"

"Forgives you?"

Your voice cut through the air like a hot knife through butter. It had a tone to it which Jake had never heard before. It was....colder.

"Are you actually being serious, Heeseung?" You laughed, this time it didn't warm Jake's cheeks. It rather broke through his eyes like icicles.

"You don't have even one right to be forgiven. In fact you don't have any!" You scoffed, "I'm surprised you even have the gall to fucking approach me right now, because trust me, if I were you, I would have hid my face in my bedroom until I died." Jake was taken apart by the very new air of you he was seeing, "So please kindly fuck off would you?"

Heeseung's teeth gritted as he glared daggers at Jake, giving you one final, venomous look before spinning on his heel, and angrily stomping away. The sight of it was practically cartoonish.

"Are you alright?" Jake asked from behind you, you turned to see his worried eyes. His voice was the sweet honeyed one you knew well and proper.

"I'm fine, thank you Jake." You gave him a smile, concealing how much the incident had shaken you.

"It's getting dark." Jake lent you an arm which you gladly took, "Shall we head home?"

"Lead the way." You gave him a final grin.

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"Do all detectives have such nice looking houses?" You chuckled, looking around Jake's apartment. Though not as homely as Sunghoon's was, it certainly was cozy, giving off the same rustic vibes as the cafe. A maroon divan sat in the corner.

"Was Sunghoon's fairy cottage that beautiful?" Jake chuckled, inviting you to sit beside him on the sofa. "Perhaps its just my preference of cottages." You chuckled, though you certainly had no complaint against Jake's apartment.

"You'd like Jay's house then." Jake said, leaning back against the wall of the sofa. Silence passed for what felt like an hour (though it was only five minutes), until Jake finally spoke up.

"How did Sunghoon ever get you into his bedroom?" Jake asked, startling you from the sudden break of silence, "Because I am extremely nervous right now. But then again—" he grinned, "—Park Sunghoon can get even a cupid into his sheets."

"And you can't?" You quizzed, admiring his features, as he shook his head.

"It's a bit shameful for a man to admit but–" he chuckled darkly, "–at the most I've had two women in my bed."

"Would that make me the third?" You fluttered your lashes at him, making him gulp, "Come on, detective Sim," you smirked, “Don’t you want to play with me?” 

Jake's voice catches in his throat as you lock eyes with him. Your eyes are soft and kind, like usual, but the more he looks, the more he begins to notice a hint of lust glazing them. Neither of you move for a moment, studying each other's expressions. Jake moves closer to you, though not close enough for you.

"Closer, detective." you smirk, pulling him closer to kiss him full on his plump lips. His hands find their way to your waist. He pulls you closer to him, and your legs seem to mindlessly straddle his lap. You can't fight the urge to grind your hips against his pelvis, slowly rocking back and forth.

He groans quietly as the two of you continue to kiss, and you use this opportunity to slide your tongue inside his mouth. His saliva has faint tastes of coffee and whiskey.

Jake's fingers mindlessly fiddle with the top button of your blouse, unsure as to whether or not he should undo them. You undo the top one, prompting him to undo the rest. His face is warm and pink as you pull away from the kiss leaving a string of salvia behind, and you can feel his cock harden beneath you as you continue to grind on his lap.

You push your hips into his, his hard-on pushes up into the wet patch on your panties. Slowly, he pushes your skirt down your thighs, and you momentarily stop grinding on him to help take your skirt off. Your bare thighs hover in the cool breeze from the evening. You leaned in for another kiss.

"Wait," Jake stops you, hands rubbing into your waist. With his lusty sinews, Jake picked you up, you wrapped your legs tightly around his hips to secure yourself as he led you into the adjacent room.

"I don't think we should mess my sofa up, eh pup?" The nickname had your core erupting into lava.

|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"You're so pretty..." Jake whispered into your ear as he lay you down on the bed. His bedroom, though tiny, was spacious enough, for you to collect your mind.

"Let's leave the compliments for later detective." You smiled at him, nipping the bud of his ear with your teeth, "For now, " you whispered seductively, "Shall we begin?"

You could feel Jake's nervousness, from the way his body tensed up. Inexperienced man, you thought, you were about to have a lot of fun.

“Open,” You said, leaning forward and tapping his chin, you were about to take the lead, if he wasn't going to. A woman couldn't have waited all day could she?

Jake complied, easier than you thought, opening his mouth allowing to shove two fingers inside, just like Heeseung had once did to you. He licked and sucked your fingers for two minutes, never breaking eye contact as his spit rolled down your hand. 

“Good boy,” you said, pulling them away as you began to touch yourself. Sitting back on your ass, you rubbed your clit, rubbing his spit into your sensitive button, letting him know how good it felt, how close you were to cumming with his spit on your cunt. You plunged one finger in and then another as you watched him bite his tongue, careful not to let even a small sound slip out. 

You let go of his hand so you could guide his head to where you needed his mouth. Your hands wound tightly into his hair, legs struggling to stay open as you felt the heat of his tongue against your core.

Jake slid it shallowly into your folds. The sensation made you whine and grab his head to push him further. He resisted but soon gave you what you want. Your chest rising and falling rapidly as he tasted you and let a gloriously loud moan vibrate against your center.

“Do that again- Shit, just like that, right there.” you moaned as you felt every bud of his sharp tongue, "G-Good boy...."

You weren't interested in taking it slow tonight, being wet since he had touched you.

He licked a stripe up your vulva, his tongue flat and getting every inch of your pussy till he reached your clit where he wrapped his lips around it and gently sucked.

Your back arched on the bed, one hand going straight to his hair as your orgasm quickly built. Your pussy clenched around nothing as he started flicking his tongue against you.

"Fuck...Jaeyun!" You screamed his name out, which built up the fire in him, "You're being so good for me...."

The other hand not threading through his tresses fisted the sheets of his bed tighter as your hips began to roll and grind against his face in circular motions, trying to catch that sensation of his nose bumping against your throbbing clit. Your body had a mind of its own, sinking deeper and deeper into the burning hot abyss of pleasure and reach the high you were quickly ascending to.

But before you could grasp that high properly, you felt a discerning movement.

"Jake!" You cried, suddenly feeling the familiar taste of his tongue leave your walls empty, "Why the fuck would you do that?!"

"Shh, baby." Jake shushes you, which makes you hold your tongue quickly. Jake let's go of one of your thighs and unbuckles his belt, pulling down his zipper and pushing down his pants. He lets out a deep breath again when he finally feels free and without his tight trousers around his hips. Jake looked magnificent as he admired you laying in front of him. Wild, primal thoughts flanked every neuron of his mind.

"Turn on your side for me." He commands you, with lust filled eyes, "Now." He adds as if it's an afterthought. You quickly obliged, finding his tone of voice enamouring you into obeying him. You couldn't wait for what he was about to do.

Jake knows it's wrong, to fuck another man's wife, but fuck—he couldn't help himself, and anyway you had agreed to this. So there he was, hard cock slipping between your thighs as he thrusts his hips slowly, biting his tongue to prevent the guttural groans threatening to escape his lips. Jake's veined hands slip under your bra, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his thrusts grow slightly faster while his hand grasps at your tit tightly, sinfully thankful that Heeseung had given you up.

"F-Fuckkk-" you groaned painfully as Jake slipped into your ass, you needed time to adjust, "Jaeyun wait—"

Your words meant nothing to him as every thrust stretches you to the shape of him, his cock ramming painfully into your cervix with each thrust. He takes you, uses you as his hips bounce against your ass, shaking you with the force of every movement. Your moans grew louder and louder with each thrust, you felt his hot breath against your neck, and yet he didn't stop, only growing more possesive by the second.

"Fucking hell baby." Jake's accented voice tingled against your skin, "such a good pup for me aren't you?"

The sensations of his mere words burn through your core as your toes curl while he fucks into you with such a possessive need that your whole body trembles with the overwhelming pleasure. His obeying tendencies earlier had changed into a much more obsessive one, turning you on even more.

His expression grows almost enamored at how you're squeezing him-tense, as he thrusts into you, balls slapping against your ass at his relentless pace. Hot, searing pleasure makes its way up your spine-emitting a low, almost inaudible, squeal from you as he pinches your clit.

You're constantly on the edge, slipping in and out of consciousness from his assault on your cervix, harsh-angry thrusts punctuating his words.

"Faster—" you moaned, not realising how much his dick was controlling your mind now, "Jaeyun, fuck—faster please...."

"Faster?" Jake's low voice vibrated on your skin as he chuckled, pulling you against him in a brisk fashion, making you cry out in pleasure, "Am I making you feel good baby?" You nodded, not even hearing his words, fuck he was making you feel better than ever.

"Dumb–" one thrust, "—fucking–" the second, "—pup." He accentuated every word clearly.

Your eyes roll back, and he fucks your hips right back on him with his tight grip on them. Even when the rope breaks, and you’re pushed under—thighs shaking in illicit euphoria as you leak around him, he doesn’t stop.

Like some rabid animal, he takes you back in-then out again with his movements—his thoughts becoming scrambled, accentuated with primal, violent pushes and pulls before he’s slamming back in you again as tears gather in your eyes.

"Jaeyun!" You scream again, feeling your cunt throb for even a mere touch of his dick, which was stretching your back out so well, "I want you Jake.. please.." your begging makes it just sweeter for him.

He gulps and kisses you passionate, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. Hands on your waist, he grips you tightly and flips you over onto your back, the skin on your back tickled as it hit the sheets. He grabs his shaft and runs his tip through your folds, teasing your clit a little bit.

"Fuck, Sunghoon was right," he breaths out, "You really can take a lot and nods. Slowly and carefully he starts to push his fat tip against your entrance, pushing and pushing until his tip was in.

He watches your face for any sort of pain or discomfort but sees nothing, so he pushes forward again until you knit your brows together in pain.

"don't stop, fuck." you whisper against his lips, which motivated him further, "Fuck~Jake!" You moaned, as he moved ever so slightly

The man began to move faster, starting a stutter in his hips that ended up colliding against yours forcefully. It hurt you, it was too abrupt, and that feeling remained there even though the pleasure clouded your mind and senses.

Jake leaned over your sweaty, flushed body to get a better angle, you could see his face better and closer.

He had flowing strands of his black hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, the rest fell on your forehead, tickling you. And his seducing gaze that evaluated each and every one of your expressions, as if he were memorizing them.

You lower your hips slowly before bringing them back up. Jake presses his face against your chest, his own arms moving to wrap around you. His hips move down, fucking into you.

You try to help him as best you can but your thighs are already starting to hurt from being in this position too long.

It didn't seem like Jake minded though. In fact once he notices you’re giving your body up to him he seems to find some super strength because before you know it he’s ramming into you.

His thin lips moved against yours and his tongue made your mouth open to give way to his.

And he was there, kissing you, giving you pleasure and pain, both in a play or duality. His hips were now moving precisely, at a speed that you both enjoyed. His lips dancing over your mouth took away the little breath you had left. The head of his erection began to hit a delicious spot deep in your intimacy that, along with the movement of his thumb squeezing and stretching your clitoris, made your mind blur and spin.

"You can take it," Jake said, noticing your expression, bringing his head down as his tongue swirled over your nipples. Your back arched at the contact, your legs beginning to shake as he brought his hand over to rub on your clit.

Your nails scratched at Jake's back ruthlessly, clawing and taking your way down as you felt the muscles tense underneath your touch. You get your orgasm building up slowly, a dam threatening to burst with every snap of his hips. Your legs began to shake underneath his grasp, your nails digging into the flesh of his back as he buried his head into your shoulder. His cock twitched inside your cunt a couple seconds later, indicating that he was close to his orgasm.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close to you as he continued to thrust inside of you. His eyes rolled back, his cock shooting out ropes of cum deep into your cunt.

Jake's thrusts came to a slow stop. His hand left your throat and went to the back of your head, pulling you into a sloppy kiss. He pulled away and looked into your eyes for a few seconds before pulling out of you. He laid down next to you, staring up at the ceiling and breathing heavily.

"Whiskey?" "By all means."

|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"This—" You took a deep sniff of the liquid, "—is delicious."

"Jay gifted it to me." Jake took a sip from his glass, savouring the burning taste from the bubbling whiskey, "I feel as if our love language is gifting each other alcohol, especially Jay, with all his knowlege in it."

For the second time since the last two days, you couldn't comprehend why Jay's name had made the veins in your heart abruptly stop, like water against the rocks of a seashore. Though you certainly knew of the tiny red ants in your mind which whispered to you, about love and whatnot.

Well, you sighed to yourself, tomorrow was merely hours away.

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[bluecollarmcandtf]

Bros, Bros, and more Bros

I made a mistake! My cousin told me about this fortune teller that cast a spell on him. Apparently, it made every man he ran into act like a fatherly figure in his life. I had an awesome dad, but I've always struggled to connect with guys my own age, so I tracked the witch down and begged her for another spell. She eventually came around, but the effects aren't quite what I expected...

"Sup, dude! Wanna skip and hit the park?"

My eyes stretch wide to take in the sight of my own father, carrying a skateboard over his shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world. He's been acting like this for weeks; not washing his hair, barely even washing himself, and constantly wearing that stupid cap backwards. He's lost any sense of his old self!

"Dad, it's Monday. You've got work," I reply, not wanting him to piss his boss off.

"Work blows!" he sneers, "I hate wearing this stupid tie, and I'd rather hang with you, bro."

I sigh as my father tosses down his skateboard and extends a palm, pulling me into a cliche bro-hug where he claps me on the back. My dad used to give out hugs all the time, but it was never as performatively masculine as this. All this stupid curse did was turn my father into an 40 year-old frat guy.

"You're going to work," I say firmly, "And I'm going to school. We can play videogames or whatever when we get back later tonight."

"Bruuhhh!" he groans, "Fine. I'll catch you later, dude. There's pizza in the fridge if you want."

The idea of leftover pizza this early in the morning makes my stomach ache. My dad used to cook an entire meal every morning, complete with fruits and veggies. Now, he'd probably settle for a bag of chips.

The man leaves the skateboard behind and grabs his suit jacket, pulling it on with an attitude. He gives me one last head nod before bounding out of the house, hair flowing behind him. I imagine it's only a matter of time before my dad's boss is fed up with his new persona. I can't imagine a bro-personality is very conducive to getting work done in a corporate office. Hopefully, he'll mature soon.

With an empty stomach, I saunter out of the kitchen and walk to campus. I'm grateful to live close to the university. Hopefully, my curse won't get in the way of my day.

"Hey, how's my favorite student doing, bro?"

My professor yells and breaks into a goofy grin at the sight of me. I close the door to his office to give us a bit of privacy. Mr. Carlton only acts like this when I stop by, so his colleagues would be shocked to see such a drastic shift in his usually stoic personality.

"I'm good, Professor Carlton," I say, "I wanted to check on my grade for this course."

"No need to be so formal, dude," he smiles, clapping me on the back, "You can call me Daniel. Want a drink? I have some bourbon."

"I'm good. I really just-"

"Relax, bro," my professor says, shoving a glass in my hand, filled to the brim, "This is good stuff. I save it for special occasions, so sit down! Kick your shoes off! I don't care!"

The department head pulls off his suit jacket and leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk and stretching his arms behind his head. I'd never seen the man act so unprofessional, but ever since the curse, he's started treating me like his closest buddy.

"Professor...sorry...Daniel, I just wanted to hear about my grade."

"I got you, bro!" he laughed, "Just keep doing what you're doing. I don't care if you don't show up!"

My shoulders relax. That's what I want to hear. It's not that I don't want to attend his lectures, but the last time I did, he started acting like a jackass in front of the entire class of 50 students. His presentation went from ancient monetary systems to ratings of best celebrity nip-slips. It's a miracle he didn't get fired!

"Ok, good. I have to go," I say checking the time, "And you have class in 20 minutes."

"Shit, I know," he groans and gulps down the rest of his booze, "Another day another dollar, I guess. When can we hang out, man? Tonight? I really wanna hang out with my guy."

"Nope, sorry!" I tense up and grab my backpack, "Good luck with the lecture."

"Right on, bro," he holds a sad hand up for a high-five, swallowing the rest of the drink he poured me.

I give my tipsy professor a halfhearted clap and scamper out of the office as quickly as possible. These interactions make me cringe so hard when a grown man acts young and cool for me. It's especially awkward to see such a respected individual sink to such a low level. What would we even do if he came over?

"Dude! Long time, no see!"

In the hallway, I run into the football coach and two of the team's best players. The three of them look like they're getting back from an early morning conditioning session. They're all sweaty, panting, and happy to see me.

"Oh, hey," I muster, feeling increasingly less cool around these jocks. I hate to admit it, but guys like this wouldn't give me the time of day before I got that bro-curse.

"Hey, man! You gotta come hang out with us," the brunette grins, "The team's still changing, but you're cool to come in the locker room!"

"Yeah, bro!" the blonde quickly adds, "We'd love to have you in there!"

My heart pounds faster and faster. This is why I've never been able to connect with guys my own age. I find myself boning up every time they look in my direction. Now that these two athletes are practically begging for me to join them in the locker room, my erection is bursting out of my pants!

"We can take care of that too," the coach suddenly mentions, pointing a finger at the tent I'm trying to hide in my crotch.

"What?" I stammer with a dry mouth.

"What do you think bros are for?" the coach continues, clapping his two players on the back, "My boys would be happy to help a brother out!"

The two football jocks nod. It feels like I'm dreaming, and I don't know what to do. Before I can decide, the two athletes have approached and grabbed me by the arm. Their grips are firm, and I realize I'm being escorted into the changing room whether I like it or not!

"Who's this guy?"

My stomach drops as I enter the locker room, finding an array of footballers in different states of dress. They all glance up at me with confusion, like I'm not supposed to be there, but then their faces soften. The gypsy's magic sets in, and they don't see a stranger when they look at me. They see their bro.

"Oh, it's you, bro," the same jock says, letting down his guard. I think I recognize him as the quarterback.

"Oh yeah, dude!" the massive lineman stands up and pulls me into a sweaty hug, "Glad you're here!"

"That's right guys," the brunette at my side says, still holding me tightly in place, "Our best bud is here, and he needs some attention."

My face flushes as I suddenly remember the problem poking out between my legs. By now, the entire football team is staring at it. If anything, it's only become more rock solid.

"Let me take care of that for you, bro," the quarterback says, grabbing my crotch without any hesitation.

"Move, I'll do it," says the lineman, pushing the quarterback out of the way and getting on his knees. He opens his mouth wide and-

"Shut up, all of you!" the coach suddenly roars! The locker room falls silent: these athletes are really well trained. "If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. Line up!"

"Yes, coach!"

The jocks back up and form a line in front of the lockers. Even the blonde and brunette that were holding me, release and join the rest of the team on the bench. Suddenly, I'm standing with the coach, looking at an entire team of well-disciplined football players. My throbbing erection is very apparent and pointing right at the small crowd of muscular men.

"Our bro deserves to be kept satisfied, right?" the coach slams a hand on my back.

"Yes, coach!" they shout back.

"So we don't just want to get our boy off once and move on, now do we?" he punctuates his question with another slap, this time lower on my back.

"No, coach!"

"We're going to set up a system for us to get him off whenever he needs it!"

"Yes, coach!"

The broad-shouldered and balding coach gives me one more slap, clapping me on the ass this time while staring into my eyes. "I'm gonna have my boys take turns sucking you off, bro. You just tell me which one's your favorite. Sound cool?"

I manage to mumble my assent, and with one look from coach, the quarterback is on his knees crawling towards my crotch. He pulls down my pants and unleashes my aching hard-on. "I got you, bro," he says, before putting his mouth to work.

After a few minutes, the coach pulls the jock off my pole and orders the linebacker to get busy. Before long, it's the brunette's turn, then the blonde's. I cycle through all 30 of the team's exceptional players, and I've gotten off more than just a few times. It's impossible to choose a favorite.

At the end of it all, the coach pushes the last player aside and says, "My turn, bro," before opening his mouth as wide as he can.

The entire football team watches as I spend the next 15 minutes just filling their coach's eager throat. When I'm finally done, I feel completely spent. I swap numbers with each jock and am repeatedly promised that they will be available whenever I call, but it isn't enough. They want to hang out with me now. They want to go out and party. I find it too difficult to say 'no' to a group of 30 eager athletes, so I let them sweep me up and take me to the nearest bar.

Needless to say, we end up causing a bit too rowdy of a scene.

"I got a complaint about a bunch of college idiots causing a ruckus. Would that be you?"

The officer was all business when he first walked in the bar. My football bros were dancing and yelling, barely even paying attention to the policeman scowling at the wild scene in front of him. He looked pissed, and his glare only softened when it found me.

"Woah, didn't know you were here, man," the cop says, cracking a slight grin on his hardened face.

"Well, I am!" I cry, feeling the effects of all the drinks my bros had been buying for me, "You should forget about work and party with us!"

"You got it, dude! Screw this badge!" the officer yells, pulling me into a tight embrace. I guess the bro-curse even works on law-enforcement!

Just like that, I'm dancing with a policeman in the middle of the dance floor. He doesn't have any moves, but he loosens up after we get some beer down his throat. The football team loves watching the cop party right alongside them. Apparently, this guy has broken up many of their parties in the past.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!"

The officer gulps down his seventh beer and slams the glass on the floor. It breaks, but the shattering is largely drowned out by the music. His onlookers go wild, but I can see the intoxication on his face. Beer is plastered around his mouth and dripping down his neck to soak into his uniform. I doubt this man has ever been this drunk in uniform before.

He stumbles over and throws a muscled arm over my shoulder, "Come here, bro. Let's do some shots or something!"

"I think it might be time to call it a night, officer," I yell in his ear.

"Oh, screw that!" he whines, "And don't call me officer! It's so formal!"

"Ok, what should I call you?"

"I dunno..." he mutters, "Buck! Call me Buck. That's what my wife calls me."

I roll my eyes at the mention of his wife. Of course this guy is taken. He's a complete stud of man. I've always liked a guy in uniform.

"How'd you like to come home with me tonight, Buck?" I ask sheepishly.

He lights up, "Bro, I thought you'd never ask!"

The cop grabs my arm with a wicked grin and stomps his way towards the door, dragging me along like I'm the prize he won at a fair. The players on the football team all stare at him with envy, mad that he's stealing their new best friend away for the night. I could see how badly each one of the jocks wished they were the one having a sleepover with me tonight.

"Hop in, I'll drive," officer Buck slurs his words and gestures to the police cruiser with his free hand.

"I think I'll handle the driving, if that's alright," I say, "Just hand over the keys."

"Anything for you, bro."

"Looks like someone got lucky!"

"Oh my God. Dad you're still up?"

"Bro, you said you'd play videogames tonight and then you never showed! What was I supposed to do?" he retorts, unbothered by the late hour or the cop hanging on my arm.

"You have to go to work in 4 hours!" I scream, "And you haven't even changed out of today's work clothes! What are you thinking?"

"Chill, bro," my dad says, turning to the drunk policeman holding my hand, "Take him to the bedroom and show him a good time. I'm sure you were going to, but the dude could use some extra help relaxing tonight."

The sound of my own father encouraging the man I brought home to 'show me a good time' makes me question everything again. My dad just witnessed his son bringing home a cop that's the same age as him. He doesn't even care! I want to tell him to grow up and be the man I used to know, but Buck is already jerking on my arm.

"Let's go, bro," he mumbles lowly, using his strong arms to drag me into the bedroom.

"Enjoy your new cop friend, bro!" my father calls and I hear the sounds of his videogames start back up.

I barely have time to worry about any of it. Has this curse gone too far? Will my dad make it to work tomorrow? Does Buck have a wife I need to worry about!?

It all goes away when I'm thrown on the bed. The intoxicated officer flips the lights down low, and stumbles in front of me. He may be drunk, but he is certainly not a disappointment. The cop stares down at me as he rips his state-issued hat off and unbuttons his dark uniform shirt, all the while moving his hips to the beat of gunfire from dad's videogame in the living room.

With his hairy chest exposed, he crawls on top of me and whispers in my ear, "Where do you want me to start? Us bros gotta look out for each other, don't we?"

[youcancallmeelle]

She’s got a boyfriend anyway…

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI)

Word count: 7K

Warnings: Semi public sex, Missionary, Cowgirl, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Teasing, Sneaking around, Secret relationship, Brief David mention, Ellie being a menance, Tommy trying to play matchmaker.

Summary: Tommy has been trying to set Joel up for AGES, he’s got other interests.

Or

You and Joel have secretly been seeing each other.

A03

Read below…

Life in Jackson is promising, nearly a year and half here and Joel feels comfortable, no longer itching for a way out of civilisation because he’s just not used to that no more. Ellie is settled too - finally. She’s attending school three days a week, enjoying the new responsibilities that come with being sixteen and the tad bit of freedom it brings. She helps out at the stables, in the kitchen too but she’s not a fan. She likes being in the library most, checking in and out books, tidying shelves, using her art to create eye catching displays aimed at the younger generation of Jackson.

Joel is proud, his heart feels like it could burst out of his chest all the time. Ellie is still full of wit and charisma that comes out in curses and daft puns that make Joel roll his eyes and get her in a headlock until she’s laughing so hard she’s pink in the face.

There’s times when she skips school completely if a male teacher has subbed in, she flinches away if someone comes too close and sometimes if it’s stew night at dinner, she’ll stare blankly into her bowl at the chunks of meat and see a severed ear, she’ll try to swallow but gag instead. These are nights Joel gives her his bread and Tommy will too, then he’ll make her a fruit salad when they get home with a little double cream poured over it.

The nightmares are persistent on these bad days where triggers occur, he finds Ellie in bed screaming and thrashing multiple times a week. She’ll sob and cry hoarsely as he holds her, hushing her gently and resting his cheek on her head. Most of the time she’ll fall back asleep with him beside her, curled into him like she did back at Silver Lake when death was close.

But mostly, everything’s okay.

Joel had been with Tommy every single day this week so far and it was Thursday evening, they’d been focusing on fixing up the bathroom in a house way further down from his, they were getting it ready for a family that had expanded to move in. The floor was rotten and the pipes wrecked, neither of them were particularly fond of plumbing but they sorted it between them. There was still the kitchen to do but that was a job for tomorrow and probably Saturday too but not Sunday, that was his day with Ellie.

Sunday’s were for late breakfasts of bacon and pancakes - before and after the world ended. The only thing that changed was the kid for Joel, he used to serve Sarah indulgent breakfasts on a Sunday and they’d do something together and the tradition was carried on with Ellie and Sarah remained tucked in his heart.

Tired and stiff from working hunched over all day, Joel was enjoying a quiet drink with Tommy. They were tucked away on a small table with two stools, Joel would have preferred something with a back but beggars can’t be choosers; he was grateful for the cold glass of bourbon nearly empty in front of him and the sound of Dire Straits playing over the old speakers.

As always, Tommy is picking and prying into his lack of a love life. Since he’s noticed his older brother being more settled within the community, he’d been trying his hardest to set him up with various women and Tommy Miller was nothing if not persistent.

At this point in the day, Tommy’s voice is almost just white noise.

“Cath is nice.” Tommy pointed out, Joel snorts.

“She’s also gay, Tommy.”

“Oh shit, really? I didn’t know.”

“Clearly. Can we please stop talking about this? It’s the same thing every fuckin’ time I come drinking with you.” Joel begs, Tommy sighs heavily but drops it for now.

Joel takes in the scenery as he sits there, grateful for the moments silence from Tommy. His eyes stray to the left of the table and he listens as you speak to Denton, an older gentleman in his late sixties with a love of horses. He’s quizzing you about the new mare in the stables, he hears you mention checking on her again after your shift because she’s been particularly temperamental since she was brought in from outside but you’ve developed a nice bond with her, she’s slowly becoming more trusting.

