#plume in thigh highs....

[flangore]

❥ scarlet plumes

feat.: Valentino/f!reader

warnings: nsfw content, noncon, physical + psychological abuse, unhealthy relationships, violence, drugging, rough sex, choking, punishments, manipulation, Valentino is his own warning

You were not the type to get into trouble.

Being confrontational, at least attempting to have things go your way through protests and complaints, had never seemed worth it; not when the one you were up against was Valentino, who always got what he wanted in the end, one way or another.

All too often, you had seen the way he punished disobedient whores; all too often, you had watched the way they were still limping days after, bruises blooming on skin if they had been lucky, bullet wounds trying to heal, oozing blood, if they had been less so.

There was no reason to willingly go through the struggle of disobeying when simply giving in, caving to Val's wishes and orders, was so much easier.

When Valentino told you to bend over, you did so readily, spreading your thighs apart in offering; when Valentino ordered you down onto your knees, you went obediently, lips dropping open, praying he wasn't in a bad mood, unpredictable as his sudden bursts of anger often made him.

You were not the type to get into trouble, and yet you currently found yourself on the floor, crumpled in front of Valentino's boots, cheek warm and stinging.

“Now, why don't you tell me what happened, baby?” His tone was a low coo, almost gentle enough to soothe your sobs. “You've never acted out like this before. What happened to my well-behaved girl, hm?”

In your defense, it really hadn't been your fault — you hadn't meant to do it.

Your night shift had been supposed to be a simple session for a well-known client, consisting of some lap dancing and a blow job; that was what he had paid for, at least. Your surprise when he had begun ripping your skimpy panties off you, forcing your legs apart, hands greedy, mouth drooling, high on some drug, was therefore understandable in your eyes; as was the way you, in your shock, had lashed out, claws scratching at his chest in order to push him off you. A split second later, the side of your face had ached with pain, his flat palm having met your cheek before he had stormed out of the room, screaming and spitting.

Valentino had been with you after barely any time at all.

“I didn't—”, you choked out, voice trembling, “I didn't mean to do it, sir, I swear, he just startled me, and, I mean, he didn't pay for more, he wanted to —, he wanted to—”

One hand of his cupped your cheek, golden claw gently tracing over your jaw. Even with him crouched down in front of you, he seemed ridiculously tall. “Hey—, relax, sweetheart.” At an exhale, red smoke coiled around you, assaulting your senses. Instinctively, your raised shoulders fell as tension bled from your muscles. “I get it. I understand.”

With how utterly merciless Valentino was known to be, it took a few moments for you to actually understand the meaning of his words. Even then, you barely dared to let go of the dreadful fear curled in your stomach. “You do?”

“Of course I do”, he said, eyes half-lidded behind heart-shaped glasses. His voice was soft enough to cause more tears, now of relief, to drip down your cheeks. “You know, I was really surprised when that patron came up to me, demanding to have you fired, if not killed for your disobedience. You're usually such an obedient girl — I was wondering what actually happened. Good job for being honest with me.”

Hope bloomed in your chest, your eyes widening. Streaks of mascara and eyeshadow, black and colourful, ran down your wet cheeks. “So you're not upset with me?”

“Upset with you? Of course not, amorcito. You were scared, that's alright. It happens, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your breath hitched in a stifled sob, lips, the gloss now smudged, curling up into a pitiful mockery of a smile. “Yeah. Thank you, Val.”

This could have gone much worse. Your hands were still shaking, anxiety thrumming underneath your skin, and yet Valentino didn't even seem particularly upset. Some higher being — whether that was Lucifer or God, you didn't really care — must have blessed you, somehow.

“Of course, baby.” The moment Valentino stood once more, he towered over you, his shadow swallowing you up. “Now, follow me, yeah?”

Your legs struggled to support your weight, knees feeling weak as you trailed behind him through corridors you didn't recognise. Your steps were unsure, the heels, ridiculously high, only adding to your troubles. You have half a mind to stop yourself from asking where you're going.

It's entirely unnecessary, either way.

You arrive but a moment later, the noise of a heavy door falling shut causing you to flinch; where Valentino was in front of you just a second ago, he was now behind you, a looming presence at your back.

It was a studio; not the fancy kind actual stars like Angel Dust filmed in, but a smaller one, the light bulb flickering, the sheets on the bed stained. Voxtech cameras were pointed at the mattress.

“Val—?”

“Bend over, baby.”

“You said you're not angry with me.” The words tumbled out of your mouth without your permission, a panicked high-pitched tone. “You said you're not—”

“And I'm not, as long as you hurry the fuck up and do what I tell you to.” His voice was sharp. Instinctively, you obeyed, bending over the edge of the bed, nausea churning in your stomach. “See, that guy you were a bitch to was a regular. Good money. I gotta show him you're sorry, sweetheart. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, you didn't get a word out, throat tight as tears spilled past your lashes. Eventually, you managed a shaky; “Yes, Valentino.”

“There we go. Knew you'd get why I have to do this.”

Large hands settled on your thighs, the touch making you flinch; his claws, all too sharp, teased at your skin, leaving faint scratch marks, before they prodded at your folds.