It occurs to Joel that everyone likes you - literally everyone, even Ellie and she was a tough nut to crack. You’re sweet, soft spoken yet confident. You’re always helping out where you can; on patrols, stable duty, in the communal garden, sometimes at the school and also here at the bar when Darius needs his shift covered.

You find good things on patrol and give them to Joel or Ellie before taking the rest for the community, so they get first pick of everything.

You’re just the sweetest thing.

Tommy sees you and beckons you with a friendly wave, you mutter a goodbye to Denton and pat his hand.

“Hey.” You hear your name called over the music and you turn as Tommy Miller grabs your attention as you scoop up two glasses and an empty bowl that once held nuts and dried berries from the table two away from his and Joel’s.

“Yes, Miller?” You patter over with your hands occupied, you sneak a look at his older sibling, sparing him a wink as a greeting, he smirks softly back.

“Has Darius got an other fuckin’ music or are we strictly limited to the sounds of 1985 tonight?” He questions and you laugh, shaking your head.

“You don’t like Dire Straits?”

“He doesn’t appreciate good music.” Joel interjects, shaking his head at Tommy.

“I do - but other music. Eminem or even fuckin’ Britney! Anything but this shit.” Tommy groans, tossing his head back.

“Keep talking smack about Dire Straits, Miller - and I’ll snitch to your wife about the fact you’ve switched patrols with Mark twice this week because you were too hungover to go.” You smile sweetly at Tommy, tilting your head.

“Snitches get stitches.” Tommy remarks playfully, not an ounce of malice in his dark brown eyes and your eyebrows rise, you beam back.

“That right? Well, troublesome men get barred for life.”

“Oooooh.” Joel chimes in, looking amusedly between you and his younger brother.

“Touché.” Tommy quips, folding his arms.

“Tell you what, next time I’m in, I’ll have a rummage out back and see if I can find you some Britney. Bless you.” You pinch his cheek as you walk past and he swats your hand, rubbing the spot while Joel laughs.

“You’re pushing your luck giving her lip, I’m not sure if you’re aware but this is the only operational bar in Wyoming.”

“Tell me about it.” He grumbles back, Joel shakes his head once more as the door behind Tommy on the back wall opens.

“Joeeeeeel?!” He hears yelled from close by, he looks up and sees Ellie dragging her sneakers across the floor, scouring the bar for him with her honey coloured eyes eagerly. She spots him within seconds, beaming and practically skipping over to him and Tommy in the corner. “There you are, I looked fucking everywhere for you.” She groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “I wanna go out, I’m bored shitless at home. There’s nothing for me to do and yes - I’ve done my school work.” She quickly adds.

“You done those quadratic equation questions we were going over last night?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Yep. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, though I did ask my teacher because I’m pretty sure you were figuring them out wrong. You were, by the way.” Joel puffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. Ellie spins to Tommy, the soles of her shoes squeaking. “Can I try that?” She’s laser focused on the bourbon swimming between globes of ice in Tommy’s glass.

“What have I said the last twenty times you’ve asked, El?” Tommy’s dark brows are high on his forehead, his mouth is twisted with hidden laughter. Ellie rolls her eyes with annoyance, sloping over to Joel now.

“No.” She huffs, swinging her lanky arms around Joel. She hums and rubs her face into his shoulder bone, resting there for a second before her attentions shifts comically fast. There’s a warmth that spreads through Joel every single time she does this, she’s so casual about it and he’s drawn the conclusion that it’s a teenage thing because Sarah was the same. There’s a sadness that blossoms too, a darkness that twists and anchors in his chest as he thinks of her and who she’d be now. He can’t dwell for too long, not now - he did that for too long.

At one dark point in time, human connection was not key to survival, hence why he always kept Tess at arms length and then referred to Ellie as cargo until one snowy day it became apparent she was no longer cargo when she was frenzied and panting in his arms, splattered with the blood of a predator and gasping like she was taking her last breath. The sound haunted him for a long time, all memories of Sarah hitting him like a freight train. He had to protect Ellie, the minute he drew her in - oh baby girl - and held her tightly, wrapped in his coat and clinging to him just as hard.

Ellie’s his kid now. She’s his. He’s hers. They’re a family. Ellie Williams Miller - that’s how she’s known now. It’s scrawled on her school books. The love he feels for this human tornado in sneakers is unmatched, the one thing he’s ever been truly good at has been restored and it’s a role he knows well; being a father.

Sure, this teenager that he’s raising is the furthest from bubblegum pink and Avril Lavigne she could be, she’s particularly jagged around the edges and does have the temperament of an unsocialised cat that will bite if you get too close.

He looks down at her, rubbing into him like she’s trying to get his smell on her because it’s comforting and she feels safe and feels his heart ready to burst.

Of course the sweet moment of affection is shattered when Ellie yawns directly into his fucking ear because why wouldn’t she?

He grunts when she bears most of her weight on his aching shoulders, leaning easily into him and twisting her small fingers into his flannel.

“So? Can I go or not?” She presses.

“Go where?” He prompts, raising his eyebrow.

“Toni’s from school. Her cat had kittens a few weeks ago and they’re starting to play. Five of them, Joel! That’s a lotta kittens!” Ellie enunciates, brown eyes wide and Joel can’t help the smile that graces his otherwise tired face.

“You mean a litter?” He corrects and Ellie pauses, frowning.

“Huh?”

“A bunch of kittens is a litter, Ellie.” He informs her and she somehow manages to frown even more, she makes a noise like she’s computing the new information.

“Yeah, whatever.” She mumbles, Tommy snorts in amusement. “So I can go see them?” She presses, shifting her weight again and Joel groans louder now, unhooking her arms from his shoulders with a quiet ‘don’t do that, baby’ that’s full of affection.

“Yes but you’re back at nine latest, okay? Nine. I’ll be waiting for you, the minute those street lamps turn on, you’re home.” Joel says, Ellie’s mouthing along to his instructions that he’s been laying out since Summer began and the evenings stretched longer. “Be good.” He speaks more softly now and she nods, he presses a kiss to the side of her head, her eyelashes flutter happily as the warmth blossoms in her too with the security that’s Joel Miller.

“Peesh. I’m always good. Bye Tommy!” She says excitedly, fist bumping him when it’s offered.

“See ya, squirt.” Tommy replies but before he’s even voiced his reply, Ellie’s hurrying away and knocking into a patron while waving to you on the way out of the door so hard it slams. Joel sighs, thinking she’s a literal hurricane.

The door hinge has barely stopped shaking before Tommy starts with the suggestions of suitors once more.

“What about Myleene?” Tommy proposes, Joel shakes his head quickly, downing the remainder of his drink.

“Too young.” He replies.

“She’s twenty five.”

“Too young.” He repeats firmer this time.

“Okay, fine. What about Michelle? She’s what forty? I was talking to her in the cobblers the other day, she’s definitely interested - mentioned something about making you a pie?”

“I’m good.” He grumbles looking down into his empty glass but quickly shifting his gaze to the bar, you’re leaning on your elbows, laughing heartily with a patron.

You look beautiful tonight - just like every other night. Your shoulders are sunkissed, your cheeks a little flushed and skin glowing from the summer humidity. He absorbs the way your hair tumbles down your shoulders and the way the thin straps of your tiered sundress slip down occasionally, only to be tugged back into place with dexterous fingers.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Tommy jibes, Joel looks over with a firm scowl.

“What?” He asks, Tommy shakes his head.

“You can dream, brother.” Joel rolls his eyes, trying to act nonchalant. “She’s got a boyfriend anyway.” Tommy adds, Joel eyes him with full attention.

“A boyfriend?” He asks, trying to be sure he heard right.

“Yeah, overheard her talking to one of the girls in the garden a few days ago. Didn’t mention no names but she definitely said she was seein’ someone.” Tommy shrugged, Joel hummed with interest. “Anyway, it don’t matter because she’s way out of your league.”

“Thanks.” Joel retorts, sneaking one last look before focusing on the door behind Tommy, the one Ellie had not long barrelled in and out of just moments ago.

He wonders about the kittens she mentioned and gulps as he imagines her taking to one with its big eyes and soft paws, his mind is pulled back to a time in April when he’d come downstairs one morning to a sink full of tad poles she’d ‘rescued’ from birds out of the neighbours pond.

Basically, his girl can’t resist animals she deems too vulnerable to leave.

“Scared Ellie’s gonna come home with one of them kittens?” Tommy wonders, reading Joel’s mind.

“Terrified.”

********************************************

The sun is setting in bursts of burnt orange and marigold by the time he leaves Tommy to his own devices at the bar, he hazards a look around as he makes his way in the complete opposite direction to his and Ellie’s house.

He slinks around the back of the school house, slithering through the gap and walking up the winding path that leads to the stables. He climbs the short fence and hops to the other side, his boots kick up the dust from the dirt path and the crickets chirp beneath the skyline.

With one more look around, he opens to rear door to the stables and slips inside, shutting it softly behind him.

Immediately he hears the horses further down huff and puff, he can make out the swish of their tails hitting the walls as they munch on hay, there’s a neigh that is absolutely Shimmer kicking up a fuss about something.

He slopes around the riding gear and sees you leaning against the wall, hands behing your back. You grin.

“Took your time, cowboy. Was beginning to think you couldn’t take the hint and stood me up.”

“Never, honey.” Joel prowls towards you, ready to grab you. “Missed you.”

“You just saw me.”

“Not the same.” He yanks you close like a man starved, you’d shared company less than 24 hours ago but you greet and leave each other like it’s the last time you’ll ever be together. It’s the apocalypse affect, you know that, he does too

This arrangement had been going on for almost two months now, all started by a late night patrol together where you’d shared more about yourselves in an eight hour shift than both of your time in Jackson combined. There was an instant attraction, it was so easy to talk to one another and that’s what you did every single time you were partnered together and it became the highlight of your day. It started innocently and friendship had bloomed, then before you knew it you were sharing a rum laced thermos of tea with him in the bed of a truck and kissing him with reddened cheeks shortly thereafter. You’d first slept together in the same truck, just as dawn began to break. It was clumsy and quick but you couldn’t get enough of one another. You hadn’t cum but Joel promised next time would be better which lead to the question of next time? You’d been seeing each other most nights since.

Any chance you got, you were together. Nobody knew about you both, hence why Tommy was incessantly trying to hook Joel up with other women around town and jealousy burned as you listened in on their one sided conversations in the bar whenever you were covering for Darius.

You’d left the bar shortly before Joel had, waving farewell to him and Tommy, coming straight up here to check on the mare just as you’d told Denton. This was a usual spot to meet Joel, it wasn’t your first rodeo in the stables with him. It was the one place you could be alone after a certain time.

“Were you hiding from me, honey? Hmm?” He growls playfully, pulling you to him even though you were barely a millimetre away in the first place. You hum in response, so utterly lost in him. You’re nuzzling his throat, fisting his shirt, desperate for his attention. “God, you look so good today.” He murmurs, mouth finding yours. You moan softly, standing on your tip toes and kissing him in a way that makes his lungs and loins burn alike. His grey tinged moustache prickles your upper lip beautifully, his beard feels familiar beneath your soft hands.

He’s crowding you and guiding you backwards, kissing you hotly in a sense that makes your cunt throb eagerly. You moan into his mouth when he nips your bottom lip, squeezing the left cheek of your ass.

You love when he’s like this - playful and easy. He feels lightyears younger around you, it’s like the heaviness dissipates the moment he’s in your company. He loses himself in the way you smell, the way your hair feels when his fingers are entwined between the sun kissed strands, the way in which your eyes sparkle with mischief.

It’s easy to pull him towards the back of the stable, where the bales of hay were stacked created a nice wall of privacy. You’d been in here a couple of times with him, having gone as far to stash a flannel blanket in one of the cupboards to lay down as to protect you both from the cold floor and the prickle of loose hay.

Once behind the hay and seated on a bale with you in his lap, strong hands are moving the thin straps of your sundress down your shoulders, you momentarily break away from his mouth to aid the removal of your dress to your waist where Joel roughly bunches it up so that your underwear is now on show and so are your tits.

His eyes light up at your bare chest, like he hasn’t seen your breasts countless times before. One thing among many that you first noticed was that Joel Miller is a tit man through and through. His rough and work toughened hands cup them both gently before his tongue swirls around your left nipple.

“Joel.” You murmur, arching into him, rolling your hips into his. He’s hard already, age not affecting him like that in the slightest. He’s a hot blooded male, every single inch a man and that warms you to your core. You grab his hand, bringing it to the top of your panties and he slides it in without hesitation.

“Christ.” He curses, exploring your lips with his fingertips, gliding through the dewy wetness gathered there and coming back up for a split second to drag it over your clit roughly. You whimper, bucking into his hand. “Mmm, babydoll.” Joel huffs against your cheek in a hot pant, repeating the action.

“Need you so badly, Joel. Almost got started without you.” You confess.

“Fuck. You can’t- don’t say shit like that, honey.” He growls lowly, unbelievably hard beneath you. His fingers explore again, you aid his explorations by canting your hips just so.

Joel is eager to get things moving, he’s hard and frustrated, he has a beautiful woman in his lap and the perfect setting. He pulls his hand from your underwear, looking down to see the shine of you on him. He loses his mind when you take his hand and lead it to your mouth, sucking the tips of his index and middle finger as he watches with eyes blown wide; they look black instead of the earthy brown that sometimes melts into caramel or runny honey.

The minute you hum like a content cat, he has you lifted off his lap and braced against him. You squeal at the sudden shift, the ceiling looking closer than the floor but then he gently lays you back on the blanket and settles between your legs.

“Hey, who was Tommy trying to set you up with?” You blurt, Joel pauses.

“Cath.”

“She’s gay.” You frown.

“Michelle too.” He adds before diving down into your chest, pressing your breasts together, mouthing at the swell.

“I’m not sure you’re Michelle’s type, she’s a cougar apparently.” You remark, Joel ignores you in favour of sucking your nipples until they feel raw. “Why Michelle? I don’t understand why Tommy thinks she’s a good match for you.” You don’t know why this is coming up now, your mouth seems to have a mind of its own, the jealousy settling like lead in your stomach.

“He said she wants to make me a pie.” Joel pipes up, the confession half muffled.

“What kind of pie?” You ask, pulling his face from your tits. Joel groans frustratedly, looking up at you with eyes dark and deadly.

“I don’t know. Why does that even matter?”

“A cream pie probably.” You snarl under your breath, the jealousy swirling in the pit of your stomach like a rattled viper.

Joel laughs, shaking his head and coaxing your mouth back to his. “Gross.” He murmurs, kissing you softly and squeezing your hips as if to guide you back. “You know I only like your cream pies.” He jokes, this time you break into a smile.

“Now whose gross?” You snort, tugging his plain grey undershirt over his head and to the side. You run your palms over his chest and down to his softer stomach, digging your nails in as they drag a long his skin. Goosebumps erupt all over him.

Joel is softer in his older age but strong too, years of walking different terrain, heavy lifting and fighting have made him lean also.

You hum contentedly, tracing over those familiar scars that have been made in the 20 years since the world imploded.

“He said you were out of my league.” Joel suddenly admits, resting his hands on your spread knees. You frown up at him. “Tommy said you were out of my league.”

“Tell Tommy he doesn’t know shit.” You retort with an eye roll, grabbing Joel by his belt and yanking him forward. “I like you, Joel. Fuck what anyone else thinks, it’s not anyone’s business who we choose to be with.” You say softly now, kissing your way up his chin to his lips. “I like you.” You affirm again, Joel kisses you tenderly, weaving his hand into your hair as you moan quietly.

“Well, I like you too.” He says, kissing you with so much passion yet so much tenderness all at the same time as you fumble to unbuckle his belt. You yank it apart, tugging open the button and prying the worn denim apart with the hiss of his zipper.

He barely lets you wrap a hand around him over his boxers before he has both your wrists pinned above your head, you make a sad whine but all disappointment quickly dissipates when he shuffles down the length of your torso and yanks your underwear down so fast you feel the material leave a friction burn. He grabs your thighs and then manoeuvres your legs by the backs of your knees, you like where this seems to be going.

Your spine curves against the hard floor when his mouth makes that first contact, he starts slow with a lick up the length of you, then he lightly suckles your lips and gently licks over the hood of your clitoris.

“Joel.” You murmur, twisting the blanket beneath your fingertips, scrunching it and bitting down on your lower lip as he continues his gentle assault on your clit, the rubber toes of your hi tops dig into his ribs almost painfully.

His thumb comes up to gently push the hood of your clit back, the sensation of his tongue directly stimulating the nerve causes you to gasp and wind one hand down into his hair, you tug and he groans against you.

You’re transported back to one of the first times you’d been intimate together after sleeping together in the truck.

For some reason, it had shocked you that Joel Miller ate pussy like a champ. The first time he’d gone down on you - behind the bar just after you’d blown him - you’d prepared yourself for dissatisfaction and disappointment, only it never came. Joel had licked into you with such ferocity and precision that you’d almost keened over.

He’d made you cum so quickly that you’d barely had time to process the first swipe of his tongue on your clitoris and the climax that followed minutes later.

He’d looked up at you, moustache and beard slick with his eyes wide; ‘I forgot how much I enjoyed doing that’ he’d panted while you squeaked back in shock.

Now, as you live in the moment, you feel that tingle of pleasure building but you don’t want to cum without him inside of you. As much as it pains you, you tug on his hair, urging him back up.

“Wanna cum with you.” You pant when he looks up with dazed brown eyes, frowning a little. He seems to accept that and sits up, shucking his jeans and boxers down over his ass with the help of your clumsy hands. “Lay back.” You demand, he does so and you move to take his place.

You throw your legs over his and settle above his lap, he’s got one arm behind his head and watches as you take him in your first and tease yourself with the flushed tip of him. He breathes in sharply through his nose as you do it again before notching him at the site of your heat, you steady yourself and begin to sink down.

“Fuck me.” Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly because he’s so sure he’s in heaven. The sensation of your wet heat surrounding him never gets old, he’d forgotten how much he loved sex before meeting you.

“You’re so big, Joel.” You whimper, stroking his ego deliciously and he hates to be such a guy but the compliment goes straight to his dick.

“Fuck, honey. Take what you want, I’m yours - just fuck me.” He begs as you slowly begin to move, your nails scrape across his torso as you fall into an easy rhythm of rolling your hips into his. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” He babbles, looking up and admiring the curve of your back and the way your tits bounce as you ride him.

“Mmm.” You whine, picking up the pace and throwing your head back which exposes your jugular and Joel just wants to sink his teeth into you because you truly look good enough to eat.

“Come here, babydoll.” He urges, pulling you down so you’re chest to chest. Your peer at him with pretty doe eyes, your lashes flutter as they shut to kiss him deeply, your tongue swipes his and you taste the tang of yourself on him. You moan louder when he manages to plant his boots on the floor and thrust up into you roughly, tangling his hand in your hair to keep you pressed against him.

It’s so hot in the stables, you’re both sticky and warm. But with your pretty moans and keens filling the air, Joel manages to easily forget the irritation from the heat.

You push against his chest to sit up and Joel grabs your hips, guiding you easily and you feel yourself getting close but you can’t achieve orgasm through penetration alone.

You brace one hand on his thigh behind you, tipping your head back as the pleasure becomes almost too much to handle. Your hips roll in an easy rhythm, his cock head hitting your G spot perfectly and you whine when the hand on your left hip moves ever so slightly until Joel was able to thumb your clit. He knows you so well.

“Oh f - fuck. You feel so good, you’re so good - fuck.” You babble, your hips moving faster.

“Jesus christ.” Joel huffs, throwing his head back against the hard floor, biting his bottom lip hard to stave off his orgasm. You feel so good wrapped around him; wet and snug, like crushed velvet.

He knows he can’t stay like this, he’s too close to finishing and he can sense you’re not quite there yet despite being edged so he makes the conscious decision to hold you and flip you both over with a nimbleness he didn’t know he possessed in his older age.

You stutter out a choked moan, arching into his strong hands. You drag your nails down his toned back, leaving a little spatter of blood in the red tracks.

Joel hisses when your nails puncture the skin on the globes of his ass, somehow trying to pull him closer and push him away at the same time.

“Where?” He asks, nodding downwards as he fights off his climax.

“Inside.” You reply without hesitation. You’d counted your cycle days, marking in a blank notebook the day number and your symptoms, pretty accurately guessing your fertile window and probable ovulation day by cervical mucus alone. You were four days from your period being due, it was safe.

“You sure?” He hesitates, brow furrowed hard with concentration, he’s a stroke away from finishing. He knows better than most people to not trust the pull out method and he knows the importance of contraception but he still ended up a Dad before he hit his mid twenties. Pushing sixty he’s still playing a dangerous game but so far, neither of you had gotten burnt.

“Yeah.” You gasp, fingers on your clit rubbing faster. You groan suddenly and twist into him, making pretty little whimpers and purring. He groans too, thrusting in hard once, twice and then three times. You feel his cock stiffen and twitch, then the pulse of subtle warmth of his cum spreading inside and aiming for your cervix. He works himself through it, you push in return as the aftershocks slow to a flat line.

Joel heaves a breath, resting on his forearms as you lazily kiss his neck in satisfaction and rapture. You sit there for a minute, basking in the afterglow until Joel grows too stiff and has to withdraw from you slowly, kneeling up between your legs to pull his boxers and jeans back up but he leaves them unbuttoned and his belt loose.

You don’t miss the primal look in his eyes when they drift to between your legs, he can see his cum leaking and the pearlescent finish it leaves on your lips. His cock twitches, perhaps if he was younger he could go for another round but alas, he settles next to you on the blanket, pulling you to his chest and cushioning your head with a strong bicep.

“I think that might have been the best time yet.” You pant breathlessly, looking up at the ceiling and seeing the evening sky through the cracks of wood.

“Maybe one day we can do it in an actual bed, I’m not sure how much more of these places my back can take.” Joel jokes, you giggle and turn into him, listening to the rapid pace of his heartbeat as it settles, a perfect mirror of your own.

“Not bad for an old timer.” You tease, giggling when he growls and squeezes your hip.

“Was patrol okay today?” Joel questions you, you nod lazily against him. “You come across anything?” Now you speak, leaning up to peer down at him.

“A couple of runners. We shot them in that abandoned gas station near the entrance to the offices off the trail. I think they were probably people passing through, one was infected on the journey and turned, then bit the other.” Joel hums, rubbing your lower back and hip. “I have some things for Ellie I found, by the way. I’ll drop them over tomorrow. Nothing crazy, just some things I thought she needed.” You say between kisses down Joel’s chest and sternum, your delicate fingers tracing out old battle scars.

“What like?” He asks, catching your hand as it reaches his happy trail, bringing it to his lips instead where he presses tender kisses to your fingertips.

“Pyjamas, underwear and some toiletries. Oh! And get this, a new casette tape for her walkman.”

“What tape?”

“Teardrops.” You grin.

“Womack and Womack? She’s gonna love that.” Joel says, laying back and smiling at the ceiling of the stables, humming the song in his head. “Fuck, I haven’t heard that song in - jesus - years.” He’s frowning, contemplating lost time, the whole concept of time evades him, it never used to at the start but now? It’s one big jumble, his time is defined by events and not a calendar.

“She still playing that one you got her on repeat?” You wonder.

“Yeah.”

“What was it again?”

“Bowie. Heroes.” Joel replies.

“Nice.” You nod.

As you lie there together in an easy silence, content to be together in the quiet solace of the stables, Joel’s mind wanders back to his earlier conversation with his younger brother:

“Hey, er - Tommy actually said something else earlier.” Joel winces at how awkward he sounds and you huff loudly, ready to hear what other dumbass thing he’s said. “He said he heard you say you have a boyfriend or that you were seein’ someone.”

You sit up, frowning down at Joel.

“Okay…” You reply hesitantly, uneasy now. “Am I not seeing you?” You frown.

“No - no! It’s… that came out wrong. I just meant - “ Joel grumbles, covering his face momentarily while you try to will your stomach from not sinking. “I don’t know, I just wanted to know if you meant me.”

“Seriously, Joel? This conversation is going so well.” You say dryly, utterly unimpressed.

“No! Oh my god! I can’t do this.” He groans, realising his mistake. “I’m sorry, that came out so wrong.” Joel apologises, you snort.

“Look Joel, I was talking to Mrs Patterson in the garden and she was telling me about her late husband, saying how lovely he was and how men just aren’t like that anymore. She asked if I’d found anyone and I let it slip that I was seeing someone, I didn’t mention any names and I can totally understand why you’re freaked when we haven’t even had that conversation ourselves. I shouldn’t have assumed this was anything more than sex, I’m sorry.” You annunciate, warm in the cheeks.

“You want to just have sex?” Joel is sat up now, matching your frazzled expression.

“If that’s what you want.” You shrug, taking an interest in your cuticles. A large hand lays over yours, squeezing. You shift your focus to his knuckles instead, tracing out the scars.

“Honey, look at me.” He urges softly, you hesitantly meet his eyes. “I think somewhere we’ve miscommunicated.”

“How so?” You press.

“Look… it’s been a long time since I’ve done this, I’m a little rusty. I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear about what we are or what I want us to be, I kinda just assumed you knew and yeah, that’s real shitty of me.” He says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I wanna be exclusive with you, honey. I mean, I have Ellie to think about so we’ll need to go slow just so I can ease her into the change. Is that okay?” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“That’s more than okay, Joel. I completely understand, I don’t want to spook Ellie either.” You confirm, Joel let’s out a relieved sigh.

“Good - good, okay. We’ll figure it out, baby.” He assures you, nuzzling his nose against yours and kissing you softly.

It’s easy to lose yourself in Joel Miller, you’re swept up in the gruff voice and strong arms, the softness beneath his outer shell reserved for those closest to him.

You’re kissing him back in earnest, he’s reclining to lay back down with you on top of him and you’re sure this could lead to round two or at least head from either one of you, maybe even both.

However, the moment is spoiled when you hear voices creeping closer to the stables. You both stiffen and wait, looking at each other with eyes opened wide.

The voices are getting closer and you decipher it’s two sets, it’s not made clear who it is until they’re walking behind the stables and you can see their shadows slink between the thin gaps in the planks.

It’s Ellie and Tommy.

You and Joel scramble, you yank your dress back over your breasts and pull the hem of it over your ass. Your panties are on the floor and you narrowly dodge Joel’s elbow as he hastily buckles his jeans back up just in time for the door around the corner to open with a shriek of the hinges.

“What if he’s gone out on patrol without telling me? Or maybe he’s swapped with someone and gone hunting? I know I’m back way earlier than he said but he said he’d be home! Do you think he’s left the gate? What if he’s hurt? What if - “ Ellie begins to ramble and Tommy sighs.

“Kiddo, stop worrying. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere, let’s look at the whiteboard and see if his name’s on there. I highly doubt he’s swapped shifts and he wouldn’t leave without telling you, he’s gotta be around here some…” Tommy’s reassurance comes to a stop when he round the corner of the hay bale wall and abruptly stops, staring at you and Joel with as much shock as you return.

Ellie slams into his back and he wobbles but his gaze never falters.

“What the fuck, man!” Ellie exclaims, shoving Tommy and stepping around his statue like form but also freezing too.

You look between them both, trying to formulate an excuse but Joel shoving his t-shirt on, the fact your clothes are crumpled and there’s absolutely hay in your tousled hair says it all.

Your panties are shoved behind your back out of view.

“Well I’ll be damned, you’re the guy she’s seein’!.” Tommy snorts, looking between you both. Joel growls, yanking on his flannel while Ellie manually retrieves her jaw from the floor.

“What the fuck is this?” She asks, looking between you and Joel. “You have a girlfriend? What the fuck, dude? You didn’t say anything!” She fumes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Look, it’s complicated and new.” He says, which placates her slightly. She stares at you again and you see the betrayal hidden behind a scowl, she looks at Joel again.

“Fine. I guess this isn’t that bad, it could be worse - we could of caught you with Esther.”

“That’s true.” Tommy nods, pointing at Ellie, she nods back.

“Esther?” You question, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Tommy’s neighbour, she totally fancies Joel.” Ellie tells you. “You should fight her.”

“No, she doesn’t and stop shit stirring.” Joel warns Ellie, she hides a smirk which tells you she’s winding Joel up.

“I could take Esther.” You say, playing along, Ellie’s eyes brighten with mischief.

“Nobody’s fighting no one.” Joel settles, you’re all silent for a millisecond and then Tommy throws in his two cence.

“You could take Esther.” He agrees.

“Enough about Esther, please!” Joel begs, beside himself.

“This is fucking embarrassing, Joel. What the fuck do you expect us to do? It’s awkward!” Ellie complains, Tommy nods in agreement, you do too.

“Yeah? Try being where we’re stood, kid.” He retorts.

Ellie kinda has to resist the urge to throw up in her mouth because Joel has sex which is so horrifying that she almost can’t bare to look at him but she’s equally happy for him and utterly disgusted, she swallows back a retch.

“Fine, whatever. I’m very happy for you and my da - Joel.” Ellie bursts and corrects herself at the last minute, you don’t miss the hitch in Joel’s breathing but this is not the time for that discussion. “I’m willing to negotiate a price for the emotional damage you’ve both caused me by lying to me, sneaking around and also having sex in front of my horse.” She lists.

“My horse too!” Tommy adds.

“And Tommy’s horse too, Crash and Shimmer didn’t want to see your bare ass.” Ellie continues and for some reason Joel knows exactly where this is going, so he braces himself.

“Name your price.” He bites, Ellie looks at him with a levelling glare, it’s getting hard not to laugh when you see Tommy observing like he’s watching a mafia deal go down.

“A kitten.” Ellie reveals.

He fucking knew it.

[tremendum]

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Me and the Devil; Masterlist

(not my gif)

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!Reader, minor Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader

↬      synopsis: After the fall of the once-great House, the lone surviving daughter of Duke Bourbon is ordered to leave her betrothal to the na-Baron Harkonnen for the heir of House Atreides.

[series warnings (read individual for extra warnings): slow burn. enemies/strangers-to-friends-to-lovers ish. arranged marriage, violence, canon divergence (aged-up characters, can be read as pre-canon), past non-con/dub-con, canon-typical references to incest/pedophilia (the Baron & Feyd-Rautha), angst, eventual smut, blood and gore, trauma, plot heavy, religious imagery, paganism]

↬       in honor of nearing 10k hits on the story, i've decided to cross-post this story from my account on AO3. Story updated first there.

↬     current story word count: 50.4k

↬      prelude; ❝Paul Atreides becomes betrothed. You are ripped from your nest of darkness and shipped to a new world.❞

↬      i; ❝Destruction: The only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common.❞

↬      ii; ❝Paul knows whatever he is feeling, you're likely feeling a hundred times more. So, for both your sakes, he will learn to live with you, and it will start tonight.❞

↬      iii; ❝Perhaps it is not polite to admit to your betrothed that you loathed the idea of wedding them, but Paul knows the feeling is more than mutual.❞

↬      iv; ❝"We've always known what the Harkonnens are." You laugh mirthlessly, "And yet, they sent me, happily, to marry the devil. To become one."❞

↬      v; ❝Paul's breaths are as sharp as yours; both of you like wild, scared beasts being hunted by something you cannot see. Something in the back of your mind tells you that you should not be wasting your anger on each other.❞

↬      vi; ❝Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time. With a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike.❞

↬       vii; coming soon.

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taglist for this fic is closed. please follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

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[cera-writes]

Balcony Tryst

A/N: I've had this idea for a while. Wrote this while listening to House of the Rising Sun by Lauren O'Connell. Summary: Remy LeBeau and you share a private suite overlooking Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Things get heated quickly ;) Tags: voyeurism, nsfw, public sex, handjob

The night air was thick with the heady scent of Bourbon Street and the distant hum of New Orleans' nightlife. The balcony of the private suite wrapped around them like a secret cocoon, shielding their passionate encounter from prying eyes below. Remy LeBeau, his lean body pressed against yours, his hands gripping the balustrade as he steadied himself, his breath hot against your neck.

"Y'feel s'good, chere," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl that sent shivers down your spine. His Cajun accent was more pronounced in the quiet of your balcony, each word dripping with desire.

You could feel his hardness against your palm, the rhythm of your stroking matching the pounding of your heart. You moved your hand faster, relishing the way his body responded, the soft moans escaping him, the way he bit down gently on your shoulder, a mix of pain and pleasure sparking through you.

"Remy," you gasped, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze, "you're so... intense."

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, as he nuzzled your ear. "It's jus' you, ma chérie. Y'bring out dis side of me."

The city lights twinkled below, casting a soft glow over the balcony, highlighting the curves of his muscles as he moved with you. His free hand traveled up your back, pulling you closer, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that made you shiver.

"Tell me what you want," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat as you felt his body tense with anticipation.

"Remy wan'chu," he breathed, his lips brushing against your cheek, "all of you, right here, right now."

You leaned into him, your body flush against his, feeling the heat between you rise. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the intoxicating thrill of the moment.

"Show me," you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand still moving confidently up and down his length.

Remy's response was immediate. He turned you around, pressing you against the cool cast iron of the balcony, his body sheltering yours from the slight breeze. His hands found your hips, gripping them tightly as he positioned himself behind you.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice firm yet tender. You obeyed, meeting his fiery gaze over your shoulder. The intensity in his eyes was palpable, a mix of passion and possession that made your breath hitch.

"You're mine tonight," he declared, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "And Remy gon show you how good it be."

With that, he entered you slowly, deliberately, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. You bit your lip, holding back a moan as he filled you, the sensation overwhelming in the best possible way.

"Dat's it, ma chérie," he encouraged, his voice thick with emotion as he began to move, his thrusts steady and deep. "Take all of me."

You closed your eyes, letting the sensations wash over you. Each stroke of his body against yours was a promise, each touch a testament to the connection you shared. The world outside the balcony faded into insignificance, the noise of the bustling streets below nothing but a distant echo.

"Remy," you whimpered, the word torn from your lips as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, "please..."

"What'cha need, chere?" he panted, his movements growing more urgent, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every curve, every dip.

You didn't have the words, not then, not when all you could focus on was the delicious friction, the way he made you feel alive, wanted, cherished.

"Just you," you managed, your voice cracking with emotion. "Always you."

Remy kissed your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin gently as he quickened his pace, his body slick with sweat, his breaths coming in sharp gasps.

"Lookit dem," he suddenly said, his voice husky as he nodded towards the street below. Your eyes followed his gesture, spotting a couple paused under a streetlight, their shadows entwined. "D'ey can't see us, but d'ey know we're here."

The idea of being watched, even indirectly, sent a thrill through you. It was taboo, dangerous, yet incredibly erotic. You could feel Remy's excitement grow, his grip on your hips tightening as he pounded into you with renewed vigor.

"F-fuck yes," you gasped, your voice mingling with his in a symphony of desire. "Let them know."

Remy's laughter was wild, unrestrained, as he claimed you fully, his body a blur of motion, his emotions laid bare. "D'ey envy us, chere," he growled, his voice raw with passion. "D'ey wish d'ey were us."

The thought was heady, empowering. You arched your back, offering yourself to him completely, your fingers digging into the iron railing as you rode out the wave of pleasure building within you.

"Remy," you cried out, your voice carrying on the night air, "I'm close."

"D'en come for Remy. Unravel for me," he demanded, his own release imminent. "Let me feel it, cher."

With a final surge of energy, you let go, your body convulsing around him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Remy followed soon after, his groan of completion mingling with yours, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

For a moment, there was silence, save for your ragged breathing and the distant sounds of the city. Remy remained inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his body still humming with the aftermath of passion.

"Chere," he murmured, his voice soft, almost reverent, "dat was..."

You turned in his arms, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, his chest, still heaving with exertion. "Perfect," you finished for him, your smile gentle, loving.

Remy kissed you then, a slow, deep kiss that spoke of promises and possibilities, of nights like this and many more to come. When he pulled away, his eyes held a glimmer of mischief.

"Ready for another round, ma chérie?" he teased, his hand trailing down your spine, reigniting the fire within you.

You laughed, the sound light and carefree, as you pulled him closer, ready to explore the depths of your desires once more.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [14K] PART ONE OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

And, baby, for you I would fall from grace

He came into the dining room of the club one Saturday afternoon. Sunkissed, tall, broad, stubble on his jaw and a gold chain glinting from the collar of his white shirt. He had a navy sweater draped over his shoulders, expensive sunglasses in his shirt's front pocket, an unassuming looking leather strapped watch on his wrist - but you’d learned well before then how to tell the difference between new money and old money.   

And Steve Harrington was old, old money. 

The watch cost more than your car and a year's rent on your apartment. Fuck, it cost more than you’d probably ever make working behind the bar of Hawkins’ country club. It cost more than the short black dress you were made to wear, the one that cinched you in at the waist and flared out over your thighs. It shone more than the gold plated name badge that was pinned on your chest, making your plunging neckline even more obvious. It cost more than the black heels that were part of your uniform, more than the five dollar balm that made your lips glossy and peach coloured. 

But still, Steve Harrington and his old, old money noticed you. 

—————

The restaurant was full, the bar even busier, the smoking lounge that sat through the double doors stuffed with leather chairs, studded couches, velvet footstools and table lined with cigars in wooden boxes. The full place smelled like bourbon and smoke, expensive cologne, perfume that cost even more. 

The Lake House country club was Hawkins’ finest institute, an old Manor House that was built on the shore of Lovers Lake, across the water from where teens liked to lurk in their cars and between tree trunks. The Lake House was where the town's elite came to dine, to drink, to lounge and talk. There were brunches with champagne and whisky, afternoon tea with ladies who wore diamonds and pearls, dinners with wine from 1802 and business meetings on the golfing green. Money poured from the club and filled the cracks in the old bricks, men with their daddy’s money bringing in their daughters, their sons, their wives. And when the family drove home in their Bentley, girlfriend’s arrived in red bottomed shoes, perching on laps in the smoking lounge like it was their jobs. 

Maybe it was. You weren’t supposed to ask. 

Your job was to stay behind the bar, a huge mahogany thing that took up most of the back wall. Everything was dark wood and lined with green velvet, the bar stools suede and gold studded, the bottles of alcohol on the glass shelves nothing less than a month's paycheck each. Martini glasses glittered, whisky was in the air like car fumes and the lime you were cutting into wheels was making the cut on your finger pulse.  

He walked in then, into the busy room like he owned it. The Harringtons were certainly wealthy enough to do so, but Michael Harrington and his wife simply liked to dine at the club on Sundays, take up on the tennis courts midweek and finish the day at the spa with a massage each. 

Six hundred dollars a session to hire out the court, four hundred dollar scotch, three hundred dollar steaks (eighty dollars more for the potato dauphinoise), five hundred dollars for a couples massage. Oh, and a one hundred dollar tip for the fucker unfortunate enough to have to deal with them. 

In cash, of course. 

But their son? Steve Harrington moved out of Hawkins long before anyone could work out if he’d grow up to be as cold as his father. Away from small towns, rumour had it he went to New York, an apartment in Manhattan, a job on Wall Street where he started at the bottom and worked his way up on luck, expensive vodka and daddy’s money. But then again, others said he spent his summers in Europe, talks of Italian villas, vineyards in Tuscany, selling yachts to the elite in Cannes, spending his time trading money through casinos, long months in Monaco during the spring. 

Seeing him back in Hawkins was unusual, uncommon, a goddamn rarity - but there he was, letting himself drop into the barstool in front of you like a Greek god etched from marble so expensive that you could barely afford to look at it. He sat with a friend, another twenty something that looked more man than boy because of their tailored trousers, crisp shirts, linen and cashmere and gold on their wrists, round their necks, family rings on their hands. 

Steve Harrington didn’t click his fingers at you like other members of the club did when they demanded to be served, but he did rap two knuckles against the bar top, a gold band on his middle finger hitting the wood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, careful and cuffed just below his elbows, the top three buttons undone to show off tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. More gold, a thin chain settling in the dip of his throat, stubble along his jaw that looked like it was there deliberately, not because he’d forgotten to shave. 

You held your breath when you approached. You’d never served the youngest Harrington before - fuck, you’d never seen him here - but you knew who he was and the reputation dripped from him. 

Old money, older estates, acres of land, shares in companies that were so ridiculously rich you didn’t know what they were for. Fast cars, scandals in Europe, yachts with his name on it.  

Stomach in knots, you straightened up, smoothed down then front of your dress and put on the same smile you used for all the club members. “Gentlemen,” you greeted, “what can I get you both?”

Steve looked at you but his friend didn’t, his back to you as he surveyed the room, mumbling comments about the lack of skirt that showed up this early in the afternoon. You recognised him, a regular in the later evenings, Jonathan Byers, a fiend for a good cigar, an even bigger fan of the girls that held the poker events on weekends. 

“Two Macallans,” Steve told you, already fishing out a money clip from his trouser pocket. The clip was gold, engraved with his initials: SMH. “Twenty year reserve, no ice.”

He really looked at you then, thumbing through one hundred dollar bills, eyes raking up and down your frame as you stood and listened diligently. Even when you turned to pull the bottle of scotch off the top shelf, you could feel him watching, one eyebrow quirked, full lips parted just a little, the top of his tongue peeking from between. Steve looked interested, intrigued. Maybe just a little less bored than before. 

You kept your head down, polishing the tumblers before you poured, a three finger amount of the dark amber liquid and the smell of fire and smoke filled your nose. You’d watched enough men sit around the bar and swirl their drinks under the nostrils, waffling about notes of chocolate and spice before they sipped. It all smelled the same, no matter what price was on the label, like car fuel and burning. Steve downed the drink in one when you handed it to him, like he wasn’t swallowing liquid fire that cost him more than you’d make in a week. 

You watched as his throat bobbed, his lips coming away from the rim of the glass a little glossy, how he licked over his bottom one to catch any alcohol that lingered. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and charm before he passed you six hundred dollars in notes. 

You nodded your thanks and went to the cash register, smiling what you hoped was politely as you tried to hand him back his change. Ninety dollars, pressed neatly in a pile of twenties and tens. The boy waved you off, still paying a lot of attention to the bare skin along your neckline, gaze running up the column of your throat. His eyes found yours when he finally spoke and god, they were the same colour as the scotch he just shotted.  

“Keep the change, honey.” Steve smiled again, a smug thing that made you aware of how warm your cheeks were. Then he slid on a pair of sunglasses he took from his shirt pocket and pushed his hair back with a hand, nudging his friend to drink up before they both slid off the stools. “Just make sure it goes in your own pocket, okay?”

You gaped at him. The Lake House’s policy when it came to tips - no matter how generous - was for them to be placed in a jar in the back office, ready to be split between staff, however hard individuals had worked, or not worked, that shift. 

The money burnt your fingers. “Um, that’s very generous but I can’t—”

Steve lifted a navy sweater he’d draped on the back of his chair, crushing the soft fabric with one hand. He used the other to reach out, plucking the bills from your fingers so he could fold them all together. His gaze met yours when he leaned back over the bar, unblinking, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your chest when he tucked the money into the neckline of your dress. It stayed there, hidden and you had to snap your jaw shut when Steve grinned at you before he pulled away. 

He raised a finger to his lips, like you were sharing a secret and not a sackable offence and his friend snorted, like he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had. 

“See you next time, honey,” Steve drawled, fishing keys out of his pocket. The silver logo of BMW glinted in the low lighting. “Thanks for the drinks.”

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington. 

Just to touch your face

The next time, he was with a group of people in the smoking lounge, all of them loud, most of them dirty rich and he had a girl on his lap. A waifish thing, pretty and delicate with a ruby pendant that settled in the dip of her chest. She held a martini glass aloft, one that you had to refill and you cursed The Lake House and its rules as your heels taptaptapped across the marble tiles. The hem of your dress swished across your thighs, your hand held a gold tray and the fresh martini swirled in its glass atop it, a well practised movement that made sure none of it spilled. The olive inside tumbled around gin and vermouth. 

Inside of the lounge, smoke billowed. Cigars and cigarettes poised between fingertips, hanging from lips that couldn’t help but spill secrets about their dirty businesses, the people they slept with before, the people they’d bed tonight. Nobody moved out of your way as you squeezed past tables and between the low sofas, leather and velvet brushing the backs of your thighs until you were able to present Steve Harrington’s lap warmer with her new drink. 

She took it from your tray, replaced it with her empty glass and said nothing. It was her hand on Steve’s chest that caused him to look away from the men he was talking with, a hushed sounding discussion about money in Monaco, about the company and its takings for that summer. He frowned at the girl and her pawing until he caught sight of you, his lips lifting in a smile that seemed more dangerous than welcoming. 

You smiled back, polite to a fault, throat going dry when you watched Steve’s gaze drop to that bare expanse of skin above your neckline. It wasn’t obscene, it wasn’t even suggestive. In fact, there was barely any amount of cleavage on show at all per the clubs rules but Steve was fixated on a freckle below your collarbone and the feel of his eyes on you made you fidget. 

You tucked the tray under one arm and tried not to shuffle on the spot. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

There was something in Steve’s reaction to your question. Maybe it was the ‘sir,’ the way you tipped your head towards him when you said it, soft and gentle and pretty. He knew you had to call all the members of the club such niceties but Steve’s eyes flashed and his lips parted, the hand he had on the arm of the sofa curling around the leather a little tighter. 

“A Macallan,” he asked, just like the first time. “No—”

“No ice,” you finished for him, nodding. “I’ll bring that right over.”

You blew out a breath when you turned, heels clicking on the marble as you made your way back to the bar. The lights were dimmed throughout the club in the evening, wall sconces letting out a warm glow, the huge fireplace in the main lounge roaring, popping and cracking with wooden logs. The whole place smelled like pine, like cedar and smoke and expensive leather. Women laughed softly, hanging off their husbands arms, dripping in pearls, in jewels, in false pretences. You smiled nicely at passing club members as you poured Steve’s drink, hands a little shaky from you out down to missing your lunch break, not excitement.

Definitely not nerves. 

You placed the chilled glass back on the tray, amber liquid shining inside the crystal, and made your way to the smoking lounge. Steve was alone when you returned, his lap empty, the girl gone. Not just from his lap, but from the room entirely. You scanned the lounge, expecting to see her on her way back, maybe with a complaint about the drink you made her, just to make you feel small but no - she’d been removed. Your heart skipped, an awful stuttering feeling that you didn’t want to feel. Lowering the tray, you offered Steve his drink, gaze cast down as you felt his on you the entire time. Steve leaned up, too close, taking his drink and smiling at you. 

You were just about to leave when:

“Why don’t you join me?”

The rest of the room was as loud as it was before, music under voices, laughter mixed with a saxophone record, conversations in the smoke. But Steve’s voice rang out almost too clearly from amongst it all. Still, you blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Sorry?”

Steve nodded at the seat next to him as he sank back into the couch, an arm thrown over the back of it as he took a sip of his scotch. The watch on his wrist caught the low light as he ripped the glass against his lips, cheeks flushed from the log burner. 

He was dressed in what you assumed he’d deem a little more casual than the last time you saw him. A black silk shirt, short sleeved and with the top few buttons undone again. No visible label, no ostentatious brand name on the chest but you knew well enough by then to know that just meant it was even more expensive. Black trousers, tailored for him and a pair of black boots with a sharp toe. His hair was less styled, maybe from the way his lost friend had been running her fingers through it earlier. Strands of it fell into his eyes and you swallowed hard when you realised you were staring. 

“Take a seat,” Steve asked again, lips curling up in amusement at your flustered expression. 

You blinked at him before you remembered to stand back up straight, tucking the tray back under your arm and hoping that none of the club's managerial staff were lingering nearby. You’d already spent too long away from the bar. “I, um, I can’t. I’m sorry,” you pressed your lips together and tried not to look too regretful. “I'm working.”

Steve snorted, a sound that should’ve been more unattractive than it was but it only made you want to hear what he had to say. He took another pull of his drink, barely wincing when the burn of it trickled down his throat. You did the maths in your head, wondering how it felt to be swallowing seventy dollar sips. He raised his brows and shrugged, looking around theatrically.

“And?” The boy smiled, equal parts pretty and smug. 

You were a little flustered, both at how nice he looked when he smiled and how bold he was being. You opened and closed your lips before parting them again, another polite smile there. “I need to get back to the bar,” you explained. “I’ll get into tr—”

“Trouble?” Steve finished. He shook his head and grinned, a megawatt thing that made you understand that, yes, all the rumours were true. That the famed Harrington Charm was very much a thing. But fuck, his father didn’t smile at you like that. In fact, he didn’t smile at all. “Oh, honey. No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Worried Frederick is gonna fire you?”

Steve dropped the name of your manager like they were friends. They probably were. He looked at you expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, licking the liquid from his lips. You wondered if he tasted as expensive as his liquor choices. 

You nodded, shrugging, grasping for a reason to say no to this boy - this man. The line at the bar was growing, annoyed looking men clicking their fingers at a flustered looking new girl who was trying to pour champagne into a wine glass. Guilt gnawed at your stomach. 

“He won’t fire you,” Steve assured. He patted the leather next to him, gold ring glinting in the warm light. “C’mon. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

You couldn’t help yourself. 

“Do you always get what you want?” You said it quietly, watching Steve’s lips curl into a grin when he heard. 

Another smile, mega watt, just for you. He tipped his head back and laughed, a pretty sounding thing that made the muscles down his neck stand out, chin tilted up to the gold leafed ceiling. 

“Yeah,” he told you, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed from the fire, the lights, the scotch. “I do.” 

You shouldn’t have done it. You weren’t allowed. There were strict rules about staff mingling with club members - fuck, it was written in red ink on your contract. You were too used to some of the clientele pushing the limits, trying to soften your boundaries with wads of cash, talks of a private plane to some European city where their wife didn’t like to visit. Older men, rich men, business men, family men. All looking for someone young and easily led and agreeable to have fun with between meetings and luncheons, someone to light their cigar and top up their drink for them. They liked to look at you like something to eat up, to chew up, to spit out when they were done and Frederick inevitably hired someone new and younger and prettier. 

You’d seen it happen before. Girls sucked into the lifestyle they could never have, coming into work with new shoes, red bottomed heels with their uniform dress, a Chanel lipstick in their purse, a Porsche waiting outside for them after their shift finished and in the end, a scorned wife in the dining room ready to throw a drink over them. 

You’d seen it all.  

But Steve Harrington was looking at you with so much intrigue. A pretty smile behind his tiny glass of three hundred dollar scotch, messy hair, bright eyes, that black silk shirt that looked easy to slip your fingers into. He was younger, more subtle with it all but the easy confidence in which he spoke to you had you squeezing your thighs together and wondering if your chest would stop feeling as tight. 

It didn’t. 

You sat down. 

Steve grinned, victorious and he moved against the leather sofa so he was sitting back against the arm, turned to face you fully. He brought one foot up to rest on his other knee, hand curling around his leg, and from there you could see the tiny brand on his loafers, a little gold insignia. Yves Saint Laurent. You wanted to laugh. His shoes cost more than you made in three months. 

“What’s your name?” Steve asked. 

You wore the same gold plated pin that every other staff member wore. The Lake House engraved on it along with the logo, a stupidly elaborate key. Underneath, your name was printed in bold letters, but Steve wasn’t looking at it. He was watching your face, brows raised expectantly. He wanted to hear you speak. 

Pressing the tray to your lap, you lingered on the edge of the couch, eyes darting around for your boss, or worse, the girl this man was last seen with. Was it his girlfriend? Did he have a wife? You weren’t sure how old Steve was, but you didn’t see a ring on his wedding finger, not that that meant much in a place like The Lake House. Wedding bands frequented coat pockets more than fingers here. 

You swallowed and told him your name, your voice cracking with nerves that you tried to laugh at but that came out wobbly too. Your shyness made Steve grin a little wider, his wide hands curling around his ankle as he lounged back against the cushions and appraised you with a look that shouldn’t have been proper for public. 

He repeated your name back to you and it sounded so much sweeter on his lips. He said it slowly, a low murmur that made your tummy clench, like he was tasting it out, tasting it on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Steve Harr—”

You laughed, sharp and surprised. “I know who you are, Mr Harrington.”

If Steve was shocked by his news, he didn’t show it. It was your job to know the members, after all. Their names, their families, the work they were in. Their favourite table, their favourite drink, the time they liked to dine, their preferred slot for playing a round of golf. So instead he smiled and nodded before holding out a hand. 

You took it and he squeezed gently, shaking it politely as he said, “well then, please call me Steve.”

You nodded, wondering if that was allowed. None of this was allowed. Fuck, you glanced around again, eyes a little wide, wondering if Frederick was in his office, god forbid, watching you through the cameras. Steve must’ve noticed this, because he swallowed down the last of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. You’d have to move it soon. 

“Relax.” His arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, tanned and corded with lithe muscles. His fingers tapped a beat on the leather, close to your shoulder. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You laughed, a shaky, ironic sounding thing. You forgot who you were talking to, just for a second, your heart pumping. “That’s easy for you to say.” You swore then, a pained noise, because Frederick was marching out of his office, three piece suit right across his shoulders and his pocket watch swinging.

He was coming over. 

You made a noise similar to a squeak, drinks tray clutched to your chest and you made to jump up but Steve’s hand stopped you. Warm and wide, it took up most of your knee and you blinked at it in surprise. He didn’t move it when you stared at him and he still didn’t move it when Frederick approached, red faced and nostrils flaring. 

“Mr Harrington, sir, it’s so good to see you back at The Lake House,” your manager began, his voice a well practised purr. There was a slight British tinge to his voice, one you knew was fake. “Please take my sincerest apologies for you being bothered. I’ll be asking my staff to join me in the office for a much required conversation about professional boundaries. Please excu—”

“Fred,” Steve greeted warmly, his smile much more forced than the one he’d been giving you. Frederick twitched. “Nice to see you.” Steve’s hand still covered your lower thigh and squeezed slightly, in what you thought was supposed to be reassuring but his thumb on the inside of your knee made you too warm. “No need for anything like that, actually.” Steve said your name, wrapped it around his tongue and licked over his lip like he was savouring it before he continued. “—was invited to sit with me.”

The clubhouse manager hardened, a flash of annoyance going over his features and his neck grew more red in anger. He smiled through it, a tight lipped thing that Steve grinned at and you had to duck your head, panic ripping through your body. You couldn’t lose this job. 

“How nice,” Frederick finally ground out. He clasped his hands in front of him and glared at you from the sides of his eyes before he smiled at Steve again. “I hope my staff is doing her utmost to keep you pleased, Mr Harrington. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

You hated the way he said it, like any club member could get anything they wanted from you, just because they had enough money to be here. It made you square off your shoulders and lift your head, emboldened. Steve was watching you, that look of intrigue on his face once more. He nodded at Frederick and then gestured to his empty glass. 

“Actually, Freddie, could you be a pal and fetch me another?” His tone was too polite, bordering on patronising. Frederick’s tight smile grew tighter, a thin line that stretched across his ruddy face until you feared it might split. “A Macallan, no ice. Anything for the lady?” Steve turned to you and winked, a subtle thing that let you know everything was under control. 

But you knew better than to rock the boat, better than that, you knew not to drink on the job. Especially from the club’s bar. The only thing you could afford from behind the mahogany counter was the one thing Steve always refused. Ice. 

“No, thank you,” you murmured. 

Your manager had no choice but to walk away, his back rigid, proverbial steam coming out from his ears. You watched him snap Steve’s order at a poor, unsuspecting barman who then brought it back over on another shiny tray. He raised his brows at you when Steve thanked him for it and you shrugged, not knowing what was going on either. 