This, by now, should have been routine. It was; and yet, the idea of this being a punishment had you tensing, muscles locking up while Valentino thrust one claw into you, only to grunt, irritated.

“Ungrateful bitch”, he spat, one hand settling on your lower back, pinning you to the bed while another fumbled with his belt, metal clinking. “That's what I get for tryin' to be nice and preparing you — tightest cunt I've ever seen. Loosen the fuck up or deal with it.”

“I'm sorry.” Your voice shook, though the threat of violence, of pain, didn't help with relaxing in the slightest. Instead, you instinctively clenched around the digit, only to whimper when he yanked it back out.

“Sure doesn't seem like it.”

The fat head of his cock, pierced, the metal cold, pressed against you, then pushed inside; you were unable to stop yourself from letting out a pitiful noise, sounding more like a wounded animal than a practiced porn star.

Valentino didn't seem to mind it one bit.

Your vision blackened out for a moment when he bottomed out inside of you, the pain agonising. For a moment, you were certain he was tearing you from the inside out. His hips slapped against your plush ones, building up a steady rhythm; one set of his hands grabbed onto your hips, claws digging into your skin, using his grip for leverage to pull you back against him

“Some wetness would help us out here, y'know”, Valentino mumbled, complaining, bitching, like this was your fault. It probably was.

The only response you were able to come up with was a choked out sob, a dull ache steadily present in your abdomen, only interrupted by sharp stabbing pain whenever Valentino's tip hit an impossibly deep spot inside of you.

This couldn't have possibly gotten worse — or so you thought, tears dripping down your face, your claws ripping the sheets as you scrambled for purchase, only for it to get so much more agonising when, all of a sudden, his hand closed around your throat, squeezing.

You weren't able to breathe.

Instinctively, you clenched around him, thighs shaking. If he wasn't still holding you up, you would have collapsed.

“Fuck, you're so damn tight.” Valentino groaned, low and raspy. His tongue lapped at your neck, leaving trails of pink saliva to drip down your shoulders, your chest. “We could've had such a pleasant time together, baby, if only you hadn't been such a disobedient slut. Hate that you're making me do this.”

His pace was unforgiving, the metal of his belt buckle hitting your hip with every other thrust, surely leaving bruises. Not that it mattered — Valentino did provide you with full coverage makeup, after all.

Out of the corner of your eye, you focused on the red dots of the many cameras, blinking, recording. By now, numbness spread through you, a small blessing. You weren't certain just how long it went on; only that, eventually, Valentino came with a groan, filling you up, making you whimper.

When his grip on your throat loosened for a split second, allowing you to suck a burning breath into your lungs, it felt like Heaven.

“Use your words, baby. Talk to me.”

“Val, 'm sorry—”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry”, you repeated, the words barely audible through sobs, “I'm sorry, Val, I'm sorry—”

Suddenly, his hand, still on your throat, yanked your head up, his lips clashing against yours; the very moment you opened your mouth, pliant with submission, with exhaustion, smoke flooded it, you choking on it.

Your mind felt muddled, mouth dry even as saliva trickled out of your lips, jaw slack.

Faintly, you were able to feel his cum drip out of your cunt and down your thighs, sticky.

“Now”, Valentino said, voice a sultry purr, “Why don't you wait here, I'll send you your client and you apologise properly to him?”

Mind filled with scarlet plumes, you barely knew what you were agreeing to, nodding mindlessly. “Yes, Valentino.”

“That's what I like to hear. Good girl.”

When multiple pairs of footsteps echoed through the room, you, even in your hazy state, had the bad feeling that you were going to be having a long night.

i won't lie i didn't proofread this yet.. tomorrow... ALSO FIRST POST YIPPEEE

[milfsloverblog]

Yield (nsfw)

Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Reader

A/N: I’m in my Brienne era, dreaming of a female Knight in shining armour—vowing their life to me. Ha, a girl can dream! I hope you’ll enjoy this fic, I sure did giggle and kick my feet writing it!

The sun burned low in the sky, stretching the shadows of the field long and gold. Dust curled in lazy plumes where hooves had pounded earlier in the day, and the crowd now buzzed for the final match, eager for blood, for victory, for the thrill of steel meeting steel.

Brienne of Tarth stood tall in the centre of the arena, a vision of quiet strength, her armour catching the last of the light. Her grip on the sword was firm, but her stance relaxed, confident, composed. She was favoured to win. Of course she was.

You watched her from across the field, adjusting your helmet. The weight of it grounded you, familiar and steady. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, steady but hard. You hadn’t fought her before. Not like this. Not in front of so many eyes. Not with your identity buried beneath plate and leather.

No one knew what you were about to do—not even her.

Especially not her.

Your armour bore no sigil. No name. You were simply a late entry, a nameless challenger allowed into the ring thanks to coin, anonymity, and the chaos of an already packed roster. Your heart clenched, not with nerves—but with something hotter. Heavier. You had something to prove. Something to feel.

You wanted to face her. Not as her lover. Not as the woman she kissed behind tent flaps and starlight. But as her equal.

The horn sounded.

You advanced.