When he left, Steve turned back to you, leaning back into the sofa. He looked more tanned that the last time you’d seen him. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the warm glow from the sconces along the walls, the amber coloured shade on the lamp beside him. Maybe he’d just been back to Italy. 

Monaco. France. Spain. 

He took a sip, eyes dancing over you and when he brought the drink back down to rest on his knee, he spoke. “Have you worked here long?”

It took you a second to realise he was speaking to you again, his voice lower and softer than it had been with your boss. You noticed Steve has a habit of direct eye contact, always looking right into your own eyes as he spoke. It was a little jarring, the confidence, that bold type of charm that must come with always getting what you want. 

“Uh, yeah,” you scrunched your nose, trying to remember months and years. “Three years now, or close enough.”

“I should’ve come back sooner,” Steve quipped back, his smile easy, his eyes roaming over you. His ring tapped against his glass of scotch and you didn’t know what to do. Was he flirting with you? “Do you live in town?”

“Couple miles out, smaller place near Sugar Creek.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this. 

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve replied. “Makes sense, why I hadn’t seen you around before. Did you go to school ‘round here?”

You felt like you were being interviewed. A handsome, rich man asking the questions, sitting easy in his throne and you had an awful, awful urge to please him with your answers. To do good. To be praised. 

“I went to St. Mary’s High in Green Bay,” you swallowed, your tongue feeling too big for you mouth. Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Then I was supposed to move to California— Berkeley.” You winced, remembering. 

Steve looked surprised, eyebrows raised, nodding. “What was your major?”

“Social law.”

Steve hummed. “Smart girl.” There it was. That praise. You tingled with it. “What happened?”

You heard the words he didn’t say, the unasked question. ‘Why aren’t you there? Why are you here? Wearing that silly little dress and heels that hurt your feet and that fake, fake smile that makes your cheeks hurt so much you want to scream into your pillow when you get home every night?’

You pondered over what to say. How truthful to be. How blunt, how ugly and honest. Shit, you could’ve said. Family, parents, money, bad luck, worse circumstances. Housing, a broken down car, an apartment that fell through at the last minute, a scholarship that didn’t happen, an aunt that got sick, a mom who didn’t like to let go. 

Instead you smiled politely and said: “life.” 

Steve gave you a wry smile in return, one that told you he could see through it all and he knew exactly what you wanted to say. Like he knew you weren’t allowed to and you were playing by the rules. Frederick was at the bar, staring at your back until you felt your bones crunch with the weight of it. 

Steve finished his drink, slid his glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. “It was nice to talk to you,” he said simply. He took your hand, not to shake it like last time, no. Instead he held it for a beat or two, and when he took his away, neatly folded bills were left between your fingers. They burned. 

“For the table service,” he said as a way of explaining. You didn’t know if he meant the drink or you. “I’ll see you next time, honey.”

And then he left. You watched him saunter through the bar, nodding and smiling at people who greeted him, taking his jacket from someone at the door and then he was gone. 

That was the second time you met Steve Harrington. 

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

A week later you were clocking into work with the intention of heading to the staff locker rooms, ready to wrestle yourself into that black dress the club called a uniform. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and The Lake House was quiet, a few greying women you knew to be part of the book club were sat having tea by a window, a group of men leaving the gym, sweat barely there, but the towels over their shoulders had designer logos stitched in the corners. 

Frederick found you with your heels in your hand, a look of disgust on your face as you kicked off your sneakers. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the girls locker room, but he shook his head at you and took the stilettos from your hand. 

“No,” he looked irritated, as if you should’ve known better. “You’re on the green today.”

You screwed up your nose at him. You were never on the green and you told him as such. “The schedule has me in the bar all day.”

Frederick huffed as if such questions were an inconvenience to him. He ducked, rooting around in your locker as his shoulder bumped your knee and he came back with the uniform you hardly had to wear. A white tennis skirt, bordering on too short with pleats that made the men tip well, even as their wives glared. A forest green sweater to match, the same colour as the club logo, white sneakers that were brand new from never being used. 

“Special request,” your boss told you in lieu of a real explanation. “Get dressed, they’re waiting. Hurry.”

You gaped at him as he bundled the clothes into your arms. “Who’s waiting?” You called after him. “What hole?”

“Any of them,” Frederick yelled back as he walked out of the locker room and down the hall. His voice echoed back to you, a daunting thing. “He booked out the whole course.”

Driving the beer cart over the green was always a nerve wracking experience. The drinks rattled noisily and the breeze kept catching at your skirt, threatening to flip it up over your thighs as you tried to manoeuvre the buggy around the man made dunes and valleys. You weren’t sure where you were driving to, or who you were going to meet, but you kept an eye out at each hole for someone, anyone. 

It could only really be one of two people, you guessed. Mr Donaldson was harmless enough, but he had a decade or three on your own age. Divorced and the owner of a film company in Atlanta, the man liked to frequent the clubhouse during the summers he spent back in Hawkins, pretending he was visiting his young daughter when he really preferred to lounge at the bar during your shift, trying to convince you that you just needed to see his condo in Georgia. 

The only other person you could think of that would request you and you alone, was someone you haven't seen since the week before. You’d looked for him, watched the cars coming into the lot to be dropped off for the valet’s to park but you hadn’t seen any BMW’s. Steve didn’t visit the bar, didn’t spend any afternoons in the smoking lounge - you didn’t even see him with Jonathan Byers at the poker night on Tuesday. 

You thought he might’ve left town again. Back to whatever European city he’d decided on for the week, for the month. Maybe he’d gone back to New York, maybe he had meetings. Maybe he had a girlfriend, one for each country. 

Mr Donaldson was the harmless option. Annoying, sure. But bearable. Safe. Mr Harrington… he wasn’t harmless at all. You knew which one you wanted to see. 

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich. 

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water. 

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco. 

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

A few other men lingered, clutching at clubs and practising their swings, Wall Street leeches that were stuck at the bottom of the totem pole but still decided they had enough money in their daddies bank to be able to click their fingers at you and smack your ass as their Rolex’s jingled.  

Amongst them all, in black slacks and a white polo, was Steve Harrington. Sunglasses over his eyes, leather golfing gloves on his hands, he was smirking at something Eddie said before his head snapped to you. In fact, everyone was staring at you. 

You tried to keep your head high and your expression neutral, turning off the engine to the golf cart and doing your best to swing your legs out without flashing anything you weren’t supposed to. You kept your hands on your skirt, smoothing it down, hoping that you could get through this shift without any embar—

A long whistle, salacious and eager, coming from Billy Hargrove. A few of the boy’s laughed and Billy grinned, sharklike, letting his eyes crawl from your toes to your tits. “Damn, Harrington. You paid for one of the good ones, huh? C’mere, Sugar, daddy needs a drink—”

You were frozen, standing awkwardly by the back of the buggy where the drinks were kept in a cooler, a thousand dollar pick ‘n’ mix of whisky, scotch and gin for the men to choose from. There wasn’t any Bud Light at The Lake House, not even on the green. 

But Billy didn’t get much further into his catcalls, stopped by a hand on his elbow that tugged him away from you and the other men. The snickering stopped, a heavy silence falling over the group as Steve took Billy aside with nothing more than a touch to his arm. You watched as Steve slid his sunglasses off, his hard gaze on the other boy as he whispered something too low for you to hear. But Billy listened, albeit with a glare in his eyes, but he nodded, sharp and just once. His jaw flexed. 

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know what to do. You found Eddie’s gaze, saw his soft smile, knowing. He winked at you, twirling a club in his hand as he waited for the game to continue. And it did, once Steve seemingly dismissed Hargrove. The other men started talking again, easy and light like nothing had happened, requesting different drinks from you that you pulled out of the cooler, ice making your hands wet and numb. 

And all the while Steve lingered at the back of them, sitting in the driver's side of the other golf cart, waiting with his eyes on you. He didn’t approach once Jonathan left with his glass of Glenfiddich, in fact, he didn’t make out like he wanted a drink at all. So you stood by the cart like you were supposed to and watched the men take turns at swinging a stick at a ball, yelling profanities when they missed, yelling more profanities when they didn’t. 

You couldn’t help let your gaze wander to Steve, the picture of luxury as he leaned back in the leather seat, one leg out of the cart and stretched across neatly clipped grass. He was lighting a cigarette, held between his lips as he lowered his gaze to his cupped hands, gold zippo flickering with an amber flame. He looked up as he blew out the smoke, eyes finding yours, grinning when you startled. 

Steve took another drag and asked, “you not comin’ to say hi?”

Three years of ingrained obedience made your feet move forward, doing as you were told at the words of another rich man. You felt unsure, walking across the green empty handed, but Steve hadn’t asked for a drink, so you stopped just shy of where his leg was stretched out of the cart. If you moved any closer, you would’ve been between his spread knees. You clasped your hands in front of you, pressed against your little, white skirt. It lifted a little with the breeze, a sharper wind than the day before that told the town fall was coming. 

Steve watched the hem catch and fall back against your thighs, brown eyes tracking the movement to see what little new skin he could watch but apart from that, he didn’t make any of the lewd comments his friend had. 

“Mr Harrington,” you said as a greeting. “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?” You were polite to a fault, well trained, good mannered, an expert in making yourself small and only seen when spoken to. 

Steve ignored your question. He inhaled his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing out, lips pursing, jaw sharpening. He smiled at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, the wind taking it away from your face. “I told you to call me Steve,” he said and his voice was quiet, a low thing that made your face heat up. You tried to apologise, but he kept talking. “How are you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question. You didn’t think you’d ever been asked that while at work. “Uh, I’m fine, thank you. How’re you?”

Steve nodded and flicked ash onto the grass, letting it sink into the course. “I’m great, thank you. Better now you’re here.” He grinned when you fidgeted, lips parting, hands unsure what to do. You twisted your fingers together a little tighter. “You okay being out here?” Steve let the cigarette balance between his lips and you watched it move as he spoke around it. “I can let you go back inside, if you’d like.”

Normally such words would be used as a trick, a trap, a warning. A subtle threat from an unhappy customer that would ensure you did as they wanted, even if it meant staying later than you were being paid for, adding extra time to their spa passes, even if it risked your own employment. But Steve looked and sounded genuine, his eyes watching you as you worked up the courage to tell him the truth.  

“It’s okay,” you finally said, voice betraying how shy you felt. You sounded confident, in control. You felt nothing of the sort, especially when the boy grinned again, wider this time and god, he looked like he owned the world and everything in it. 

“Excellent.” Steve flicked the stub of his cigarette away and pushed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head at the empty seat beside him and said: “jump in.”

You stuttered over an excuse, an explanation, eyes a little wide as you looked back over to the rest of the group, the drinks cart you were supposed to man all day. “I— I can’t? I’ve to stay with the cart all day, if I leave it I’ll get into—”

Steve cut you off with a tsk and a shake of his head. His voice turned to liquid gold as he spoke, rich and sweet and awfully condescending. It made you drip. “What did I tell you last time, huh, honey? No one’s gonna tell you off unless it’s me. Now c’mon, you don’t wanna spend some time with me?”

You could’ve stayed. You were sure Steve wouldn’t have been mad. You should’ve stayed. You were breaking rules. All of them. But Steve was grinning at you from the front seat of the golf cart, tanned arms flexed as his leather gloves gripped the wheel and all of his friends played pretend, like they couldn’t hear what was going on behind them as they took another swing. 

You should’ve stayed. Maybe went back into the clubhouse, took off your sweater and skirt and played nice behind the bar in your usual attire, serving clients old enough to be your grandfather as they slipped fifty dollar bills into your hand just so you’d lean over for them again. 

You got in the cart. 

Steve positively beamed, a hot smirk that stretched across his pretty face and you barely heard the whistles and yowls of his friends as he sped away as fast as the buggy would allow. He went off course, cruising alongside the green and heading towards the path between the woods that took you to lovers lake. 

“Feeling bad today, Berkeley?” The nickname caused your heart to jump, confirmation that he’d been listening the last time you both spoke, that he’d remembered. 

But still guilt and worry gnawed at your chest and you looked around at the empty course, half expecting to see Frederick chasing after you both in the drinks cart you’d abandoned so carelessly. What did it matter, really? The price of everything in the cart was included in whatever it had cost for Steve to book out the entire fucking course for the day. A stolen scotch or two didn’t matter. Not really. 

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t say anything at all, just sitting by Steve’s side like a baby deer caught in headlights, like a good little girl that wanted to know if it really was true, if Steve really could keep you out of the trouble he was leading you into. The boy must’ve seen your bleak expression ‘cause he laughed, pushing back the hair that the wind blew across his forehead. 

“Honey, it’s fine,” Steve glanced over at you as he turned down the dirt path to the lake. You could see his eyes shining at you through his shades, amusement making them glitter. “I promise.”

So you nodded and tried to smile, doing your best to relax into the seat and when the cart bumped over a fallen branch that Steve didn’t bother to avoid, the jostle of it made your thigh bump into his. He grasped at your knee as an apology of sort, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the wind, but his palm engulfed your bare knee once more and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else. His gold ring looked pretty against your skin, his tanned hand complimenting the dough of your thigh nicely and you tried to remember how to talk. 

“Is there something you needed my help with at the lake, Mr Harrington?” You didn’t think Steve needed any help on how to work speed boats or jet skis, but still, you weren’t sure what else to say. 

Steve laughed again, a pretty sound that made your toes curl and he slowed the cart to a stop at a shaded area along the shore, far enough away from the sandy embankment that the men on the lake in their fishing boats wouldn’t be able to see you. “C’mon now, I thought you were a smart thing,” Steve pouted at you as he turned off the cart's engine. His hand left your leg and you mourned the loss of it, heart jumping again when his hand curled around the back of your seat instead. “What did I tell you to call me?”

Your chest warmed like you were back in middle school, getting scolded by a teacher who you didn’t want to disappoint. It bloomed across your neck and face, only getting hotter as the entire sensation of it made you squeeze your clasped hands between your thighs. Steve’s gaze dropped to your lap, a quick glance down that made the corners of his lips curve up. 

“Steve,” you said quietly, sounding shy, reserved. Your body was giving away too much, you couldn’t let your voice join in. 

Steve nodded and the hand that was resting against your seat moved a little, brushing against your sweater until he could rub a thumb against your shoulder blade. “See, she’s a smart girl after all, isn’t she?”

You could only nod. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the trees, on the edge of the water that was across from where you usually spent weekday afternoons. You could see The Lake House from here, could practically feel Frederick’s gaze out of the bay windows, boring a hole into the middle of your forehead as you sat with one of the most affluent clients on the rolodex. Steve Harrington had his arm around your back, his eyes on your bare thighs, his other hand ghosting along the hem of your skirt. He pulled at it, bringing it down the mere centimetre it had ridden up, knuckles skimming your too hot skin. 

He didn’t look away from it when he asked you: “And if you are a clever, little thing, d’you know why I brought you here?”

If it had been dark, if it had been closer to night, if the grounds had been empty and the lake was still, maybe you would’ve felt more scared than you were. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would have been sitting there in the shadow of the trees and cursing yourself out for being so stupid. Going with this boy - this man - letting him take you off alone and away from prying eyes, letting him touch your leg and get too close. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Despite what Steve said, this wasn’t smart, was it?

But you found that you didn’t care. You really didn’t fucking care. Not one bit. 

You shrugged, cheeks warm, too wary to say anything out of turn, too cautious to say anything too bold for fear of losing your job. Or worse, being rejected. 

Steve pouted. “No?” He tutted and sighed, a dramatic sounding thing and he let his hand fell back onto your leg, higher this time. You held your breath as he skimmed his palm upupup until his fingertips disappeared under the hem of your skirt that he’d just pulled down for you. “Well, I wanted to personally invite you the poker game with me tomorrow night. You know the one, don’t you? It’s in the lounge, nine o’clock.”

You tried to steady your breathing, exhaling sharply from your nose as Steve’s fingers wandered, never going higher, going slow and soft enough that you could slap his hand away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “I’m working that shift,” you whispered. 

His eyes met yours, his grin blinding. “Good, you’ll be there then.”

“Working,” you reminded him, the last syllable of the word hitching in your mouth as his fingers passed over your leg once more. You felt the cool metal of his gold band on the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be there to work.”

Steve nodded, like he understood, like he wasn’t planning to monopolise every minute of your shift, wondering how long he could keep you by his side at the poker table before you got too worried and scrambled back to the bar. “Of course.” He pulled back a little, his nose too close to brushing yours as you couldn’t help but lean in too, head tilted up to his like you did it all the time. “And then after that,” he took his hand from your thigh and you tried not to cry about it, ‘cause he used the back of his hand to push your hair away from your face instead. “You could come back to mine?”

 Oh, fuck. You couldn’t help the smile that fluttered across your face, the giddy, shy laugh that followed. You were flustered and it showed, and as much as it made Steve smile back, it made him hard as a fucking rock. 

“Shit, uh, god, sorry,” you shook your head, as if to clear it. You felt fuzzy, hazy, under Steve’s spell as he kept smiling at you, clearly entertained by your flushed face, your dazed expression. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”

You didn’t say no, Steve noted. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to. In fact, from the way your eyes dropped to his lips over and over again, Steve was pretty sure he could seal this deal with you faster than his last visit meeting with that winery in Sorrento. 

That wasn’t to say you were easy, no. Just real fucking cute. He had a forty percent share in that vineyard and soon enough, he’d have you too. 

“What?” He played dumb, all syrupy sweet smiles and his voice all soft. He traced a circle around your knee. “You can’t see me out of work? Surely Fredrick isn’t that much of a tyrant, honey.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the one that made you feel like he was undressing you. You were too warm and his innocent fingertips on your knee were making you wanna drag his hand back up your thigh and underneath the hem of your skirt. “We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with club members.” Your words felt dull in your mouth, heavy and cotton like. 

Pointless. 

Steve pouted, lips pursing like he was trying to get you to kiss him. He tutted; his warm, wide palm curling around your thigh again. He squeezed gently and your mouth fell open, panting, an invitation. “What if I want to be involved with you, hm? What then, honey?”

You let your head fall back a little, lips wet and parted, eyes closing briefly, because Steve let his fingers slide up a little further, the tips of his middle and pointer finger brushing, just fucking barely, across the cotton of your underwear. You knew you were wet and you knew that he did too. How could he not? The damp fabric dragged across his digits and you saw the realisation in his eyes, that flash of heat, that curl of his lips that made his smile a smirk. 

“Remember what I told you?” He let his lips fall into ‘o’ at your small noise, an almost whine that sounded blissed out. God, he could have fun with you. “Do you? C’mon smart girl, what do I always get?”

You blinked at him, sucking in a breath as you fought the urge to grind down on his hand. Steve took his fingers away, the damp tips of them trailing back down the inside of your thigh as he waited for an answer. 

“You told me,” you took another breath, looking around quickly, burning at the sight of the boats on the lake, the blurry people across the water by the clubhouse, sitting outside for afternoon tea. “You told me you always get what you want.” 

That was the third time you met Steve Harrington. 

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

The night after, you’d spent too long getting ready for your shift. Too long in the shower, letting the steam fill the tiny room, honey and peach scented body wash running in rivers down your bare skin, your razor chasing after it as you did your best to make every crevice of your body silky smooth. 

You told yourself you weren’t going home with Steve Harrington. You told yourself you couldn’t, that you weren’t allowed to. 

But you took the time to layer mascara on your lashes, fixing any smudges before finishing your makeup with a layer of gloss on your lips, tinted a rosy pink and drawing more attention to them than you’d usually want. Black dress, clubhouse mandated stockings and heels, freshly polished. You left for work with your heart in the back of your throat. 

The Lake House was quieter than usual on poker nights, mostly because each guest had to buy their way in. All players had to place a ten thousand dollar deal in with the croupier, pockets emptied and jackets checked at the door. It made the smoking lounge feel bigger, men seated around a large poker table, the dealer in the middle, chips stacked high and cigar smoke lingering in the air. It smelled like tobacco, leather, expensive cologne and money, and god, the tips were good. 

There were familiar faces around the table, Billy, Jonathan, Mr Donaldson, a few other men from the club that liked to order expensive drinks and call you things like ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘sugar.’ The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow that was kept in the room with closed drapes, velvet lined chairs, and bar staff that were trained not to speak unless spoken to. Everything was hushed and whispered, men talking money over glasses of liquor, cigars in one hand, their dealt hand in the other. 

Then there was Steve, coming into the room a little late with another suit on, sharp and with a matching black shirt underneath, looking like he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t look at you as he took his seat, smirking at something Jonathan said and sliding a wad of stacked bills towards the dealer. He got his chips, he got his cards and the game began. 

It took a whole twenty minutes before he raised his hand, a two finger salute that let you know he wanted a drink. You beat the other waitress to it, slipping in front of the new start - Vickie something - and your heels clicked as you made your way over to Steve. You already had a drink on your tray, poured the minute you saw his hand go up, his eyes still on his hand. 

A Macallan, no ice. 

You placed the tumbler on the table in front of him, knees bending slightly to make sure it didn’t spill. Without warning, Steve’s hand snuck along the back of your thigh as you placed your tray under your arm, ready to walk away. Fingertips traced over the crease of your knee, ghosting over your stocking. You watched his gaze flicker to the drink he didn’t have to ask for, a slight curve to the corners of his lips as he smiled his approval. He leaned back, head tipped up to you so you had to bend down slightly to meet him. His hand was slipping up the back of your thigh the whole time, hidden from the rest of the room, from the other players, your boss in the corner. 

You bent at the waist, feeling your skirt rise up, feeling Steve’s hand do the same. His thumb ran along the crease below your ass, over the sliver of bare skin between your underwear and stockings. 

“Smart girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear, making you burn. His voice was low and a little rough from hardly talking, only communicating with nods to the croupier, dead face glances at his opponents. His chips were stacked high for his efforts. “You look pretty. How ‘bout you just stay beside me, yeah?”

You weren’t supposed to. But you did. You watched as your boss frowned, as Vickie looked surprised. Beside Steve, Jonathan snickered quietly and across the table, Billy narrowed his eyes. 

“Breakin’ some rules?” He mouthed to Steve. 

Steve ignored him.

The night came to an end close to one o’clock, once the bar was almost dry and Steve had most of the money. He accepted the passive remarks about his poker face, his ability to lie through his damn teeth, how he didn’t need all that money anyways. Then there were the handshakes and slaps on the back, good natured talks and invites to lunches, chats about business opportunities and stocks. And all the while you tidied, putting away empty bottles of thousand dollar whisky, pouring hundred dollar glasses of Malbec down the drain. Cigar ash on the table, white powder tipped dollar notes that everyone pretended to not notice. Heavy tips on the table top, damp from spilled drinks, pushed into your apron pocket while the men around you tried to get a peek up your skirt. 

And then Steve was leaning over the bar top and still ignoring Billy. He was watching you clean, eyes tracking the way your hands slid the cloth over the mahogany, and while your cheeks warmed at his attention, you let him. You were off the clock, your shift over. Bar closed. 

Home time. Maybe. 

“—you even listenin’ to me, Harrington?” Billy sounded annoyed, words twisting on his tongue, whisky making them come out a little slower than he wanted them to. 

“No.” Steve’s reply was short and bored sounding. 

“I said, you fucker, that I need a ride. S’posed to be on a goddamn flight at five o’clock and this fuckin’ tequila is makin’ me piss like a fuckin’ racehor—”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you as he took his wallet from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Using two fingers, he offered Billy a fifty, holding the bill in front of the other man’s face. “Take a cab.”

Billy looked offended at the suggestion. Disgusted, actually. “A cab? What do I look like to you, huh? Huh? A fuckin’ peasant?”

Steve just shrugged and slapped the bill on the counter anyway. “I’m having company,” he told him. Then he drained the rest of the one drink he’d ordered from you all night and met your gaze straight on. “You ready?”

Not, ‘would you like to join me?’ Not, ‘would you like to come back to mine?’ No. Just a simple question. ‘Are you ready to go?’

You nodded. Yes, you were ready. 

Billy laughed, a sharp and mean thing as he looked between you and Steve. Then his gaze turned salacious, drunk and lazy as he took in your short dress, your shiny lips. He nudged Steve and nodded towards you. “You not sharing this time, Harrington?” He tutted. “What a shame.”

You didn’t know what to say. If you’d been at a bar in town, standing on either side of it, you’d have listened to the twitch in your hand and lifted it, letting your palm meet Billy Hargrove’s right cheek, regardless of how much money was in his wallet. But Frederick was by the door talking to Mr Donaldson about summers in the Bahamas and you couldn’t do shit. 

So you turned your back, polished another wine glass and slid it back onto its shelf. 

“You know,” you heard Steve murmur. His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous sounding. “You keep letting your mouth run like that, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to get that five am flight. One call and there won’t be no fucking meeting in L.A, do you understand?”

You didn’t hear Billy’s reply. In fact, you weren’t sure there was one. Instead, Steve walked to the side of the bar and brushed some invisible lint off of his jacket as he waited for you to untie your apron. You hesitated, watching as Fredrick disappeared into his office and then, and only then, did you step out from behind the bar to join Steve, letting him place his hand on the small of your back and guide you out of the clubhouse. 

He made it too easy to break the biggest rule in the book. 

—————

Steve drove you to a townhouse on the edge of town, the opposite direction from your own home. He took you there in his BMW, a shiny maroon car that looked brand new, with leather seats and shiny detailing on the dash. He didn’t touch you in the car, he just opened the door for you to get in and get out, only offering a hand that you took as you stood on his driveway. 

His house was lit up by lights on either side of the huge garage, another by the double doors. Three floors, a water feature in the front yard, a security system at the entrance. Steve pressed some buttons before something buzzed and clicked, and he opened the door with no grand flourish, extending an arm for you to enter first. 

Everything was sleek and polished, not quite the bachelor pad you expected, but luxurious all the same. Wooden floors and a large fireplace in the living room, the leather and suede of the clubhouse swapped out for a huge sectional, covered in cushions and throws. There was art on the walls, scenes of Greek tragedies, half naked women with dreamy looks on their faces, full curves and thick thighs. A shiny kitchen that looked barely used, bottles of scotch and whisky and gin on a golden bar cart in the corner, a full wall of books surrounding the biggest television you’d seen. The house smelled like Steve, like his cologne, like new leather and oak. 

His footsteps echoed across the room as he strolled into the kitchen, an open plan thing that let you watch him from where you stood by the front door. Steve held up a bottle of wine. Red, a label you recognised from work, something that Frederick charged far too much money for. In your opinion. 

“Drink?” Steve asked. 

You nodded, stepping into the room a little more. There were a few lamps on, a warm flow from each that cast shadows over the floor, up the walls. The curtains were closed, heavy drapes that kept out the night, kept in the secrets. Like you. 

Steve appeared at your side, passing you a glass filled with a little ruby coloured wine. He grinned at your quiet thanks and offered his own for a toast. The glasses clinked and you took a sip, dark cherries and bitter chocolate swirling your senses, or at least, you were sure they would’ve if you hadn’t decided to gulp it down. Steve laughed softly and took your empty glass, setting it on the coffee table with his own. There was a stack of big books in the middle of it, something about American architecture and cars of the sixties, a candle that had never been lit and a cigar box with his initials engraved on the lid. 

“Here, sit,” Steve suggested and you sank into the sofa with him. The boy immediately lounged back into the cushions, arms stretched out over the back of it as he appraised you, head tilted to his side. “You don’t do this often, huh?”

You turned to him, puzzled, your hands sliding nervously up and down your bare legs. Your dress suddenly felt shorter than ever and with the way Steve was looking at you - hungry, predatory, bold - you weren’t sure if you wanted to tug the hem down to your knees or take the full thing off and drop it at his feet. 

“Do what?”

Steve gestured to himself, to the huge living room you felt a little bit lost in. He smirked, “go home with guys you barely know.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if it would seem rude if you reached out and stole the rest of his wine. If you’d feel braver and bolder if you were to gulp down more Malbec, if the price tag on the bottle would feel better on your tongue. “Not usually,” you said. You left out the part about how you’d be fired on the spot if your boss found out who you were going home with. 

Steve smiled, eyes shining at you like he thought you were cute. He patted the space on the couch beside him. It felt like a million miles away from you. “Come over here,” he said softly. You noticed how he didn’t ask, or suggest. It was an order, as gentle as it was. “I won’t bite.”

You scoffed a little, enjoying the irony of his words despite how he’d looked at you all night, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you, like he wanted to just eat you up. “You won’t?” You asked him, doubtful, even as you slid closer, your thigh brushing his. 

Steve dropped his hand to your knee, fingertips barely brushing your skin as she skimmed up and down, up and down. Each pass got him closer to the hem of your dress and you thought back to yesterday, in that stupid golf cart by the edge of the lake. How easy you made it for him, head thrown back, chest heaving, legs spread. You wanted that again, the feeling of his teasing fingers brushing up against the front of your underwear, lace this time, and already damp. 

Steve flashed a grin, all teeth, more bite than a smile and you resisted the urge to clamp your thighs together, trapping his hand between. You’d never been this hot for a guy, never been this easy to fold. You felt delicate with Steve, ready to crumple, ready to fold. 

“Not on the first date, no,” he assured you. 

Your brows rose into your hairline. “This is a date?”

Steve flattened his palm against your thigh and squeezed, leaning into you, nose brushing your cheek until you ripped your head for him and it skimmed the line of your jaw. Your breathing changed too quickly, stuttering to a hitch until it picked up, your eyes closing as you felt Steve’s lips brush against you in the briefest of touches. It wasn’t even a kiss. 

“What did you think it was?” Steve whispered, his words hot against your neck. You could smell his cologne, rich and peppery, could feel the slight stubble on his jaw scrape against your throat and you were desperate now, you needed him to kiss you. “What did you think I invited you here for, honey?”

His hand was higher now, fingers under the hem of your dress and you wanted to fall into him, you wanted to crawl into his lap and spread your legs, get properly dirty for him and pull your dress up around your hips and show him how you liked to be touched. Although, you had a feeling he wouldn’t need much help. “I, I don’t know—” you interrupted yourself with a gasp, Steve’s fingertips running along the lace edge of your underwear, teasing the crease of your thigh. “A one night stand, maybe.”

The boy laughed, a soft noise that was buried in the crook of your neck and he finally, finally, put his mouth on you. He kissed sweetly at the spot under your ear, grinned against it when you squirmed at the feel of him and then dragged his parted lips down the column of your neck. You felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny touch, teasing, warm and wet. 

“Just one night?” Steve tutted, letting his fingers slip underneath the edge  of your underwear. You were an elastic band now, pulled too right, fraught with unspent energy, ready to snap at the tension. “What if I wanted to keep you, hm?” His fingers ghosted over your folds, already slick and wet for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it. He pulled at you gently, spreading you for him, a single digit touching your needy clit as he kept you open. It was filthy. “You’re too pretty for one night, aren’t you?”

You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway. You were sure you already looked wrecked, head slack and leaning against Steve’s shoulder, his lips now dotting over your hairline. Legs open, underwear pushed up and to the side by Steve’s hand, his one finger sliding up and down the seam of your cunt. The rubber band was getting tighter. 

Steve hummed, a deep, warm noise that rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, honey,” he ordered and you did as were told, eyes heavy and haze unfocused as you turned your head to face him. He was so close, the only evidence he was as turned on as you were, were his blown out pupils, his heavy eyelids. “There she is, oh sweetheart, you’re gone, huh?” he cooed. 

You thought he might kiss you then, you thought he might kiss you, finally. But he nuzzled his nose against yours - a surprisingly sweet thing - before he murmured, “take your clothes off for me.”

It was embarrassing, the way your lips parted and your cheeks went hot. You wondered if Steve felt it, the warmth that exploded from your skin at his words, the way your empty cunt clenched around nothing at his words. He gave you clit one more passing nudge before he moved his hands from you completely and sank back into the couch. One arm over the back of it, legs crossed, the other hand brought to his mouth so he could rub the finger he’d dipped along your pussy against his bottom lip. 

It was obscene. 

He nodded to the space between the sofa and the coffee table and licked his lips. “C’mon, honey, strip.”

You should’ve pulled down your dress and thrown what was left of his wine in his face before you slammed the door on your way out. This man, this rich boy with his big house and shiny car, was ordering you around like you were still at the clubhouse. Like he could flash his members only card and get what he wanted. He hadn’t even kissed you. He didn’t know your last name, and shit, the only reason you knew his, was because him and his family were at the top of the client list at the place you worked. 

You could lose your job over this. Worse, you could get your heart broken. 

Steve must’ve sensed your hesitation because he reached back over to brush your hair from your eyes, where it had fallen in a mess when you hid your face in the dip of his shoulder as he tapped at your clit again and again and again. He pouted, tsked in a way that sounded sympathetic. “Oh honey, are you shy?” Condescension dripped from him, words liquid gold, sticky sweet and trapping you. He ran the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. It was as close to a kiss as you would get. “It’s okay, hm? Am I not playing nice? Am I being rude?”

You didn’t know what to say. You were being sucked in by this man’s charm, his caramel coated words, the way his brown eyes turned soft as he took your hand and led you to stand up in the middle of his living room. “I’m sorry, honey,” Steve whispered. “How awful of me. Lemme try again, huh?” He kissed your cheek, a soft, lingering thing before he left you standing, sitting back in front of you once more. 

Steve pushed back his hair and let his eyes appraise you before he rolled his shirt sleeves up and leant back into the cushions. A king on his throne. And the entertainment for tonight? 

You. 

“Take your clothes off for me, honey,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, lower, dirtier. And then he smiled at you and added: “please.”

With shaking hands and a held breath that made your chest burn, you pulled the material down your shoulders, reaching around your back to tug at the zip. And when it fell open, exposing your skin to the warm air, it was too easy to let the entire dress fall down over your hips. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, heels still on, legs covered in the sheer black stockings that the clubhouse made mandatory for poker nights. 

Steve’s lips made a little ‘o’ shape, an appreciative thing that made you pulse with need. You saw then how his dress trousers were tented at the front, an impressive bulge that twitched when you smoothed your hands over your upper thighs, a nervous reaction to being so exposed. 

“Oh,” Steve exhaled as he let his eyes rake over you. Soft skin between black lace, thigh highs pulled taught against your curves, tits pressed up in a bra you’d chosen as you thought him. You hoped he wouldn’t embarrass you, you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to do something like spin for him, show off for him. Because you would’ve. “Aren’t you a pretty fucking picture.”

He didn’t need to talk after that. He just lifted his chin towards your chest and you were pulling off your bra for him. You hated how the control of it all made you wetter, the space between your legs fucking throbbing as you waited for your next instruction. “Unless you want those ripped,” Steve was gazing at your underwear, eyes seeking out every dip and line he could make our in the wet lace. “I’d take them off too.” He didn’t let them hit the floor with the rest of your clothes, instead, extending one hand and crooking his fingers. 

A silent, ‘give them to me.’ 

And you did, watching as he slipped them into his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes on you, trailing them over your thighs that were slick with how wet he’d got you. He’d hardly touched you, you scolded yourself, not even a kiss. It was embarrassing, mortifying. It was the hottest thing that had happened to you. 

“Keep those on,” Steve murmured, talking about your heels and stockings. “And come sit back down for me, honey, yeah?” 

The fabric of the couch felt soft under your bare skin and you hesitated before you let yourself relax into it. There surely would be a wet spot underneath you, evidence of how turned on you were, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Get comfy, hm? Such an agreeable, little thing aren’t you?” Steve was sliding off the couch as he spoke, one palm pressed to his crotch as if to stave off some of his own need. He knelt in front of you, mouth parting in a sigh as he dropped to eye level with your cunt. “Think you can spread those legs for me? Let me see you, honey, there’s a girl—”

He cut himself off with a low groan as you brought your feet up, heels on the edge of the couch as you spread your knees, sticky thighs parting. He could see all of you, fuck, he could probably smell you. The low light made every part of you glisten, the heavy rise and fall of your chest cast in an amber glow.  

“Oh she’s real fuckin’ pretty, isn’t she?” Steve asked you, eyes tearing away from your pussy to look up at you. “Spread ‘em wider for me, baby, can you do that?” Another moan from the boy as you let your knees fall apart, almost touching the couch. Steve smoothed his hands up your tights, bracketing your cunt before he did the same as before and pulled your folds even further apart. “Look at that,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t. You let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes squeezed shut as you let your own hands fall onto your knees. You dug in your nails, crescent moon marks on your skin as your tried to keep a grip on reality. You were almost certain you’d come with just one touch. 

“Want my mouth?” Steve asked you and his voice was back to that sugar sweet drip, it was thick with an affection, like he was being so nice for taking care of you. You already wanted to thank him. “Want my tongue?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down your folds, keeping them spread apart, a dirty massage that made your clit pulse with each tiny movement. You nodded, letting out a uneven breath and Steve tutted. 

“You gotta look at me then, c’mon, Berkeley.” He nipped at your thigh, teeth biting at the skin and it made you cry out. “Look at me and tell me you want me to eat you out.”

Dirty, filthy, obscene, sinful. 

You were under no illusion that giving Steve an order made you the one in charge. He played you like a puppet, a boneless girl that wanted nothing more than to come all over this rich strangers sofa. You had a one track mind, no shame left, not when Steve was pressing his mouth over you folds, not licking into you, not yet. Just kissing. You wanted to cry. 

“Eat me out,” you begged, eyes glassy as you tried to lift your hips but Steve pulled away. He grinned at you, waiting. “Eat me out, please, Steve. Fuck, want your mouth yeah, please?”

“Where?” He asked, dragging it out. His voice was unholy. “Where do you want my mouth?” His thumbs were still moving, up and down and up and down. “Tell me.”

“My pussy, Jesus Christ,” you whined. You couldn’t ever remember being this pent up. “Please.”

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “she’s so polite.” And then he gave you no other warning, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe through your folds, the hot, wet contact of his tongue making you cry out. 

You were unraveling too fast. His thumbs had you taught for him, every part of you feeling his tongue, his lips. Steve groaned into you, a happy, pleased hum that told you whatever game this was, he’d won. He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit until you were curling over him and clutching his hair, doing your best to not suffocate him. But Steve moaned louder and moved his hands to your hips, sliding down until they cupped under your ass and he encouraged you to grind against his face. Tongue still out, kept flat for you to rock yourself on. It was pornographic.  

Then Steve was mumbling into you, voice a rasp. “Good girl, honey, that’s it. Keep going, make yourself come on my tongue, yeah?”

So you did, obedient as ever, letting out a gasping cry as your legs shook, cunt still clenching around nothing ‘cause Steve had broken you with just his mouth. It was dirty hot, the way he dragged himself from your sensitive slit, tongue running over your folds even as you whined, licking over the crease of your thighs to get everything you’d spilled for him. You watched as he appeared between your knees, hair tousled, lips and chin shining in the low light, his cheeks flushed. It was ironic, how he looked more boyish after he made you come, expensive black shirt creased from where your legs had pressed against him, his own gaze a little fucked out. 

Logic would suggest that perhaps you’d get a kiss then, something soft and sweet to soothe you down before he fucked you senseless, before you got to wrap your own fingers or lips around him. Steve looked big, if the solid press of him against his trousers was anything to go by. Thick and still rock hard, an easy eight inches trapped taught against his thigh, just as impressive as his wealth and status. Your mouth watered. 

He kissed the inside of your knee instead, his heavy lidded gaze on yours before he offered you his hands to help you sit up and then said, “I better get you home.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Home,” Steve repeated. He passed you back your bra, your dress. Not your underwear though, no. They were still in his pocket. “I gotta be at the airport in—” he checked his watch, the picture of blasé. “—an hour.”

You pulled on your dress, a little speechless. This boy had just made you come harder than you’d ever managed yourself and now he was busying himself with lighting a cigarette he pulled from the packet in his pocket. Your eyes wandered, he was still hard. 

“What about,” you licked your lips, suddenly shy. You nodded towards his crotch, the absolute monster he packed in his slacks. “What about you?”

Steve grinned, bending down to peck your cheek as you wriggled into your uniform, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’ll live,” he told you, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “We’ll call it an IOU, huh? But my plane leaves soon, honey. I’ll cash that favour when I’m back.”

“When?” You blurted out. It sounded like something a girlfriend would demand to know and you cringed, but Steve kept smirking. He helped you slip on your heels, cigarette hanging from his lips that definitely tasted like you. 

“Unsure,” he told you casually, “there’s things I need to wrap up in Monaco before I can go to Tuscany for a few weeks. There’s problems at the vineyard and there’s a new plot I want to look at in Alassio too.”

All you heard was money money money. So you nodded and gave him a small smile, legs still a little wobbly from his touch, his mouth, his tongue. And when Steve dropped you off at the door of your too small apartment, he took your chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw, just below your ear. 

The kiss goodnight to your lips didn’t come. You felt confused, a little stilted. But you got out the BMW and waved goodbye, wondering what you were supposed to do at three in the morning after Steve Harrington had tumbled your world upside down. 

PART TWO

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 6

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: The pros and cons of tangling with Soldier Boy...

Song Inspo: “The Voodoo House” by Rick Springfield

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut and more smut, angst, a Noir sighting, death, and even some hurt/comfort if you squint.  

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Part 6: Drowned & Spellbound

Countess was bound to get back at you for this.

You found that you didn’t give a shit as you sat across from your companion with a crystal glass of champagne in hand. You stared up at the tall arched ceilings and ornate chandeliers, the beautiful tapestries and landscape paintings, and most impressive of all, the tall, intricately carved walls of the Oak Room.

You’d heard about this restaurant, but you’d never in your life even stepped foot into the Plaza Hotel. You were now very glad you changed into a proper dress, as well as fixed your hair and makeup.

Across from your intimate table, Ben held his bourbon with a relaxed set to his shoulders. No doubt this was like getting a burger at Chilis for him.

“Enjoying the scenery?” he remarked, taking a sip.

You smiled a little bashfully. “It’s beautiful here. I’ve never been to a place like this.”

Ben’s answering smile was predictable. Stick with me, baby doll. I’ll show you a whole new world, it seemed to say.

“Sinatra comes here from time to time,” he said, pointing at a small corner stage with a piano. “He’s known to take that spot over there and do a tune or two, if he’s got enough whiskey in him.”

Frank Sinatra?! Now that was exciting. You couldn’t help but glance around to see if you spotted him, or any other famous person for that matter. When you heard a chuckle, you looked over and found Ben’s amused face.

“What?” you said with a smile.

“What, I’m not enough celebrity for you?” he teased, rolling his shoulders. “I stormed fucking Normandy, you know.”

You did know, but you leaned in closer, giving your amused attention. It didn’t take long for him to launch into an hour compilation of war stories from back in his day. You’d heard many of them before, but you made it seem as if you were hanging onto his every word.

You realized though, that you could sense him lying with your abilities. Every word that came from his mouth when he talked about his past, his achievements, his exploits in the war and how he helped Vought build a better America afterwards…

It was all complete and utter bullshit.

It took all you had to keep the incredulous frown off your face as you fought to remain invested in his stories. Okay, the one about him taking LSD with the Beatles during Woodstock was true, but other than that, complete and utter bullshit.

You ate mostly in silence as you allowed him to keep talking your ear off, just offering small interjections here and there while he devoured his steak. He seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

You supposed this was what it was like to date the most famous man in the world. No wonder Countess got sick of him.

When he finally rested for a beat, ordering yet another glass of bourbon (you’d lost count at this point), you took your chance to learn something real about him.

“So you’re from Philly, huh?” you said. “What about your family?”

Ben pulled back on you then, his expression falling closer to stoicism.

“What about it?” he said.

“Well, I just realized I know a lot about your career and the amazing things you’ve done for this country, but I don’t know all that much about you,” you said, meeting his eyes. “Like…did you have siblings? What were your parents like? Did you have a dog growing up? That kind of thing.”

You laughed a little to lighten the load, but Ben only softened slightly. It took a moment for him to answer you.

“I was an only child,” he said, again, sipping at his glass. “No dog. Money was too tight for that.”

Again, a lie, you sensed. Not in the first answer, but the second one. Who the hell lied about having a dog?

Or maybe, it was the bit about money being tight. You knew his backstory from the documentary Vought made of him back in ‘75. He was the true “rags to riches” story, according to the narrative, having grown up poor and struggling to survive. It was the one thing you thought you could relate to him about.

But apparently, that wasn’t true either.

“And your parents?” you prodded.

“They were normal. I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say,” Ben said, a little more snappish than you expected. You blinked, taken aback.

You slid your chair a bit closer, so that you were sitting beside him rather than across from him. You laid a hand on his arm, over his jacket. 

“Look, I don’t just want to date Soldier Boy, America’s first superhero,” you said, looking up into his eyes. “I want to know you.”

Again, it took him a beat. But eventually, he lowered his glass back to the table and rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin.

“My mother was a singer at a club. A little crooner, like you,” he said. He eyed you with a slight smile. “That’s where she met my father. As the story goes, she was singing ‘Are You From Heaven’ when he walked in. She saw him, and it was like the uh…the fucking thunderbolt, from the Godfather.”

You smiled. All of this, you sensed, was true.

“They were married within a year,” he said, though he paused, as something distant passed through his eyes. “Pneumonia got her in the end. She was young…but she lived long enough to see me when I got back from the War. A hero.”

He picked up his drink again, maybe this time to distract himself.

“Hers was the last funeral I ever went to,” he said.

And that admission was the most surprising of them all. It managed to strike a familiar chord of grief within you when he looked over at you. You both felt and saw the weight in his gaze.

Maybe he was telling you this on purpose. Maybe he was, in his own way, trying to relate to you about your own mother’s death.

Tears began to sting behind your eyes, but you managed to blink them away. You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

He hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and drew you in even closer, making you yelp in surprise. He smirked, having finally gotten the jump on you for a change. He wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you in closer.

You looked up at his handsome face with wide eyes. A blush dusted your cheeks, warming your face. His smirk softened around the edges, just a little, and he took his chance to engage your lips in a searing kiss.

And maybe this time, you were the one who was caught.

Ben peeled his lips from your neck to give the server a firm no on dessert, “Just the check.”

The guy was good at his job, and was back with the check within a couple of minutes. Ben slapped a significant wad of cash down on the table and guided you up along with him. Breathless as you were, you held onto his arm to keep you up right. The only time you parted from him was at the foyer of the restaurant, where the staff brought your coats.

A limo was waiting outside. With a hand on your lower back (and creeping down to your ass), Ben ushered you in first before he slid in.

“Head back to the Tower,” he told the driver, even as he was pressing the button to raise the partition. “And fucking step on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

You already had a fist in his dress shirt when he turned his attention back to you. You pulled him closer at the same time he leaned in to cage you more fully into his arms. While his mouth ravaged yours, sucking in your lower lip and dragging his teeth across, your hands slipped under his coat and blazer to help him shrug them off.

He similarly ran one of his hands under your coat, up your side and over your breast, squeezing through the fabric. You gave him an encouraging sound, and he dragged a sleeve down along with the bra strap to expose your breast. He palmed you with that big, warm hand, rolling the nipple under his thumb.

None of it was an act when you moaned into his mouth and squeezed his shoulders tight. At this point, it wasn’t just about the game. It wasn’t just about using him. Despite everything—his arrogance, his callous, asshole behavior, his lies—you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. Right now, he was the only thing you wanted.

His lips dragged down your neck, igniting your skin wherever he sucked and teased. You held him there with a hand on his cheek, but it soon wound up into his hair. God, it was softer than it looked.

One of his wandering hands made its way under the skirt of your dress and between your thighs, teasing your slit through your panties. Your breath hitched, but you spread your legs wider for him across the seat. You felt his smirk against your neck.

“Finally ready for me, huh?” he said. “Kept me fucking waiting long enough.”

He didn’t even bother taking off your panties. He just pushed them to the side and dragged his fingers between your slick folds.

“Fuck, your wetter than Niagara already,” he remarked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes because you knew he couldn’t see it. Smug bastard.

But he was withholding his fingers, just tracing along your pussy and teasing your entrance. Your core was already throbbing with need. Your hips began to undulate against his hand.

“God. Ben, please,” you panted in his ear.

Apparently, that was all he wanted to hear. You uttered a shameless moan when his thumb found your clit, causing a shiver down your spine and a tremble in your core. Soon enough, one of his long fingers slipped deep inside you, all the way to the knuckle.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You didn’t want the driver to hear you.

“I gotcha, sweetheart. Gotta get you real ready for me,” he muttered. “You’re gonna take my cock so well, I can already feel it.”

On his last words, he added a finger and curled them inside you, exploring your inner walls and finding that special spot that made you keen into his ear. His thumb worked your clit at the same time, until you clenched on his hand so hard it had you gasping. He swallowed it with his mouth covering yours, all while he drew out your first release with his fingers stroking inside you.

It was a solid preview, you thought, when the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Vought Tower.

Again, you held onto his arm mostly for balance as he led you to the elevators. Your legs felt like jelly when you tried to walk in your heels. Ben hit the button a bit too hard, but you understood it. Every second that ticked by while you two waited for the elevator was entirely too long.

When it finally opened, he guided you inside and pressed the button for his floor, the penthouse suite, all the way up nearly 80 floors.

A mischievous idea hit you. It had you slipping your hand under his coat and blazer again, tracing the seam of his belt. Ben glanced down at you in knowing amusement, but he let you unbuckle his belt without comment.

He just stared at you with a fire in his eyes while you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. You dipped your hand inside the waistband and slid a slow hand along the full, impressive length of him. You smiled when it hardened fully at your touch.

“Is all this for me?” you said, even as you leaned up for a kiss.

“If you can handle it,” Ben said.

Then he obliged you, bowing his head to meet your kiss. You kept things slow as you sensuously licked into his mouth. You tasted bourbon on his tongue before you broke the kiss, just to lower down to your knees in front of him. You held onto the back of his strong thighs while you mimicked what you did with your tongue in his mouth, just further down as you outlined his cock through his underwear.

Ben tried to cover his moan with a grunt, but you sensed his powerful arousal. You had his full and undivided attention, especially when you hooked your nails into the band of his underwear and finally freed his cock. You took it in hand and licked a long stripe across the underside of it, from base to tip. He shuddered. His hand shot out to brace against the elevator wall, shaking the entire compartment with his strength.  

Your tongue circled around his sensitive head, licking up beads of precum from the slit. But just when you finally wrapped your lips around him and took him as far as you could into your mouth, the elevator stopped, chiming your arrival cheerfully. 

He didn’t even wait until he had the door to his apartment closed before he dragged you towards him with a hard kiss. Your coat and his had already been cast to the floor, along with his blazer and tie. His dress shirt was halfway there when he hefted you into his arms effortlessly.

You grabbed his face and met him with a kiss fueled by lust and passion. You felt wild. You felt free. You felt like this was a sin you were meant to commit.  

Ben forcibly unbuttoned his pants with one hand and kicked out of them while you broke open the rest of his shirt, scattering buttons across the floor. It allowed you to run your hands over his warm, tan skin, every dip of muscle across his arms and shoulders, and down his solid chest.

He smirked at the way you were eyeing him, exploring him.

“Like what you see, baby doll?”

“Almost as much as you do,” you quipped back. He huffed at that.

He walked you over to the bed, where he dropped you down towards the center. You yelped and how high he’d dropped you from, but you were smiling when he prowled over you on his hands and knees like a predator. His hands slid up your smooth thighs, bunching up your dress all the way up to your hips. You raised up to help him get it over your head. Your hair was already wild by now; you pushed it out of your eyes with a huff.

His hands slid under you again to unclip the bra. It was flung off to parts unknown, along with your panties. He paused in between to trail open-mouthed kisses down your body, between the valley of your breasts.

He turned his head to start toying with one pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around it. Your fingers threaded through his hair along with your moans as he relentlessly teased your sensitive flesh with his teeth.

"You gonna sing for me, sweetheart?" his voice rumbled smoothly against your skin. "Pretty soon I'm gonna have you screaming for me."

He continued his exploration, his lips dragging down your stomach. And then…

“Oh,” you back arched off the bed. He devoured your pussy with the same tenacity as he had your mouth. His tongue pushed into your entrance while his nose brushed your clit.

Soon enough, your juices coated his stubble-laden cheeks and ran down his chin. His strong hand on your lower belly held you down while he finished his work, his lips moving to suck on your clit. His thick fingers pressed into your channel and worked you open.

You gripped at his hair tightly, cursing and pleading with his name, until you uttered a strangled yell. Your inner walls clenched hard as you came on his tongue.

But you were only able to take maybe one or two breaths of recovery before you felt the thick head of his cock breach your entrance, pushing his way in all the way to the hilt.

You gasped and bit your nails into his shoulders. “Jesus Christ!”

“Not quite,” Ben grunted, though he smirked down at you. “Now let’s see how well you take me. Still so fucking tight.”

Your core contracted around him, still sensitive and pulsing from your orgasm. He didn’t give you a moment more to catch your breath as he began a steady, almost punishing clip inside you. He was stretching you in the most delicious of ways, hitting places deeper than his fingers had been able to reach. It felt so fucking good, all you could do was hold on for the ride.

You wrapped your thighs tighter around his hips, digging your heels into his ass. He ducked down to kiss you, rough and demanding. Your lips met his sloppily, before he dragged away to bite and suck where your neck met your shoulder. You winced at the pain tinged with pleasure, but your eyes rolled shut as you grabbed a fistful of his hair.

Each of his deep strokes inside you was edging you closer to another cresting wave of pleasure. You slipped a hand between you to find your clit, but Ben grabbed your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“Look at me,” he demanded in a near growl.

Your eyes blinked open with a start. You met his gaze. Sweat lined his brow. His other hand was squeezing the flesh of your thigh, opening you up wider for him. You let out a shuddering breath.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you,” he said, “But first, say my fucking name.”

“Ben,” you gasped, as he shifted the angle of his thrusts. The coil in your lower belly was tightening, your muscles bearing down and clenching on him.

“Say my fucking name,” he repeated, releasing your wrist to lay a heavy smack on your ass. The impact rattled up your spine and you jolted, accidently raking his back with your nails. You felt him shiver then. He moved his fingers down to strum at your clit.

And he got what he wanted. He had you screaming his name along with your release. His body locked up as a strangled shout fell from his lips. He coated your inner walls with his spend as they fluttered around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, satisfied and spent.

He grabbed onto the headboard in order to hold himself above you, else he would crush you with his weight. You ran your hands up and down his chest more lazily as you each caught your breath.

Thank fuck for the pill, you thought airily. Because clearly this man didn’t care about condoms.

He eventually pulled out of you, making you shiver at the loss. He rolled off you and stretched out on his side of the bed. You turned your head to look at him. He gave you a relaxed grin in return, like the cat who got the cream.

In that moment, it really hit you.

There’s no going back now.

About a week later, you and Ben had developed a kind of…rhythm.

Yet another glass tipped over and shattered on the floor. He didn’t seem to care as he thrust into you from behind on his dining table. Your moans of encouragement were loud and genuine; your nails scraped across the stained tablecloth, incidentally shoving another plate overboard.

Your quiet dinner had been interrupted halfway through dessert. The moment you’d sucked a ribbon of chocolate off your spoon, Ben had reached for you, pulling you into his lap. You’d been all too willing to let him suck the sweetness right off your tongue.

“That’s it, baby, fucking sing for me,” he growled into your ear. His hand crept around your throat, giving a warning squeeze. You grabbed onto his wrist to keep it there. You held onto him like a lifeline. Sometimes you felt like his cock was going to split you in two. But his iron grip on your hip kept you from going anywhere.

His release ultimately hit him before yours. He grunted as his movements became sloppy, but he still pushed into you. You purposefully clenched on him, stealing his breath this time.

He let go of your throat so he could bury his hand between your folds. He rolled your already sensitive clit between his fingers until you cried out, your body locking up on him outside of your control. Your orgasm hit you in a warm, heady wave. Your legs shook, and you slumped onto the table.

Ben was right there with you. For a moment, all he could do was grip the edge of the polished mahogany and stare at the newly formed hickey on the back of your neck. He swiped your hair out of the way so he could see it better. He knew every mark that he’d put on you, even the ones he couldn’t see right now, under the pretty dress you…sort of had on.

“You okay?” he chuckled.

You huffed in amusement, despite your exhaustion. “I could’ve sworn the damn table was going to crack in half.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he remarked.

He slipped out of you, giving you one last smack on the ass. He didn’t bother to lower your skirt before he dragged up his pants and belt.

“Wanna join me in the shower?” he posed.

You did your best to fix the fallen straps of your dress and ruined bra, along with your hair and lipstick. You found your underwear clinging to a wall sconce. You grabbed that too and slipped it on, then you offered an apologetic smile.

“Raincheck?” you said. “I should go back to my place and get some training in.”

Ben rose a brow. No matter what he offered, you were never one to stay very long after a good fuck…

Not that he minded.

It was usually him giving the excuses to leave, trying to avoid the inevitable clinginess of women after sex. Still, this time he wouldn’t have minded the company.

Maybe next time.

Ben smirked as he drew near you again. He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. You held onto his arms and peered up at him questioningly.

“You mean to tell me you’re gonna walk downstairs, ride the elevator some thirty floors, and walk back all the way to your apartment with my come between your legs?” he asked.

He had to admit, the thought aroused him. Your cheeky little smile did too. Your hands came to rest on his chest, and you leaned up for a slower kiss. It was no less heated as your tongue slipped against his. You pulled away just as slowly, letting your teeth drag against his lower lip.

“Goodnight,” you said.

And you walked away from him. He enjoyed the show you gave him as your skirt swished against your thighs. By now he knew your every curve in intimate detail, and still he hadn’t had enough of you.

He knew he’d be feasting on you for a good long while.

News traveled fast in Vought Tower.

Especially about your little trysts with Soldier Boy. You knew by the too-polite smiles the staff gave you now, as well as the wide, cold berth Crimson Countess was giving you too. You had expected more of a retaliation from her, but you remembered that day in the gym all too well.

She probably thought you and Ben wouldn't last. Either that, or maybe she was afraid of antagonizing him. Maybe she was biding her time, waiting for her moment to get back at you. Either way, you weren't going to drop your guard around her.

In the meantime, Tessa was friendlier to you, and Tommy had finally stopped hitting on you. Swatto tried not to even look in your direction.

Mindstorm, of course, continued to be a hermit, but even Black Noir was more distant with you, which was the one change that disappointed you. The two of you sometimes shared conversations in the breakroom like you had that first day. You’d started to think of him as a friend.

So the next time he tried to pass you while you were making coffee in the morning, you finally said something.

“Hey."

It wasn't your most elegant start, but he paused, in that subtle way of his when his helmet was on. He looked over at you over his shoulder.

“Um…do you want some coffee?” you offered, raising your own mug.

Noir shook his head.

“Okay. Well, uh, how are you?” you asked. “Any exciting missions lately?”

Noir just stared at you. You didn’t blame him. You knew you sounded lame.

So you switched tactics. “Oh, yeah. How’s that movie pitch coming?”

At that, Noir tilted his head slightly. He took his helmet off, revealing his furrowed brows. It was like he didn’t know how to talk to you anymore, which confused you.

“I’ve actually got an audition coming up,” he admitted. “There’s this new movie, Beverly Hills Cop. It’s action, and it’s uh, funny.”

You smiled. “That’s great!”

“I’ve asked around, and I heard Eddie Murphy’s my main competition though. He’s got more experience in comedy,” he said, sliding a hand across the back of his neck.

You shook your head. “Yeah, but superheroes always make the studio more money. And I’m sure you nailed your audition. This could be really great for you!”

A smile flickered across his lips.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. But the longer he stared at your face, the more his expression fell. “What the fuck do you see in him?”

Your smile fell as well. “What?”

“You’re new…boyfriend, or fuck buddy, or whatever it is you’re calling it. I mean, really,” Noir said. “The guy’s probably a walking STD. He doesn’t give a shit who he hurts, or who else he fucks, for that matter.”

Your lips pursed as you fought not to be hurt by his words. You schooled your expression.

“The idiots who get caught by him deserve to have their hearts broken,” you said dryly. 

“But not you,” Noir pointed out. “If you see through his bullshit, then why are you with him? For power? Like Countess, you think you gotta be with the big swinging dick in the room to get any respect?”

His disdain cut into you, and like all things, he had deadly accuracy.

“I have my reasons,” you said. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re a fucking man.”

“Right. Still black though, in case you forgot what I looked like under this goddamn suit,” Noir snapped.

Your face warmed with embarrassment, and maybe shame.

“You think you’re so much smarter than everyone else,” he said. “That somehow, you’re better because you’re afraid to get your hands dirty. Well, guess what, Sirena. You’re no fucking better than Countess. You’re just like the rest of us.”

Your lips trembled with anger, but you didn’t have an easy retort this time. Noir left you seething where you stood.

Ben reclined in one of the plush office chairs and folded his hands.

“Let’s make this quick. I’ve got shit to do,” he said.

You were more quietly polite as you sat beside him. Inside, you were wary. Why had they asked for you and Ben into a meeting together? It felt like you’d been summoned to the principal’s office.

Across from you was Madelyn, perched on the corner of the conference table, while Stan Edgar sat beside her in a chair. He shared a look with Madelyn, whose smile was unreadable. Arthur sat to Stan’s left.

Madelyn addressed you and Ben first. “Well, as you know, Red Thunder is about to launch next week.”

Ben inclined his head expectantly.

“We would never want to meddle in your personal business. However—”

“Spit it out, sweetheart,” he said, with a superficial smile. You shot him a glance, seeing how Madelyn managed to keep her polite façade. She was almost a better actor than you.  

“We believe it would be prudent if you kept the status of your relationship…discreet for now,” said Stan. “Along with your breakup with Crimson Countess.”

“Why should I give a flying fuck about that?” Ben asked.

“Because Red Thunder isn’t just a political action thriller,” Stan said. “There’s also a romantic storyline.”

“You and Countess are meant to be in love in the movie,” Arthur finally chimed in. He seemed impatient with Stan’s roundabout way of saying it. “It’ll be better for everybody if you and Countess do the red carpet together, like we planned.”

“And the press tour as well,” Madelyn added.

Ben rolled his eyes, but you let out a small breath and nodded in agreement.

“That’s understandable,” you said. You looked over at Ben, waiting for him to agree too. You knew he wanted his movie to do well. He just didn’t like being told what he couldn’t do, even in the public eye.

He eventually nodded. You gave him a smile, making his lips tug upwards as well.

Yeah, you thought. We can hide this for a couple of months.

There were times when you could do nothing but blink at the sea of cheering people on both sides of the red carpet.

So many flashing lights.

You had never been to a movie premier before, and it was as exciting as it was overwhelming. A security team flanked around your group as your other Payback team members approached the photo op section.

Ben was just ahead of you, looking dapper in a dark green Armani suit. He was escorting Countess, who admittedly looked elegant in her Oscar-worthy red dress (not that she was winning an Oscar for this movie). It had a large skirt though, and it made it hard for him to even stand close to her while they posed for photos.

He had that debonair look perfected as he greeted press and guided Countess by the small of her back. She was giving a good performance herself, smiling up at him, occasionally rubbing his arm where she held onto him.

You would never admit to the sliver of jealousy pricking your heart, so instead, you focused on the poses Madelyn’s PR team had drilled into you as you took pictures alone. Your stylist had opted for something different than your usual black or violet color schemes.

Since this was your first red carpet, she wanted you to try something new. So she’d put you in a white ‘20s style gown, complete with intricate silver beading down the skirt. You felt a bit like a chandelier, but it did drape nicely off your form.

You shuffled along the queue of press and photographers. Black Noir and the TNT Twins were behind you in the lineup, while Countess was taking an opportunity to bask in the limelight, getting her pictures taken on her own as she showed off the billowing skirt of her dress.

Meanwhile, Ben had a hand in his pocket as he posed by himself. You sensed he was getting bored, even with so much attention on him.

“Hey, why not you two together?” a photographer called out to you and Ben, gesturing at you to get closer to him. You blinked wide eyes, but you did as you were told. Ben looked over at you, a smile tugging at his lips. He slipped a hand around your waist and guided you to his side.

While the photographer snapped away, Ben leaned over to your ear.

“You look stunning,” he said. His voice was smooth and baritone. “But I know I’m gonna like that dress even better when it’s a crumpled mess on my floor.”

You resisted the urge to bite your lip. Instead, you glanced up at him over your shoulder. You two shared a small, secret smile.

Click.

And the secret was out.

That brief, intimate moment between you and Ben became plastered across every tabloid in the city, and even some of the “respectable” magazines.

SOLDIER BOY + SIRENA SECRET AFFAIR?!

And various headlines of the like. Even Johnny Carson had something to say about it on the Tonight Show.

“Now, it’s Soldier Boy’s business of course, but if it’s true, I do feel a little sorry for Crimson Countess. Don’t you?”

The crowd in studio, much like the rest of the fans, were divided. Most women were sympathizing with Countess, while most men seemed to be supporting Soldier Boy (and you by extension).

This wasn’t how you wanted this to happen. It was no small amount of chaos from a PR perspective, and it had quickly made you a polarizing figure in the media.

You just didn’t expect how it would affect your real life, as you headed down Broadway after a successful mission. Not only had you stopped a man from shooting up a bank, but you and the TNT Twins had saved the entire staff and patrons inside. Without collateral damage this time.

You were just stopping off to grab a coffee from one of your favorite cafés when you noticed a woman waiting for the bus. She was glaring at you with a gas station slushie in her hand. You’d fully intended to ignore her, before she shouted something at you.

“Homewrecker!”

You frowned. Jesus, it wasn’t like they were married.

“Excuse me?” you said incredulously.

“You heard me, fucking hussy,” the woman said. She was wearing a red Crimson Countess-themed watch.

You rolled your eyes and aimed to walk past her. That’s when she tossed her slushie and hit you on the side of your head. You gasped as red berry syrup and ice drenched you and ran down your suit. It even stung your eyes.

Anger and instinct took over. When she approached you, you shoved her hard by her shoulders.

“Back off!” you shouted. You just didn’t realize that your eyes glowed with power when you touched her. You’d compelled her on accident.

The woman’s face went blank. Not only did she step back from you with her hands raised in surrender, but she kept walking backwards, all the way to the street.

Your eyes widened as you reached out to her. “Stop!”

You ran to her, but it was too late. Unfortunately for her, the bus arrived right on time.

You sat in Arthur’s office, your hands still shaking, your face, hair, and chest still covered in a sticky film of slushie syrup. He handed you a towel to clean yourself off and returned to his desk. It didn’t do much good.

“Thank you,” you said in a small voice. And you said again, “I-I…it was an accident.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. This isn’t our first rodeo,” he said. “The clean-up crew’s already working on the site of the incident.”

“What,” you cleared your throat. “What about her family?”

“Why do you think we have lawyers?” Arthur said. His smile wasn’t reassuring. “So just go back to your room, clean up, and relax. We’ll take care of this.”

Dully you nodded. You peeled yourself up from the leather chair, and you made the trek back to your room. You showered and got changed, but you still felt dirty. In your mind, you kept seeing the bus split that woman’s face into the pavement.

You were restless, so you got dressed into something comfortable and didn’t even bother with makeup when you went up to the penthouse. Ben let you in, though he frowned at the state of you.

“I heard what happened,” he said.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Tears stung at your eyes. You looked so small and fragile at that moment, Ben couldn’t help but soften ever so slightly. He guided you inside with a hand on your back.

“You hungry?” he asked. “Can have the chef bring something up.”

You shook your head and plopped down on his living room sofa. He made you a drink instead—a vodka soda with a lime, just like you liked. You stared at it, then you downed it all in one long go.

Ben raised his brows, but he sat beside you.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

You set the glass down heavily on the coffee table and gave him a tearful look.

“How is that possible?”

“She disrespected you,” he said, with a note of darkness in his voice, in his eyes. “You had every right to hit back, put her in her place.”

You turned his words over in your head, but you couldn’t accept them. You didn’t want to justify this. You knew it was wrong.

Ben’s hand slid across your thigh, drawing your attention.

“If I’d been there, believe me. That shit wouldn’t have even had the chance to come out of her fucking mouth,” he said coolly.

Somehow, you’d already known that. You just didn’t know if it was his way of being protective, or if it was just him taking a slight against you as a reflection on him, as a man. Either way, it didn’t really make you feel better. Your tears bubbled over, no matter how much you held them back.

Ben’s frown deepened, though he hesitated for a moment. He tugged you over into his lap, where he reached for your cheek and got you to meet his eyes with your red and shiny ones. He captured your lips in a kiss.

If all else fails, distraction.

He worked your sweater off, then your bra, and guided you down onto the sofa. There he kissed his way down your neck while undoing the button on your jeans. You raked your fingers through his hair.

“Ben,” you whispered. “I—”

“Just relax,” he rumbled.  

You fell into the pull of him, letting his mouth and his touch intoxicate you. You didn’t want to let him make you forget. You didn’t want to let this be okay.

But you couldn’t help it. You wanted him, and maybe this time, you needed him too. 

AN: A little smut, a little angst, a little involuntary manslaughter. What else in the world of The Boys, amirite? 😅 But how do you like how her relationship (or not quite relationship) with Ben is developing?

Next comes even more supe debauchery, and a big monkey wrench...

Next Time:

You grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol, went over to them, and subtly touched Countess’s bare shoulder.

Give that shot to Tommy, you compelled her.

With that small trill of your power, Countess stood straighter and beelined straight for Tommy. She grabbed him by the back of his head and surprised him with a deep tequila kiss.

Gross.

You grimaced at the sight, but when you looked back at Ben, he was smirking in amusement. He slid an arm around your waist and spoke closely in your ear.

“Let’s have some fun.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 7

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[cherrygirlfriend]

busywoman!reader meeting toxic!rafe

warnings: nsfw-y, bunny boiler reader, no smut this reader is inspired by busy woman by sabrina carpenter :) i read a lot of books about women who are considered 'crazy' or 'unhinged' and i just love that trope sm and i really wanted to give it my own try. check out the moodboard for her!

you didn't get why people thought you were overdramatic; yeah, you sometimes had strong reactions, but come on, that happens to everyone. yes, you keyed a guy's car once or thrice, but they were little rich boys, they could afford a new coat of paint. they had it coming.

guys were cruel, no matter the age, always leading you on and then ghosting you when they got what they wanted, you just called your revenge karmic intervention. like they say, sometimes karma just needs a little push.

but still, when you found yourself fascinated by a guy, you couldn't resist the pull you felt toward them, falling for the sweet nothings they told you, telling you they were different than the rest that hurt you. then you'd end up burning every picture you got with them, along with all the clothes they left at your house, and the smell of a backyard bonfire was almost normalized in your neighborhood.

by this point, the word about you and your 'crazy antics' (eyeroll) had gotten around the island and most guys left you alone; sometimes someone who 'wanted to see if you were really how people said you were' would try to get with you, only to prove to them right when they found the words 'SMALL DICK' spray painted on the sides of their car after you found out they cheated on you, accidentally letting it slip near every girl they were interested in that you heard they weren't... clean. even a few clueless tourons got a taste because they just didn't know any better.

there were even insane rumours about you that were totally not true, about how you purposely took a guy to a place with quicksand and let him sink (where can you even find quicksand?) or that one of your neighbors saw you standing outside smoking while covered in blood (you didn't even smoke.)

really, you preferred being alone; you noticed you were calmer when you didn't have someone constantly running through your mind, your... quirks going away, and you could focus on the fashion line you were designing, your sewing machine the best company to have at night.

honestly, you should've seen it coming when rafe cameron started showing interest in you. he had a similar reputation on the island as you did, not when it came to women, but when it came to everything. people often called him 'batshit crazy' and honestly, it appealed to you.

one night you were happily sitting with your girlfriends at the country club, wearing one of the dresses you'd made yourself, sipping on a strawberry mojito, telling them about how you had an a-list actress's assistant contact you about one of the dresses you had made.

rafe saw you, leaning against the counter while pretending to listen to whatever topper was rambling about to him and kelce, his eyes trailing up and down your body, the way your tits bounced in your low-cut pale pink dress as you motioned excitedly causing him to lick his lips as he slowly took a mouthful of bourbon.

"bro, what are you looking at?" topper asked when he noticed he wasn't paying any attention, the two other boys following his eyes to you, cheerily talking to your friends. "rafe, no."

"what?" rafe grinned, looking to his friend.

"you do know who that is, right? you know her reputation?"

"she's batshit crazy, man." kelce piped up.

"god, you two are such drama queens." rafe sighed, rolling his eyes as he took another sip of bourbon, "she's smoking hot."

"dude, i heard she stole someone's car and drove it into a lake."

"and stole 10k from james."

"i heard she straight-up murdered someone."

rafe just shook his head. yeah, he'd heard some of those rumours, but honestly, you looked way too sweet for that, with your pretty bows and short skirts. he tsked, looking to his friends with a grin as he turned to them, "well, you know what they say about crazy girls."

"that they'll kill you in your sleep?" topper raised his brows. rafe simply chuckled, clapping his friend's shoulder, "that they're fucking freaks in bed." and with that, he started walking towards your little group, his ice-cold eyes set on you.

"hey." he said in his usual cheeky tone as he cocked his head to look at your sitting figure, fully ignoring the group of friends surrounding you.

you turned your head and looked up at his face, before sizing him up, cocking your head on the other side than his was, a small chuckle leaving your glossy lips that he already desperately wanted on his.

"hi."

and as you looked at each other with similar grins on your lips, rafe and you were both so blissfully unaware of the disastrous consequences one greeting could have.

[lingering-42-long]

141 + extra when they get home from war

Y’all be too much lol. This is my third head cannon and the Mother’s Day one is still on the top of the likes list and I don’t know why like that one was my trash one and everything else I like put time and effort into. It’s like offering people a gourmet meal or Ramen noodles with chicken nuggets, lol I’m glad everybody does enjoy my Content though, and I hope that you all enjoy this one as well!

COD x Female Character

Warnings: PG-13, mentioning of sex, fluff, suggestion of angst

Captain John Prince

• when he gets home, he’s usually pretty tired.

• Don’t be alarmed if he just wants to sleep when he gets home.

• Usually you pick him up from the airport and he will load in his bags with a grunt and say that he could really use some good sleep.

• He smells like gun powder and dirt, even though he just took a shower.

• When he gets home, he will give you a kiss, then head off to bed no matter what time of day it is.

• He’s just that tired.

• When he wakes up the first thing he does is go back over to you and give you a proper kiss and a proper greeting.

• Make sure that you have some food for him. He’s going to be hungry, and he really needs some thing that’s more sustainable than MREs.

• He wants to hear about your life and what you’ve been up to while he’s been at work.

• Listening to you talk is one of his favorite past times and it helps him relax. Sitting in front of the couch while watching some TV show while you’re rambling on about the past months and about what you’ve been up to really brings a smile to his face.

• He likes to catch up on his reading.

• This man enjoys reading with a cigar in his mouth and a glass of bourbon.

• If you’ve picked out a new book for him to read, he will be gladly appreciate of of it.

• But most importantly, he would want you to be in his lap while he’s reading, but if you don’t like the smell of cigar smoke near your face, he will make sure not to smoke near you.

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

• Simon comes home as Ghost.

• The persona of a vengeful wraith and the shell of a once human is what your are graced with.

• He is very quiet, very solemn, and very cold.

• This is because he’s just dealing with his PTSD.

• He needs time to heal from recent encounters. This can take as little as one week to as long as three months.

• After badgering him enough times, to go see a therapist, he obliges.

• Though he’s pretty cranky about it.

• Give him space. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but right now, he doesn’t trust himself, especially with the nightmares raging through his mind.

• His nightmares are so vivid that it can be hard to distinguish Friend or foe.

• This is due to the fact that he needs to be working or else those vile thoughts come hunting him.

• He will never tell you about what goes on while he’s away.

• Once Ghost disappears, Simon takes his place.

• The poor broken man is just tired, and he just wants to lay next to you and hear about your day or months.

• Once you become stable enough, he begins to be more active around the house instead of just brooding in the bedroom.

• He hast to keep himself busy at all times.

• No rest for the wicked.

• Hast to sleep with a lamp on.

• Even though he seems harsh around the outside, he loves you deeply, and that’s why he separates himself from you for a certain time.

Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

• Opposite of Ghost, Johnny is so excited to see you!

• As soon as he gets off the airplane, he runs over to you!

• This man is all over you before you even see him!

• He starts asking you 1 million questions about how your months have been and what’s been going on with his family and any news on the recent football (soccer) matches.

• You actually have to calm him down because he’s all over the place.

• When you get into the car, he is kissing you all over your face.

• This man has enough energy to run to the moon and back, and it shows.

• He’ll try to take you right there if only he wasn’t in a car confined by a seatbelt

• Johnny is quick to help around the house and do whatever task you need to do.

• He says he’s making up for lost time.

• If you’ve decorated the house in a new way, he will always compliment what you’ve done to it.

• Johnny wakes up early in the morning and practically begged you to join him on a hike.

• It could be down pouring for all he cares about but he really wants to be with you while he’s working out.

• He will bring you back a souvenir probably something stupid like a rock or a jar of sand.

• If he gets any scars, he shows you and starts pointing them out and tells you the story about each and everyone of them.

• He won’t go into great detail about how gruesome the battling was.

• He wants you to be in his life every step of the way, even if you’re at home.

Sargent Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

• Kyle is grinning from ear to ear when he sees you!

• He’s not as hyper as Johnny, nor is he a stoic as his captain.

• He has the perfect mix between excited and tired

• When you to get home, he says that you two should just order pizza and he’s dying to play a video game with you even if he’s a little tired.

• Kyle doesn’t go into a lot of detail about his work. He’ll just make an occasional gesture about what he saw what he did.

• Like soap, he’ll bring you back a souvenir.

• He actually takes time with his souvenir shopping though, and we’ll go to local markets installs to actually pick you out some thing that you might like.

• Happy to be with you and glad to be away from the fighting.

Commander Alejandro Vargas

• When he comes home, his first instinct is to drop his bags by the door, and bring you into a warm and passionate kiss and hug.

• As much as he loves his job and all of his soldiers and team, some thing about being at home with you makes him feel truly loved.

• He may be tired, but he still going to serenade you like it’s his last day on earth.

• If you haven’t started making dinner yet, he will help and participate with whatever you’re doing. He may be tired, but he’s never tired for you.

• He loves watching you move around the house.

• He’s not going to deny it, but you wearing his clothes and cooking dinner with him really turns him on.

• After dinner, he may propose a night in bed to you.

• This man serenades you in sex especially after he’s been away for a long time

• Physical touch is his love language, and he loves being with you.

Sergeant Major Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

• Like his commander, when he comes home, all he wants to do is drop his bags and immediately embrace you and a warm hug while rubbing your head and whispering how much he’s missed you.

• He also wants to help you cook dinner, or do some thing, but if you go, tell him to take a shower and to relax, he won’t deny that he needs it.

• Rudy loves reading a book with you so after dinner he will want to skip the washing dishes and ask if you would like to read with him before going to bed. No matter what time it is in the day. If he’s tired enough, he will once to at least read a little bit before falling asleep.

• Once he’s asleep, the bags underneath his eyes seem to disappear. He knows you’re close and he knows that you’re safe and that’s all that he could ever ask for to make him happy.

König

• As soon as he gets off the airplane and sees you amongst the crowd of people, his anxiety stops, and he immediately makes his way to you.

• He can’t sleep on an airplane, but as soon as he’s in the car, he’s about ready to doze off. You have to remind him not to though, because waking him up or trying to drag him out of the car is near impossible.

• He is really trying hard not to pass out in the car.

• Once he gets home, he stumbles into the kitchen looking for a nice tall glass of water to drink, and a sandwich or two to eat.

• Make sure that you keep the sandwiches stocked.

• This man will then make his way to the bedroom, take a cold shower, get into some warm PJs, and then slip into bed.

• Once he’s asleep, he will stay in his hybernation for roughly 3 days.

• He will only wake up to use the restroom, get a drink of water, or to eat some thing.

• When his mind is on the battlefield, he rarely puts himself into a sleep state, but when he’s at home, it’s like all of the hours that he missed, sleeping or suddenly compiled in a single week.

• Just let him rest, and sooner or later, he’ll wake up from his hibernation, and will seek you out so that he can give you kisses and hugs and ask how your time has been away from him.

Alex Keller

• When Alex gets back, like everybody on this list, he is tired.

• His leg is very sore from the prosthetic. Prosthetics are not comfortable and cause I’m serious leg and back pain.

• He will ask very nicely if you could massage his leg for him when he gets home.

• Once he’s in the car, Alex is taking off that damn prosthetic leg and rubbing his stump.

• You can tell he’s in a lot of pain just by the way, his eyes crease, and a frown forms.

• In order to get him off of the pain, you talk to him about his time.

• This usually makes him perk up since he enjoys talking to you about his adventures.

• His personality is like a mix between Johnny and Kyle, but leans more towards Kyle.

• When you get home you’ll have to help him walk because he really does not want to put on his prosthetic.

• You just leave the bag in the car to get later.

• When Alex gets into bed, it’s like a huge sigh of relief washes over him.

• You can see how red and agitated his amputated limb is.

• You do what you can to make him feel better by applying some numbing cream and giving him some pain relieving medicine.

• He always feels better once you start massaging his leg and even more so if you give them a back rub.

• This man is a simple man and enjoys a simple massage after months of no rest.

Philip Graves

• Like a soldier from World War II coming home to meet his best girl.

• He always surprises you when he comes home and has one of his shadow men drive him to the house.

• He always buys you a huge bouquet of flowers and some pretty jewelry as well.

• When he walks through the door, he asks where his baby girl is.

• And of course you come running and giving him a huge hug and crying, which he immediately envelops you into a hug.

• He’s whispering in your ear with that southern drawl about how much she misses you.

• He gets a little into himself when he’s talking about how his mission is or how he was able to handle such a dangerous and daunting task.

• As egotistical, as this may seem, it is his way of expressing his love for you in a slightly weird way.

• In the evening, he’ll probably swoop you up into a dance, with both of you, smiling and laughing.

• He tells you how much he misses you and how much he loves you.

• In bed, he shows you how much he means both of those things.

[mrsriddlenott]

The Fourth Day Of Smutmas

[smutmas masterlist] [main masterlist]

~ Santa Clause Is Coming To Town ~

Klaus Mikaelson x fem!Vampire Reader

Summary: When Klaus mysteriously returns from New Orleans, the Mystic Falls gang worries about what he’s planning, though his only plan is to convince you to join him for Christmas in The Big Easy, by any means necessary. Starting with lavish gifts, attention, and affections, and ending with his mouth wherever you wish it.

- Klaus is obsessed but not in a creepy way, vampire reader, platonic Damon x Reader & Stefan x Reader -

Warnings: 18+ Content!!Spoiling(gift giving, promises etc),ig kinda manipulation if you squint,f!Receiving Oral.

It was no secret that when Klaus first came to Mystic Falls he had only one thing on his mind, breaking his curse. But when he first saw you from behind the eyes of Alaric, he knew there was….something….so he of course ignored it. By the second time he came around you knew all about him and he you, something about you lingered with him, leading him to look into your past which only hooked him on further.

He was a forward man, anything he wants he goes for, so naturally he was hounding you left and right for the better part of year while him and his siblings ran rampant in your town. Though you were mysteriously never hurt, mentally or physically, something that didn’t go unnoticed by you. By the time Klaus was told of a plot against him in New Orleans, you were ready to accept him, his faults and all, and before he reluctantly left, you shared a heated kiss that stuck with the hybrid even all this time later.

Despite trying to disconnect himself and keep you safe from the enemies after his family and city, he couldn’t stop himself from calling you every once in a while, only feeding his desires to see you, feel you, smell you, for you. By the time Hope’s second Christmas started approaching, he realized she’d be starting to remember them soon, and decided you just had to be there so began planning to get you to enjoy the Holidays with him.

“Uh guys, you might….well you are gonna be upset but I need to tell you something,” Your voice was small and weak as you entered the main room of the Salvatore Boarding House where Stefan and Damon sat drinking bourbon. Damon, rude as usual, ushered you to speak faster as you tried to sputter out the words to tell them Klaus had left you a voicemail in the early hours of the morning to announce his eminent arrival.

“Well you see…” You were cut off by the sound of the large wooden door opening behind you allowing Klaus to saunter in with his usual air of confidence, swinging an arm over your shoulder with a smile that didn’t show his teeth, eyeing the brothers in front of him as though daring them to question his entry into their home.

“Oh come on….why the hell has Santa Klaus come to town,” Damon mocked, scoffing out a laugh as he chugged down the rest of his bourbon, standing from his seat, eyeing you with disappointment before returning his attention to the much stronger man, “We’re having one peaceful, happy, bullshit free Christmas this year and nowhere in that is the Original Hybrid needed,” Damon swayed his hands in a mocking manner as he spoke, he was coaxing him, he wanted to anger him and wanted to prove to you Klaus would rip his head off in a matter of seconds if it weren’t for you.

“Oh Damon,” Klaus sighed condescendingly with a shake of his head, “I’ve only come for y/n, she’s needed for my family’s….what’d you call it…” He feigned a questioning look as his eyes shifted around the room, “ah yes peaceful, happy, bullshit free Christmas, so if you don’t mind….”

“Woah woah woah, what do you mean? You can’t just swoop in and take y/n like she’s your property,” Stefan piped up, scoffing slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest despite Klaus’ eyebrows shot up his forehead to eye the much younger vampire.

“You are so dramatic,” Klaus laughed with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes, clearing his throat before continuing, “I haven’t come to kidnap her, I’ve come to ask her you idiot, and even if I had planned to walk in here and take her….neither of you could stop me.” Klaus was never fond of you living with the Salvatores, especially Damon, but he also recognized their close bond to you and their obvious love for you. He wouldn’t hurt them unless they hurt you, he knew you would never forgive him for that and he just would not stand for that.

With a roll of your eyes you tugged Klaus’ hand, pulling him down the hall away from the brewing argument and toward your large bedroom. “Why’s this room so close to Damon’s?” Klaus’ narrowed, distrusting eyes seemed to search the room and hallway before shutting the wood against the frame and turning back to you.

“He likes to be closer so he can hear if somethings happening faster….he’ll deny that though,” you chuckle awkwardly, you hadn’t been alone with Klaus in almost two full years. Your eyes fell to his hands as he dig into his coat, tugging out a long, silver wrapped box with a golden bow on top, so neatly done that you were sure he had compelled someone to do it perfectly.

“I got you something, come here” He ushered you towards him with two of his fingers. His gravely, authoritative voice you loved so much sending shivers down your spine as you approached, unable to deny him of anything he asked of you in that tone. “There’s more waiting for you under my tree in New Orleans.” Klaus calmly stated, making you cringe slightly as you approached him, stopping only a foot in front of him before speaking.

“Look Nik, I’m sure that whatever that is is lovely and I’m sure all the others are too but if you’re only giving me that to get me to come back with you than I can’t accept it.” You sighed, meeting his eyes for only a second before watching your feet. Klaus stepped forward, almost pressing against you as the air grew warmer, gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes again, genuinely smiling down to you once you did.

“No Love….this is yours whether you come with or stay and if you don’t accept my invite I’ll bring the rest to you. Whatever happens to them after is up to you, leave them, open them, donate them, whatever you want,” His warm hand moved to yours, shoving his gift box into your palm as he watched you expectantly, your brows scrunched together as you narrowed your eyes at him before realizing he was being honest.

You tore through the paper cautiously with a smile, revealing the long black velvet box that opened to reveal a simple golden necklace with a simple wolf charm in the middle, “I usually go for diamonds but I know my girl well enough to know you’d prefer both,” he stated simply before pulling out another perfectly wrapped silver package, this time much smaller. You wasted no time in ripping through and opening the small box to reveal a ring with a thin silver band adorned with a large diamond.

Your eyes shot up to his as you removed the ring from it’s confines with a shocked expression, “Now I know what you’re probably thinking, but when I propose to you that rock will me much larger and,” As he waved a hand around your room with slight grimace on his face, “we’ll be in be a much more extravagant setting….Paris perhaps?”

“Nik….this is too much I….” You couldn’t form words as you looked between the pieces of jewelry, “I can’t accept these not when Hope is so young and Hayley she deser-“ Klaus laughs at your response, eyeing you as though to ask you a question simply with his eyes, before chuckling again with a soft apology.

“Do you really think I can’t get all my favorite girls their gifts? Trust me Hope and Hayley will have plenty of presents, in fact they’re next to yours right now, if you want to get going I’m sure you’ll see them.” Klaus waved his hand towards your door, looking to you expectantly as though waiting for you to walk out before him.

“I can’t just leave with you out of nowhere Klaus,” You sighed, setting your gifts down on your bedside table before rubbing at your eyes as the man stood in front of you again, waiting for a different response, “It- it’s not that I don’t want to okay….I just can’t.”

“Why not?” He asked, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion, his voice exasperated as he turned his hands up dramatically, “Come on what’s keeping you from leaving with me? I’ll keep you safe.” His voice was growing strained, he was beginning to plead with you now, grabbing at your sides as if to remind you of his ability to shield you from harm.

“My friends are here Klaus, the only real friends I’ve had for over a century, I’m not just leaving them” You spoke, narrowing your eyes to him as though asking him to reveal a hidden meaning before turning away from his touch and avoiding his pleading eyes by tiding your bed covers, adding in a small voice, “My friends who do not trust you with me by the way.”

“It’s not like you’ll never see them again, I’m not trying to hold you captive I’m trying to give you a nice Christmas.” You could hear in his voice that he was upset, he was losing patience and wanted, no needed, a flat out response, “Love, please I’m practically begging on my knees here”

“Maybe you should be on your knees,” you joked under your breath without thinking about the mans enhanced hearing well beyond yours or the vampires you’re usually around, only realizing your mistake when you turned to find his eyebrows that had shot up his forehead in surprise. His eyes trailed down your body and back up again, reading you to make sure he heard you correctly before speaking, “Sit.”

“Wha-“ His deep, dark eyes locked into yours in a silent order, halting your question before it was formed as you immediately flopped down on the bed behind you. Your wide eyes followed his actions as he slowly grew closer to the bed with purposeful steps, “You’ll be a Good Girl and tell me to stop when you don’t like what I’m doing won’t you?”

You nodded your head in understanding, putting a halt to his agonizingly slow steps as his head tilted to the side in a questioning and demanding stare, “Yes I will,” You stuttered, your throat beginning to dry, your head falling back to maintain eye contact as Klaus stopped in front of you, just to drop to his knees. His warm, rough hands surrounded your ankles, tugging them apart lightly to settle himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. He smelled intoxicating, his scent wrapping you in a blanket of comfort as his hands slowly rubbed up and down your legs, stopping just before the hem of your dress each time. “Please y/n. Will you please come to New Orleans for Christmas, it’ll make my year.”

“I don’t kneel for just anyone and I think you know that,” as he spoke it felt as though his power he prided above anything for 1,000 years began to seep out of him and into you, “You’re the only woman on this planet that I can’t get out of my head, I’ve had women on every continent drooling at my feet for the better part of a millennium but you, my Darling, are the only one I will ever drool over.” Your resolve was beginning to crumble, the feeling of his soft kisses to the top of your legs between words had you sighing in contempt, your confidence growing with each second.

“What can I do to get you to join me hm?” He punctuated himself with a kiss to the center of your thigh, moving his lips higher before he spoke again, “I’ll buy you anything, I’ll do anything.”

Your hand melted into his stawberry curls, watching his lips form a smile as he realized he’d won, “You seem to love using your mouth….so maybe start there.” His eyes shot to yours, chuckling to himself at your false dominance, he loved being in control and whether you realized it yet or not, he was.

Your back slammed against your mattress in less than a second, Klaus’ firm hand held against your stomach, using his hybrid strength to keep you down. He vibrated against you with pure energy, growling against the flesh of your thigh while kissing a trail to your core, eyes going a golden yellow as the scent of your arousal filled his senses. You leant up on your elbows to watch him, the feel of his prominent fangs that would scare almost anyone else scraping your skin with each featherlight kiss building an ache in your lower abdomen, the sense of danger was overwhelming, knowing that at any moment he could dig into you, infecting you with his venom just so he could taste you. The thought of him losing control and having to cure you from the toxin with his blood had you subconsciously tugging your lip between your own fangs that surfaced from your gums at the sight of him shoving your dress upward once his lips met it.

His fingers effortlessly slipped into your lace underwear, filling the room with the sound of ripping fabric before delving into you with his expert tongue, forcing your hips to jolt up against his hold on you, “Holy fucking shit,” Klaus immediately began drawing figure eights on your desperate clit, sighing in pleasure at just your taste and immediately needing more.

You were dripping for him, filling the room with the sound of your pleasure as he lapped against you, focusing on the strokes of his tongue against your center the same way he would a brush against art. Your high was fast approaching, faster than ever before, you wigged against his grip desperately trying to ease the growing tension in your body but he didn’t let up. Fingernails digging into your flesh as you legs shook, your eyes screwed shut, falling back onto the bed with a sigh of a moan attempting to will yourself to last longer, to prolong your pleasure as though you would never feel it again.

His strokes danced between your entrance and your puffy, needy clit he was beginning to adore, wishing to give you a teaser of what awaited you in his bed in his city. His lips sucked around you, egging on your moans of pleasure from above him until they turned into small whimpers and whines of need. Your mind was hazy, it’s only focus being the tickle of his beautiful hair against your thighs, the scratch of his stubble marking your flesh as his perfect, silver tongue pulled out the first of many shaking orgasms he would give you as his Queen.

“You taste absolutely amazing,” He pushed himself forward, weighing down the bed beside you as you tried to regain focus, “If you pack quickly you may get another gift before we leave.” He chuckled, smacking at your still exposed thigh before pulling you into a desperate kiss he’d waited far too long for.

~~~~

Not proud of this one smut wise but I think it’s super cute 🥰

Event Taglist (lmk if u want on, off, or changed ur user)

@timmytime17 @talia-scar123 @spencer-reids-wife @ttsbaby01 @animorose @whydoireadanymore @thievin-stealing @spiderman-stilinski @evycloudberry @shady-the-simp @ashisabitgay @porterport @callsignwidow @cicicicicisstuff @mattheoriddleswifee @junebugin-july @moonlightreader649 @devotedlyshadowytheorist @rubyliquor @perverteddsdreams @mildly-delulu @fairydimples07 @shadowmoonlight0604 @80scinemvasworld @nevillescomslut @annaisabookworm @abaker74 @athenalikethegoddess @limeren @h-------n @kezibear @mattheoriddlemarcuslopez @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @curiousshifter101 @tobyr68 @spididerman @hedwigprewett12 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @kiwi475 @stellasdelusions

[kittenlittle24]

Mayfield

Masterlist

As usual GIFs aren’t not mine, comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated

The way you met was quite cliche. You recently moved to live in the same building, you stopped to check your mailbox at the same time he came home from work.

You were minding your business as the building’s door opened and two men entered, a brunet in a suit and tie and a tall salt and pepper-haired man with a cane.

The second man glanced at you with a frown as he fished his keys to unlock his apartment front door and you turned to open your own.

The other man noticed you as well and turned to look at you, he smiled at you.

“Are you new here?”

Smiling you nodded, “Moved here last week.”

The man with the cane stopped his actions and faced his companion, “How the hell would you if she lived here before or not?”

“House, you’ve been living here for the last twelve years, how would I not know your neighbors?”

Smiling awkwardly at them, you averted your eyes to look at the floor.

Reaching his hand to shake yours, he introduced himself and his friend.

“How long have you been living together?” You asked.

House laughed while Wilson shook his head.

They replied in sync, “We’re not gay!” And “Four years next weekend.”

Wilson turned shocked to House and scolded him, you laughed and wished them a good night before entering your apartment and closing the door.

You ran into House a few more times and eventually invited him to your place for dinner. You couldn’t help but be intrigued by him, of course, you couldn’t resist the temptation of looking him up and reading about his reputation, but you still needed to make some new friends.

House didn’t know why but he didn’t seem to mind your presence, you were interesting and clever not to mention attractive.

You didn’t speak about the relationship that was slowly developing between you. There wasn’t a need for it.

It was comfortable, yet still exciting. You shared dinners and alternated between spending the nights at your and his apartments. And so you found yourself sitting in House’s apartment, you were on his couch, glass of bourbon in your hand while he was playing on his piano. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, in fact, most Friday nights you spent in each other’s company.

“I got a new job.” You shared

He opened one eye and continued to sway gently in his seat to the sound of the piano.

“You heard of Mayfield?”

“The psychiatric hospital?”

You nodded and took a sip.

He stopped playing and turned to sit facing you, “As what?”

“As a doctor there.” You answer as if obvious.

he rested one arm on the top of the piano, “The last couple of months we’ve been inseparable, you should be paying me rent considering how much time you spend here, yet you didn’t think to tell me you're a doctor?”

You shrugged with a cheeky smile and he chuckled before moving to stand in front of you. He held his right thigh as he crossed the room, stopping when your knees were between his legs. He bent down, hands holding on the backrest, effectively trapping you between with his body. Smiling softly at him, your eyes danced between his mesmerizing ones.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and lifted your chin to reach his lips. Kissing him softly. You pulled apart and he sat down next to you, you rested your head on his shoulder and grabbed the remote to put something to watch.

The room was dark, the TV the only light source, and you were lying with your head in his lap, nearly asleep.

“Guess I’ll be seeing less of you,” He murmured, breaking the silence.

Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes tiredly, your eyebrows scrunched together, “It’s a 7 on 7 off. I’ll be here plenty.”

He nodded and reached to move a lock of your hair behind your ear.

Your relationship held surprisingly strong, House wanted it to work which is why he went to Cuddy and admitted that he wasn’t okay.

You were on a two-week long shift, that felt longer, you were tired and missed your bed; you agreed to cover the next week for a colleague who was on vacation. So instead of one week-long shift, you finished yours and started hers.

On your lunch break, you stepped aside and tried to call House. You were a tad disappointed when you got his voicemail, but didn’t think much about it. You tried again before you went to sleep, lying on the stiff, thin mattress in the bunk bed, phone in your hand as you stared at the screen. Perhaps he just turned it off or forgot to charge it, probably turned it off to avoid work, you rationalized to yourself.

You sent a ‘good night’ text for him to see later before putting the phone down and falling asleep.

The alarm clock pulled you out of your sleep, letting out a big stretch before sitting up and checking your phone. First, you checked if House replied but it wasn’t even delivered.

You grabbed your clipboard and made your way to the department you were covering this week. You entered ward 6, immediately welcomed by Alvie who ran up to you, overly excited, to tell you about his new roommate.

“I didn’t know we had a new admission, is he nice?”

He laughed and moved in his spot, “Nope. Not at all. You can call him ‘Heezy.’

“No, you can’t.” A familiar voice stated firmly.

Gently you moved Alvie with a hand on his bicep so you could see the man behind him; your eyes wide open in shock.

“Greg, what are you doing here?”

You pulled him aside to a private room and reached to touch his now short hair, your other hand cupped his cheek softly.

He lowered his eyes, avoiding eye contact, “I was hallucinating from the Vicodin. Dr. Nolan is blackmailing me to stay.”

You nodded, “If you follow the schedule, agree to take meds, participate in group and individual therapy-“

He raised his gaze to look at you and lowered your hands from his face, “I want out of here.”

“It’s not even my department, I’m only covering.”

He closed his eyes and sighed.

You opened the door to leave, turning to him in the doorway, with furrowed brow, “Why didn’t you tell me?” You whispered, your hurt seeping into your words.

He didn’t answer, just lowered his head again.

You rushed down the hallway, you saw House holding Freedom Master’s bloody jacket. You sat beside him in the waiting room at the hospital they were taken to. Nolan called you immediately after getting the news. You looked at your boyfriend, he looked shocked and overwhelmed.

“I need help.” He whispered.

You took a deep breath, stroking his hair and his face, you weren’t sure if you were trying to comfort him or yourself.

“Nolan suspended me until you’re released.”

He looked at you with wide eyes, you’ve never seen him look as afraid as he did at that moment.

You came to visit house every day, he seemed happy you did. He told you no one else has come and that pinched your heart. He was improving and he even told you that his leg hurt much less. You even met Alvie his roommate who told you about the upcoming talent show, which made House very flustered.

You were about to leave, House followed you to the door, his forehead against yours, and he laid short butterfly kisses against your lips.

“Are you going to perform in the show?”

He scuffed and let out a small chuckle as he shook his head.

“I’m gonna come see it anyway.” You decided.

He smiled at you, his big hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking the apple of your cheeks, “You just want any excuse to see me.”

Grinning, “You’re on to me.” You admitted.

There were about 20 people in the audience watching. Most of the performers were sitting there when not on stage. House was standing in the back, leaning against a wall. His cane is tucked under his arm, his gaze alternating between your back and the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen. The one, the only, Juan Alvarez!”

Alvie ran from the back of the “theater” to the stage.

“See, we got hidden talents. You don’t see hidden secrets. If we could show you those,” He imitated a record scratching as he stalled thinking for the next line.

He stopped and rubbed his head as he tried to think of the next line.

“Then we wouldn’t have no regrets.” House bailed him out from the back.

You turned and smiled at him widely.

“Wanna know my secrets? Sit back and let me explain it. My Pops split, Mama got sick

Cliché, ain’t it. Now I’m a manic Hispanic. I’m trying to make it work, But the doctors think I’m lazy,” he stuck again he looked at Greg.

“And my roommate is a jerk.” Greg supplied.

“Dr. House is in the house, y'all. Give it up for Dr. House to the stage, y'all. Paging Dr. House to the stage, y'all.”

House waved him off. The audience and you especially clapped loudly to encourage him.

“Are you there, Dr. House it's on. Bring it on.”

House stood up straight and made his way towards the stage. He tossed his cane off stage and got into the rhythm.

As Alvie finished the rap, House nodded a little shyly, acknowledging the applause. He put his arm around Alvie’s shoulder and together they took a bow.

On the way back from Mayfield you stopped to get some groceries, as well as ice cream and snacks to munch on while you spend another weekend on your own. You contemplated between the ice cream flavors, you saw a new tub which was whiskey hazelnut and you couldn’t help but add it to your cart, although you knew you’d never eat it, you just knew that House would love it.

Once at home you finished unloading the groceries and decided to unwind with a glass of wine. Just as you sat down and closed your eyes a sudden loud knock on the door startled you. You opened the door just a crack, enough to see your boyfriend’s familiar face. Grinning wildly as the door hit the wall from the force you opened it and threw your arms around his neck.

Staggering backward with his arms around you, he chuckled and embraced you.

“Nolan gave me a night pass. I have to go back in the morning.”

Smiling, you nodded and pulled him inside.

“I got something for you,” you told him as you got the ice cream and two spoons.

“You didn’t know that I’d be allowed to leave.”

Sheepishly smiling, “It wouldn’t have gone bad in the freezer, it would’ve waited for you.”

He leaned forward and kissed you, not that he’d admit but he was touched by the gesture.

Stroking his face before reaching to play with his now very short hair, “By the way,”

He raised his eyes from the ice cream carton to look at you.

“I hate the new haircut.” You shared, making you both laugh.

[countessvalentines]

Best Bourbon I've Ever Tasted

pairing: cooper howard/f!reader

word count: 2.8K

warnings: 18+ Only, Minors Do Not Read!! sexual tension, smut, alcohol, swearing, oral sex,

summary: you meet cooper howard at a networking mixer hosted by vault tec. Neither one of you enjoy the scene so you sneak away to make your own.

notes: you voted on the premise, now here it is! If y'all like it and want more, let me know! :)

dividers by @saradika

gif by @doortotomorrow

Despite not wanting to be at a corporate party, you have to admit the venue is impressive. This mansion has picturesque lighting, perfectly placed trees and shrubs, a pool that looks like an ancient Greek bath and an ornate firepit. You'd seen a few nice houses in L.A at this point, but nothing this lavish as this place in the Hollywood Hills. 

This is what they call a "networking mixer," really just an excuse for people in the industry to show off and feel important. As the new face of Abraxo cleaner, your agent insisted you go. Vault-Tec was hosting and they hadn't picked a cleaning agent partner company yet and Abraxo was hoping your winning smile and personality would win them over like you had America. 

You make your way around, smiling and nodding at various suits. You definitely aren't loosened up enough for the "networking" part, and would much rather not do it at all if you can avoid it. You find a relatively quiet spot by the pool to collect your thoughts, and to consume a bit of liquid courage. You see a nearby pop-up bar set up and order yourself a gin martini... You need something strong for this. As you wait for your drink, you look around the party, seeing if any familiar faces are in the crowd. There's a few representatives from Abraxo you've met a few times, some familiar Nuka Cola faces that are at what seems like every function in L.A., and some Vault-Tec suits that keep trying to sell people on their "Hollywood" vault. 

You hear the bartender call out a gin martini, and you turn to grab it. As you reach for your cocktail, your hand comes into contact with another... 

"Oh, I'm sorry." A familiar voice says as you brush hands with them. When you look up, your eyes widen as you realize who's hand you're touching. It's Cooper Howard. 

He quickly takes his hand away and offers you the drink. 

"Ordered the same thing." he explains the mishap. 

Cooper Fucking Howard ordered your drink. You didn't expect to see him at this event - of course you knew he'd been the spokesperson for Vault-Tec, but word on the street was that he was trying to distance himself since the divorce. Maybe representing the company that employs your soon-to-be-ex wife was too uncomfortable. Who could blame him? 

As you're silent and lost in thought, he looks up at you. "Well, uh, please. You take this one." He insists. As you take the drink from him, you find your words. 

 "Th-thank you." Graciously you nod and accept. 

Quickly, the bartender brings up another gin martini and places it on the countertop Cooper tips him for both of your drinks and with thanks, he holds up his glass to you.

"To coincidence." He says in a toast. 

"To coincidence." You reply as you clink glasses together.

"You're the new Abraxo girl, right?" He asks, walking from the crowded bar and lighting a cigarette. 

He offers one to you, and you accept, so he leans his lighter into the cigarette now between your lips. You're shocked he recognizes you, but you're flattered.

"Yeah, that's me." You put on your best commercial voice. "If you've got a clog that's full of muck, trust Abraxo to get it unstuck!" 

You both chuckle at the bit and Cooper holds his hand out for you. 

"Cooper Howard." He introduces himself to you as if everyone in this place doesn't know who he is. 

You nod in acknowledgement and take his hand, introducing yourself in the process. 

"If you don't mind me sayin" Cooper says while taking a drag of his cigarette and a sip of his martini. "You seem a bit too good for..." He gestures at everything around you. "...this." 

Inquisitively, you tilt your head and take your own sip of the cocktail you're holding. 

"How's that?" You ask curiously. 

"Well, you should be makin pictures, pretty face like that? Wasted on commercials if ya ask me." 

The comment takes you by surprise, did Cooper Howard just compliment you? Did he just call you pretty? In your stunned state, you remain silent as he looks at you apologetically. 

"Forgive me if I crossed a line..." He says while putting the cigarette in his mouth and his now free hand on his chest.

"No, no." You interrupt. "It's just that I... I didn't expect that. Thank you." Finally acknoweldging his compliment. 

He looks relieved and smirks sideways. He seems to appreciate your humility. 

"Whys that, now?" He asks, sipping the martini while maintaining eye contact with you. 

"Well, To be honest I've heard quite the opposite from casting directors." You explain, looking down, somewhat embarrassed at the explanation. 

"Wanna know a Hollywood secret?" He asks, leaning in and taking a step closer to you.

When you nod, he leans even closer to your ear and says in a low but audible voice, "Casting directors don't know shit." 

You can't help but get goosebumps from the baritone in his voice, and a giggle spills out of you. 

He smiles in response and continues... 

"I started as a stunt man, ya know." He says while finishing the last of his cigarette and putting it out on a nearby planter. 

"Director asked me to stand in for a second, read a couple lines." He polishes off the martini. "He liked how I read, next thing I know, I'm replacing the guy the casting director hired." 

That's something you didn't know and wonder how many other people do... then it dawns on you. 

"I bet half the people here are casting directors." You point out. 

"Well, if someone complains I hope they kick me out." Cooper teases. 

"Not having a good time, Mr. Howard?" 

You ask, half already knowing the answer.

"Please, call me Cooper." He requests in a pleading tone. "And, if I'm honest, this isn't exactly my idea of a good time." He confesses. 

That, you can understand. 

"My agent thought it would be good to 'keep up appearances'. Not many people are looking to hire an old cowboy anymore." He seems saddened, almost defeated and you can't help but feel for him. 

You've heard all the rumors, you know about his divorce and the lack of work. You've respected him as an actor and been a fan since as far back as you can remember. Seeing such a talented and seemingly genuinely kind man in this town is a rarity, especially among actors. It's such a damn shame. 

"Casting directors don't know shit, right?" You remind him of his own words while trying to catch his eyesight with your own again. 

He smiles sincerely at you, eyes bright and shining. "That's damn right." 

There's a pause between you, full of a tension you can't quite place. In the silence, you finish your drink and place it on a nearby server's tray. Once you turn your attention to Cooper again, he breaks the tension.

"Can I get you another drink?" He asks politely, pointing behind you to the bar. 

You're about to answer yes, when an idea comes to you. Neither one of you want to be here... maybe an appearance was enough to appease both your agents. 

"How about I get you a bourbon?" You suggest, a hint of mischievousness in your voice. 

Cooper cocks his head a bit, looking at the nearby bar. "They don't have good bourbon, I asked." 

"Ah, well, I guess we'll have to get bourbon somewhere else, won't we?" You ask playfully, the liquor in the martini taking effect and giving you a sudden confidence. 

"I spose you're right..." He trails off, trying to deduce your plan. 

"Follow me, try not to make it obvious." You say in a quiet voice as you lean close enough for him to hear. 

You begin to walk towards the back gate of the backyard that leads into the rest of the Hollywood Hills. You turn your head over your shoulder to see if he's following, and by some miracle, he is. 

You smile to yourself as you find a trail behind the mansion, leading up to the Hollywood sign... Perfect. 

Carefully you remove your heels and start walking up the trail, your stockings instantly dirty from the dusty walk. The two of you make light conversation on the fifteen minute hike, both of you more winded than you'd like to be. 

Once you get just underneath the middle of the Hollywood sign, you stop to catch your breath and announce, 

"We're here." 

Cooper looks around, arms outstretched. "Is there a bar in the side of the mountain I don't know about?" He jests. 

You exhale a laugh and lead him to a darkened corner of the trail. It's so dark you can't see a thing, but you know your way. Cooper takes out his lighter to illuminate the path a bit and he sees a small cave mouth.

"What is this?" He asks awe stricken. 

"I'll show you, cmon." You reply while gesturing for him to follow. 

Once inside, a small hot spring is revealed, a few small boulders and shrubs around and some green grass and moss the closer it gets to the water. It's like a small private oasis... 

As Cooper looks around in astonishment, you dig through a nearby bush and pull out a quarter empty bottle of bourbon. You slosh the bottle around to get his attention, and it works. 

"As promised" You say, offering him the bottle. "Sorry, no glasses here. Think you can share?" You ask with a smirk. 

"I guess I have to." He playfully remarks back. He takes an impressive swig and hisses as the alcohol goes down his throat. As it settles, Cooper hands the bottle back to you and you take an equally substantial sip. 

His curiosity gets the best of him and he has to ask, "Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No, actually." You explain while sitting on the edge of the hot spring and removing your soiled stockings.  "It's off limits during the day and it's damn near hidden at night. I found it getting lost one night, but that was when I first moved here years ago." You explain. "Far as I know, no one else has found it or used it. At least, my bourbons still here every time." You say shaking the bottle of bourbon and offering it back to him. 

He comes closer to you to accept the drink and you dip your feet and calves in the warm water. You let out a satisfied sigh as you can feel your muscles relax. The mixture of the strong liquor and the warm pool is sensationally soothing, and you feel your mind relaxed along with your body. 

Something about Cooper makes you feel like you've known him for longer than an hour, and you feel less intimidated by him than you thought you would. 

Cooper follows and sits next to you, taking off his black cowboy boots and placing his feet in the water, his pants getting slightly wet. 

"Ah, damn. That's nice after that hike." He says, taking another generous drink from the bottle. 

"I hope it was worth it." You say, placing your hands next to you and leaning back on them slightly. 

"Of course it is." Cooper replies. "Free bourbon, a natural jacuzzi and a beautiful woman for company? You bet it's worth it." He flashes that trademark winning smile in your direction and you can feel your heart beat a little faster. 

"You flatter me." You reply as you look away, cheeks turning pink. 

"I don't do that sweetheart. I ain't just blowin smoke." He says in his smokey voice as he puts a hand over yours on the earthy floor. 

It's then you know he definitely is hitting on you, and you can't help but give in. One of the world's most famous cowboys thinks you're beautiful and good company... What better compliment could there be? The tension you felt before feels more palpable than ever now. 

In your alcohol induced confident state, you lean towards him slowly, pursing your lips slightly and inviting him to close the distance between you. Cooper obliges and captures your lips with his, tentatively at first, but when you kiss hungrily back, he responds in earnest. 

He dips his head to deepen the kiss, parting his lips and inviting your tongue to dance with his. His hand reaches up to cup your face as he scoots closer to you, kissing passionately. As your tongues dance together, you move your hand to his chest and gradually scratch your nails down to his stomach. With less support, you instinctively lean back and Cooper takes this as an invitation...Not that it isn't. 

His body presses against yours, pushing you gently to the ground. As you move, you continue kissing, each kiss growing more and more desperate. Your hands move across his stomach, tugging at his shirt and yearning for more intimacy. 

With the wordless suggestion, he breaks the kiss to remove his shirt tossing it to the side before leaning down to kiss you again. You smile against his lips as he moves his kisses from your lips to your neck, moaning softly as he does. One of his hands roams to feel your hip, gradually sliding down your form fitting dress and feeling your thigh. You lick your lips in anticipation of his next move and you exhale a soft whimper.

Your lust has built significantly since his hand touched yours and you feel your arousal intensifying. He lifts your dress and slides his hands underneath it, caressing the soft skin of your inner thighs. His lips kiss up your neck to your jawline to your ear, before he asks in a husky whisper, "This okay, darlin?" 

Eagerly you nod before kissing him again, your tongue parting his lips needingly. Cooper presses his chest against you, lifting up your dress to your hips and slowly moving his body down yours. He starts kissing your inner thighs, before biting your underwear and pulling them down with his teeth. 

Your head rolls back, your hand reaching for his hair. You intertwine your fingers in his dark hair as he continues planting kisses further and further up your thigh. Your clit pulsates, anxiously awaiting any form of touch. You bite your lip as you feel his fingers part your slick, wet, folds and his lips lightly brush over your sensitive bud. He plants a kiss there before parting his lips and flicking his tongue over it. 

You gasp sensually in response and your hips roll up to meet him. His tongue moves faster and faster against your clit, before slowing down and pushing his tongue inside you. He repeats this pattern a few times before gradually licking up your opening to your clit teasingly. 

Your hips roll into him faster and faster as your arousal builds and builds. As he continues his delicious motions, your hand reaches down to grab the ground but finds his hand instead. He laces his fingers with yours and holds your hand tight, accepting your tightening grips as encouragement. His tongue starts rolling circles around your clit as he takes his free hand and inserts two fingers slowly inside you. He pumps them slowly, in and out, while his tongue continues licking your clit. 

You can feel yourself getting close to your sexual peak, and your grip on Coopers hand tightens. Your whimpers get loud enough to echo in the cave around you, interspersed with curses and moans. Your clit pulsates harder and you can feel your muscles contracting around his fingers. Sensing this, Cooper pulls back momentarily to look up at you...

"Good girl, come for me... that's it." His words are enough to send you over the edge and with a scream your cunt releases, your entire body spasming and your vaginal walls contracting over and over as you feel the wave of pleasure wash over you. 

Cooper continues to kiss your inner thigh, sliding his hands up your body and moving up with them. He brushes your hair out of your face before leaning down to kiss you sweetly. You taste yourself on his lips and you moan into his kiss. He breaks the kiss and moves his lips to your ear, smiling against your skin. 

"Best bourbon I've ever tasted."

[volturissideslut]

can I request casual dominance hcs with yandere stefan and damon? (separate)

𝕾𝖆𝖑𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝕭𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖘

Yesss!!! My first Salvatore ask!!

Yandere Stefan who has you sign the deed of the house, and only invite him in. Not even Damon can now access his home, his brother is too much of a wild card to be trusted around you. He needs to keep you safe, right? So you won't be leaving there anytime soon.

Yandere Stefan who cooks for you. God forbid you hurt yourself with one of them knives, accidentally of course. He'll learn to be the best chef in the world, just maybe don't go into the kitchen unless it's to reheat leftovers. If anything happened to you recently, expect him to also cut your food for you for a while, still afraid of anything that could happen.

Yandere Stefan who insists on eye contact when you are talking. Everything stops around you two and he holds your chin. You would think he was trying to compel you with how he looks at you.

Yandere Stefan who only drinks from you on special occasions before you are turned, and never directly from you. He'd hold your wrist oh so delicately as he positions it over the glass for you, healing you up when it's filled enough. After you are turned, blood sharing is quite often, from the bedroom to just wanting a snack.

Yandere Stefan who is always dominant, even when you're on top. If you're riding him then his hands are on your waist guiding you up and down, setting the pace and holding you up.

Yandere Damon who is a little more sadistic and controlling in his dominance, uncaring if both you and him have to feel a little pain now to keep you together in the long run. This can include killing people you know, especially if its friends telling you to break up with him.

Yandere Damon who, despite preferring a vampire partner to a human one, will keep you human and malleable for as long as possible. Whilst, yes, compulsion would wear off the moment you die with his blood in your system, he doesn't need compulsion to persuade you. So long as you are convinced you want to be with him for eternity before you are turned, he's happy.

Yandere Damon who guides you everywhere, hand on your lover back of forearm in a solid grip. Stick right by his side, sweetheart, he's got you. You don't need to think, let him do that for you. He'll show you where to go and he'll buy you whatever it is you want.

Yandere Damon who cares for you if you've had a few too many down at the mystic grill. He'll even share his beloved bourbon with you, but when you get all dazed and giggly hes carrying you home over his shoulder with his jacket concealing your behind. He's going to sit you gently on you kitchen counter and take off your shoes for you, giggling with sweet kisses between midnight snacks, until he takes you upstairs to wash off any makeup and peel off any clothes before bed.

Yandere Damon who is completely unbothered by the blood that is covering him, it's just normal to him now. The only reason he really bothers to clean the blood off of his clothes (or just burn them and buy new ones) is so that he can keep seeing you in his shirts

[tremendum]

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Me and the Devil; prelude

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

previous next series masterlist

word count: 0.4k

summary:  Paul becomes betrothed. You are ripped from your nest of darkness and shipped to a new world.

warnings: arranged marriage, mention of reader's family's assassinations.

notes: here's the prologue to my series from AO3 :') this has my own twist that will not follow canon. this is an endgame paul x reader, but will def have elements of feyd x reader mostly in flashbacks (i have a sickness im sorry he just Does It For Me). smut after several chapters, and very plot heavy. <3

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

In a shocking show of mercy, the High Council of the Landsraad has decreed the pardon of the last Bourbon:

After a month-long raid at the home planet Sabberon, the House of Bourbon has been eliminated, the Duchal family sentenced to death at the Harko Arena on Giedi Prime. The counter-insurgent attacks by House Harkkonen have been ruled by the Council as 'Penitent Crimes of Retaliation' following the damning allegations of espionage and theft of Harkonnen technology. 

The House of Bourbon is succeeded only by the sole heiress and last daughter of the Count, whose betrothal to the na-Baron of House Harkonnen has been abruptly terminated by the High Court of the Landsraad.

The daughter, who carries the bloodline of both house Bourbon and House Ginaz, has by decree of the High Council of Landsraad been pardoned of the Harkkonen order of political imprisonment. The arraignment is set for a few weeks' time.

As once-standing political allies to the House Atreides, she is to be wed to the son of Duke Leto Atreides by the closing of the standard year. 

- Collected Galactic News report sent to Duke Leto Atreides, 10191. Caladan. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

A muffled crash of falling plates somewhere in the castle rolls through the dampened halls. Paul doesn't bat an eye. 

Servants pass by the corridors, carrying dishes, plates, crates filled to their brim. A celebration had been planned with the news of Duncan's return; a homecoming, an acceptance. From one Great House to another; but something has changed now. Something is much different than it should have been. 

He knew there was something wrong when he was woken by his mother earlier than expected; No breakfast, no training, no lessons. He saw it on the faces that stared at him when he passed on his way here - the handmaids and servants whispered secretively in the halls.

And he knows it from the message his father has discarded, still open, on the desk in front of him; stamped by the High Council's signet. 

The rain mars the windows outside as Paul Atreides stands, shellshocked, in his ceremonial uniform. If the raindrops were any louder, they may have drowned out the rapid stagger of his breath at the news. 

"Married?" 

The solemn faces stare back at Paul. "Yes." Lady Jessica affirms, eyes cool as she stares at her son. 

He blinks away the shock, eyes flickering to the men in the room.  "I thought Duncan was returning with the Count Bourbon and his family." Paul's brows furrow as he stares from Gurney to his father, confusion lacing his body. "Where is this coming from?" 

A silence that is as tense as it is regretful.

"Their house has fallen. Duncan Idaho returns from Geidi Prime this evening." 

Blood drains from Paul's face, his heart thumping. Why was Duncan returning from Geidi Prime - not the Bourbon's homeplanet, Sabberon? When the Swordsman had been deployed, there was not even a whisper or a word of marriage - not a single consideration of betrothal. He'd been told the expedition was to aid an old ally against the oldest foe Atreides has; The enemy of my enemy is my friend. 

What a foolish thing to think. 

"I am to be wed to..." Paul starts, but his sentence is interrupted by a choking of his own saliva - if he is to be wed, and his bride comes with Duncan... rage boils within. 

 Wed, to one of those monsters from Geidi Prime? Anger, hatred; it wars within him, turning up his stomach and burning the bile that rises. 

He swallows thickly, schooling his expression. He's known this would happen eventually - to be a future Duke is to understand from a young age that marriage is not for love. It is for the good of the House, of their people. 

Yes, he's always expected to marry out of convenience, out of strategy. But to be wed to... to...

"A Harkkonen?" Paul growls. The name spits from his mouth bitterly; Lost momentarily to his emotions, his sharp eyes cut to his father. 

A slight tilt of the head, Leto Atreides declines the accusation of his son. "no."

A breath falls from Paul's lips.

"She is not a Harkkonen. She has resided there for nearly four years - she was to be wed to the Baron's nephew." 

There's another silence, in which the rain slides down glass panes like tears.

"She's one of Idaho's." Halleck says off-handedly, shifting weight. Paul, in turn, stares at the man. His head swims in anger, confusion, shock. What does that mean? 

Paul's bewildered stare must reflect poorly; his father sighs. "Her mother was the middle youngest of the House Ginaz. Duncan Idaho trained with her mother and father., it's why he insisted to go to Geidi Prime - she is the last of the House Bourbon." 

Oh. Paul nods, clearing his throat. "And as part of the council's rulings..." His head hurts, heart racing, "Now, we will marry." 

"We believe it is for the best. She was nothing but a political prisoner." Duke Leto reasons, his own decision raining down onto Paul's shoulders. "She is still close with her aunt, the concubine of Duke Ginaz. We need their alliance; it's strategic."

The council of Houses Major, choosing to whom Paul is to marry; what a twisted fate. Bitterness floods his mouth, made worse when his own Lady Mother speaks up. "The Reverend Mother finds it pertinent-" 

But Paul doesn't hear much after this, besides the ringing in his ears. Your name echoes in his mind like a bell chiming in an empty hall; a plant of the Bene Gesserit.

All part of their political stratagem, and he, in the center of it; to be wed to a woman who was made for another. To be wed to one of the Harkonnen's beasts.

He meets his father's eyes, and they warn him.

 Don't push it. What's done is done. 

.

next

.

[seriesxwriting]

Christmas setup

w Damon Salvatore

Warnings- kissing, alcohol.

Series- The vampire diaries

Summary- all your friends see that you and Damon have been flirting nonstop. If you two won’t make a move, it’s up to them to come up with a plan.

- sorry I know every year I’m late with my Christmas story! This years no different😭.

Every Christmas, me and my friends rent out a big house some place peaceful. So we can relax, drink until our hearts content and be away from all the drama of mystic falls. This had been a tradition for years now, this Christmas would be our sixth one. Me, Elena, Stefan, Bonnie, Enzo, Caroline and jeremy. Oh and Damon. They say you leave the best till last. Damon Salvatore. A man I’d been friends with for a long while, and a man I now felt myself falling for.

“Y/n stop day dreaming” Caroline snapped nudging me. “Are you playing the game?” Bonnie asked me tilting her head. Everyone was sat on the floor with whatever board game they chosen. Everyone apart from Damon who was off collecting wood or something. “Um- actually I’m okay, I still need to wrap a few things before tomorrow so I’m going to do that” I nodded jumping up with my hot chocolate and leaving the room.

We’d been here for three days and the games were starting to get a little tedious. “Perfect I’m glad she’s gone” Caroline whispered grabbing her bag. “What? That’s a little harsh did something happen?” Jeremy jerked his head back in confusion. “No- no nothing like that- it’s just me Bonnie and Elena have come up with a plan and we need everyone in on it” she smiled smashing a piece of paper onto the floor.

“Plan gyadt?” Enzo read out raising an eyebrow “yeah it stands for get y/n and Damon together” Elena read out looking around the room at the faces. “Oh so everyone’s caught onto the flirting that’s been going on for months?” Stefan giggled looking at the plan again. Everyone nodded around the game making people laugh. “Great, so this is the plan” Caroline clicked her knuckled. “We get them in the mood” Elena winked.

Step one:

Knock knock

“Who is it?” I called out, “stefan” he called in. I’d already wrapped his presents so I allowed him inside. “Hey how’s it going?” He smiled coming and sitting down with his coffee on the bed I was staying in. “Not bad, only got Enzos and Damon’s to wrap now” I smiled up at him. “Oh really? What did you get Damon” Stefan peered into the bag suspiciously. “Well he’s always going on about this bourbon called brothers bond but he couldn’t find it anywhere- I’ve found it” I smiled taking the old bottle out of the bag.

“Wow y/n- this is a gorgeous present- he’s going to love it” Stefan smiled looking at the bottle. “Then some new glasses to go with it” I shrugged getting up to fetch them and show Stefan. He nodded at them taking them in with detail. “He’s going to be ecstatic”. “Well I’m glad you approve” “of course I do!” Stefan frantically waved his arm out spilling all his drink over my jumper. My eyes widened realising. “Oh- oh my gosh I’m so sorry y/n! Quick go into the bathroom to wash it off” Stefan put the cup on the side and rushed be out of the door.

Outside- 

“Damon! Are you out here?” Elena yelled pulling her coat around herself shivering. A woosh of wind appeared in front of her and Damon smiled. “You look freezing” he laughed with a bunch of wood in his hands. “Mm I don’t know how you’re out here with just a shirt on- I mean I do but…” she trailed off making him laugh again. “Well, why you out in the cold?” He questioned walking back to the house with the wood in his hands. “Well I came to check on you- and bring you this” Elena held out a mug of tea.

“Mm never knew you had a nice bone” he dropped the wood and put his hand out for the drink. Elena stepped towards him and tripped spilling the tea all down his shirt and trousers. “Elena! Are you okay?” He burst out trying to help her up. “I’m so sorry Damon! I- I don’t know what came over me” she shook her head trying to stand up. “You should try and get it off before it stains” she took him by the wrist and led him towards the house.

“Really it’s fine elena stop apologising” Damon told her as he entered the bathroom. I turned around seeing him close the door before noticing i was in here. His eyes trailed down my top and mine his. We both laughed at each other. “I feel like I still win in this situation” Damon said coming over to the sink and me. “Why’s that? We’re in the same boat are we not?”. “Mmm yes we are but I don’t stink of coffee” he laughed trying to get the tea off his grey top.

“Actually you have a point there” I nodded before putting my middle finger up to him Damon’s jaw dropped as if he was offended. I laughed flicking the water at him before running off. “Hey!” Damon gasped running after me giggling. He caught me and with vamp speed held me against the wall. I looked up at his face, my smile was gone and I was just panting staring up at him. Into his blue eyes.

“You got me” I whispered under my breath. “Now what are you doing to do?”. I watched his eyes flick down to my lips for a second. “Forgive and forget” he winked drawing away. My heart sank, I was beginning to think he just wasn’t interested because every time we got close he’d pull away. “Oh- looks like the tea didn’t come out” Elena appeared from behind the corner looking at Damon. She side looked my top too. “Maybe you should just both change- how clumsy” she tutted turning on her heels.

She went to find Stefan in the kitchen. “Did you move the t-shirt to the top of the suitcase?” She whispered. “Mmh, and you got Damon’s grey joggers on top?”. Elena nodded and they both grinned at each other childishly. “I hope they work out Stefan” she put a hand on his chest sighing. “It’s a good plan babe” he kissed the top of her head. “Don’t start please, I’ve seen it all before don’t want to see it again” Damon smirked walking into the kitchen.

I came out my room hearing the chatter and went to follow, I couldn’t be asked to root around for a new outfit so I just picked the top on top of everything. It was a tight blue top that was quite boobie. I’d warn it only once. Damon turned around as I walked in behind him. My eyes rolled down him in his great joggers and I had to try very hard to not allow my chin to fall down. Damon stared at me not saying a word. “Y/n you look nice” Elena smiled at me before evil eyeing Damon.

“That’s your favourite colour isn’t it Damon- favourite shade and everything” Stefan piped up almost making me go red. “Yes it is” Damon nodded still staring. “Brings out your eyes in that” he smiled leaning against one of the chairs. “Thanks hun” I winked taking an apple and exiting the room. “Um- I’m going to go and get that wood I dropped” Damon nodded before heading out.

“So once they are changed? What does that mean?” Enzo wondered raising an eyebrow. “They will want to be all over each other now they’re attracted to each other” Caroline sighed with a smile. “So what’s step two?” Jeremy questioned. Everyone nodded being just as curious as him. “Step two is getting them to admit their feelings so they are fresh in their minds” Elena smiled pointing to the paper.

Step two-

Outside-

“Hey Damon want help carrying that?” Bonnie asked raising an eyebrow coming outside. “Nah don’t worry” he threw it all onto the floor outside the door. “Can I ask you something?” She questioned sitting on the porch swing. “Yeah..” he frowned suspiciously. “It’s about y/n” “y/n? Is she okay?” He went to get up but Bonnie put her hand out. “She’s fine- it’s more about the reaction you had” she smiled turning her head to the side.

“Is something going on?” “No” Damon shook his head seriously. “She’s my best friend Damon- and so are you, I can see when the dynamic changed- and it has”. Damon shut one eye “has she said something?” “Do you want her to say something?” Bonnie giggled nudging Damon. “She’s- gorgeous- but nothing could ever happen” Damon shook his head laying back on the swing. “Why? You’re perfect for each other”.

Damon shook his head again “you’re wrong Bonnie, I like her I do but with everything going on- with all the danger we face everyday- I can’t afford to be in love” he smiled sadly. Bonnie’s eyes widened before her mouth hung open. “Do you really believe that?”, Damon nodded with a slight smile. She could tell it was hurting him. “You deserve to have love Damon- you do- I can’t believe that’s why you won’t make a move” she sat back staring into space.

“If I lost her Bonnie” Damon shook his head closing his eyes. “There is always that risk Damon- in every relationship, in every friendship”. He hummed nodding and shrugging slightly. “Yeah I guess- this is pointless though, I don’t even know if she likes me back” “Damon…” Bonnie started but he stood up “I’m going to take this wood inside to the fire” he hinted that the conversation was over.

In the hallway-

“Oh- y/n I was looking for you” Jeremy smiled catching my arm. “Oh you were?” I asked not thinking anything of it. “Yeah- it’s kinda- random” Jeremy giggled turning around to face me. “I only ask because- when I’ve liked any girl you’d always help me get a game plan together and set us up together” “Awh jer” I smiled sitting on one leg looking up at him curiously. “Is there another girl?” “No” he laughed shaking his head. “I would have told you if there was- no this is about you” he nodded lowering his voice.

“Me? As in-.” “No- no I don’t like you- not like that” he shook his head. I burst out laughing at the thought and Jeremy followed. “Good” I nodded crossing my arms. “It’s about you and Damon” he whispered smirking. “O-oh” “you know what I’m talking about then? The flirting?” Jeremy wiggled his eyebrows. “You mean the one sided flirting” I sighed rubbing my arm. “What?” He shook his head not agreeing with me. “You’re right jer I thought something was going on- but every time I think something’s finally going to happen it never does”.

“I think that means you need to make the first move y/n, because from what I’ve seen it’s not one sided” he rubbed my shoulder to remove my pout. “He’s probably just got some reservations but he’s definitely got feelings for you” he shrugged looking confident. “Hm- I don’t know jer, if he doesn’t want to make a move then maybe for the best nothing should happen” I nodded leaving the conversation sadly.

Jeremy stood there thinking for a second before running to find Bonnie. “She likes him” “he liked her!” Bonnie hissed back at him, their grins widened. “But she thinks he doesn’t like her” “well Damon’s scared of falling in love- thinks it’s too risky” Bonnie chewed her lip. “It’s time for step three, the final step” Bonnie nodded seriously.

“And when they have explained there feeling it will play over in their mind again and again” Caroline explained. “That’s when step three comes in” Bonnie chuckled rubbing her hands together. “Step three? The last step?” Enzo asked being intrigued. “Yes, by this time it will be pretty late, everyone is going to go to sleep early” “on Christmas Eve?” Stefan scoffed shaking his head. Elena hit him gently on his chest. “We’re not actually going to be asleep but give the impression we are”.

“So that they think they are alone?” Jeremy checked after his moment of realisation. “Precisely” Caroline snapped her fingers looking proud of herself. “It will turn Christmas and they will be all sentimental after just pouring out their feelings- this will work”.

Step three-

“Wow that fire looks amazing Damon” I smiled coming into the living room. Elena and Stefan were laying down together giggling about something. And Caroline was watching whatever was on tv. “Thanks- what are they?” He nodded to the rest of the presents in my hands. “The rest of the present I hadn’t wrapped, this one’s yours” I winked putting it under the tree. “You always give good gifts y/n I have high expectations” he patted the side of the sofa now my hands were empty.

“Not too high I hope” I sighed softly as I sat down. “Stefan I’m getting tired- shall we go to bed?” Elena said quite loudly as if she wanted everyone to hear her. “Of course my darling” he kissed her hand and the both got up hand in hand. “I might follow actually- goodnight” Caroline smiled at me and Damon who were sat left confused. “It’s eleven o clock on Christmas Eve?” He frowned shaking his head.

“Yeah that was beyond weird” I pulled a disturbed face. “You’re not tired are you?” He turned to me with a smile. “Mmh Mmh no way” I shook my head. “Let’s get some drinks then” Damon nodded to the kitchen. “bourbon?” He raised an eyebrow. “Sure Damon” I laughed following him in. “If only we had some brothers bond bourbon then we’d really be having a party” Damon sighed. “What’s your obsession with that?” “Its old- it’s the first bourbon I ever tried- I was hooked but, I’ve never been able to find it again- it must have been very smally distributed” he explained to me.

“I’m sure one day you’ll be able to try it again Damon” I promoted leaning over the counter as he poured out our drinks. “Hopefully” he shrugged smiling at me. He didn’t look away though. Once he was caught on he kept staring. “Damon- you’re going to spill it” I nodded to the drink, he’d poured way too much in. “Oh” he shook his head coming back to reality and pulling the bottle away. “It’s alright nothing I can’t handle” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh I know” I turned my head to the side as he passed me my drink. “You know- I’m glad your here y/n- if I had to choose anyone I wanted to stay awake with it would have been you” he told me coming over to my side. “Well, I have the same opinion Damon” I stood up straight and he edged forward tilting his head down. “I had some good advice today, I didn’t think it was but after I’d had a thought about it…” “oh yeah? What was that advice?” I questioned swallowing nervously.

“There’s always risk in any relationship, even a friendship- us being friends that’s risky” he started, his eye contact never stopped. My stomach was twisting in every way possible. “So us being more than friends can’t be anymore risky that it already is” he breathed. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew what I wanted to do. Damon must have had the same idea because he leant towards my lips. Out of nowhere the clocked dinged indicating it was officially Christmas.

Mine and Damon’s heads swung towards the clock jumping out of our skins as we were so focused on the moment. I turned back smiling at him. “Merry Christmas handsome” I whispered putting my hand on his neck and guiding him towards my face. Damon smiled before meeting my lips and FINALLY. Finally I was kissing the man I’d dreamed of kissing for months. It was better than I’d imagined, he’d obviously had years of experience but he was a great kisser.

He pulled me closer to him by my hips kissing me passionately back, as if he didn’t want the moment to end. As if he’d wanted to do it for months. When we finally pulled away he kept me close and shined a bright grin looking into my eyes. “Merry Christmas gorgeous”. I giggled childishly into his chest and Damon pulled me into a bear hug. We heard whispering coming from the corridor before a bombarding entrance of the whole group whooping and clapping.

“Good plan girls” Stefan chuckled coming in with Elena on his hip. “Plan?” I frowned still in Damon’s arms. “Mmh, the whole of today was a set up to get you two to admit you liked each other and make a move” Caroline giggled behind her hair. My mouth dropped and I looked up to Damon. “I- can’t even be mad” he rolled his eyes laughing. “God” I put my face in my hand. “I suppose I should be thanking you” I sighed looking back up. “You’re welcome! We’re all so happy for you” Bonnie winked at us curled up in each others arms.

“Now, shall we get a few bottles open it’s Christmas!” Elena threw her arms out but Damon just laughed shaking his head. “No no no, You all wanted to go to bed, I think me and y/n want to do the same now” he smirked, my heart jumped out of my chest but I wasn’t complaining. I looked up at him with wide excitement in my eyes. “Ew!” Stefan laughed covering his ears. “Come on princess grab your stuff you know what rooms mine” Damon winked as he began walking out the room backwards.

I was in for one hell of a Christmas.

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