Brienne’s expression shifted at once. Curiosity narrowed her eyes as she raised her sword, taking you in with a practiced gaze. You knew that gaze. It had scanned battlefields and challengers, had lingered on your face in candlelight.

She didn’t recognize you.

Yet.

The first strike was yours. Fast, clean, testing. She met it with ease, parried with the grace of someone who’d fought all her life. But there was no condescension. She didn’t underestimate you.

Steel rang as she countered, a measured blow that caught your side and sent you staggering back a step.

You grinned beneath your helmet and lunged again.

The crowd roared at the speed of your retaliation, your blade clashing with hers in a flurry of sparks. She blocked high, then low, pivoting around you with growing focus. Her brows drew tighter, suspicion creeping in.

You fought harder. Pushed her. She was taller, stronger—but you were fast, fluid, unpredictable. You circled, ducked, feinted, then struck low to draw her balance. Her blade scraped your vambrace. Yours barely missed her thigh.

She grunted softly, more in surprise than pain.

“You’re quick,” she muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. “But reckless.”

You danced away, giving her nothing.

She came at you again, this time with real force behind the blade. You blocked, barely, the impact jarring through your wrists. Brienne pressed forward, step after step, until you were nearly at the edge of the ring.

Her sword pressed lightly to your shoulder.

“Yield,” she ordered sharply.

Still, you said nothing.

You dropped and rolled out of her reach instead, dust clouding up in your wake. The crowd erupted again, some cheering for you now, others laughing at the way you'd ducked a knight like her with no name, no house, no honor.

Brienne turned to face you, her lips parted, breath rising. Her eyes had narrowed in recognition—not of you, not yet—but of something familiar. The way you moved. The way you tested her limits.

She was starting to sense it.

“You fight like someone I know,” she said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

You just struck again.

The fight continued, longer than anyone expected. Sweat beaded beneath your armor, trickling down your spine. Brienne’s hair stuck to her forehead in golden strands. Your limbs were aching, breath coming harder now, but neither of you relented.

She locked your blade in a twist and leaned close, her voice low and urgent.

“Yield, damn it. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

Still, you didn’t break. Didn’t speak. You shoved back with a surge of strength, forcing her off-balance for just a second.

It earned you one final clash—one last, desperate flurry that ended in a brutal pivot and the flat of her sword knocking yours from your hands.

The crowd howled as your blade hit the ground with a thud.

Brienne stepped in fast, placing her sword to your chest, her shoulders heaving. “Yield.”

This time, you did.

You dropped to one knee, panting beneath your helm. “I yield.”

Relief rippled across her face. She lowered her sword an inch—but didn’t step back.

You reached up slowly and removed your helmet.

The shift in her face was instant.

Shock, horror, disbelief.

Her mouth parted, but no sound came. Her eyes swept over your face like she couldn’t trust it, like she wasn’t sure she was seeing you at all.

“Gods,” she whispered.

You gave her a slow, crooked smile.

“Told you I’d find a way to fight you.”

Her sword lowered all the way now, slipping to her side like she'd forgotten she was holding it.

“You can’t— What were you thinking?” Her voice trembled slightly, but not with fear. With anger. With disbelief. “If they knew—if anyone knew—”

“They don’t,” you said calmly, getting to your feet. “They won’t.”

“But you could’ve— I could’ve hurt you.”

“You were supposed to try.”

She stared at you like she didn’t know whether to kiss you or drag you out of the arena by your collar.

You stepped a little closer, letting your smile soften just enough to cut through the tension. “You beat me fair and square, Ser Brienne.”

The official was announcing her victory in the background. The crowd roared her name.

But she wasn’t looking at them.

She was only looking at you.

And there was something in her eyes—rage and heat and longing all tangled up beneath the armor.

You let the tension hang there between you as the moment passed.

Later, when the moon had risen and the wine had quieted the campfires, you’d find her again.

You didn’t return to your own tent after the match.

Not right away.

You wandered the edges of camp instead, letting the quiet settle back into your limbs, into your chest. The tournament had drawn to a close with laughter and mead and the clang of mugs against steel, but you kept to the shadows, avoiding the firelight and the curious questions.

No one had recognized you. No one had pieced it together.

Except her.

She hadn’t looked at you during the celebration. Not once. Hadn’t approached while the other knights clapped her on the back, praising her victory. Her smile had been hollow, her eyes always fixed somewhere just beyond the crowd.

You knew that look.

Brienne was angry. Not because you’d lost. Not because you’d surprised her. But because she couldn’t say what she wanted to say.

Not there. Not in front of them.

Which was why you weren’t surprised to find her in your tent.

You slipped inside quietly, lifting the flap with a practiced hand. The lantern was already lit. She sat on the edge of your narrow cot, legs apart, elbows on her knees, hands clasped like she was trying to hold herself together.

She’d removed her armor, though the padded tunic beneath still clung to her frame. Her hair was damp from a rushed wash, curling slightly at the edges.

She didn’t look at you when you entered.

“I could’ve hurt you,” she said, voice low and tight.

You closed the flap behind you. “You didn’t.”

“You could’ve broken something. Your wrist. Your ribs.”

“I didn’t.”

“You could’ve ruined us.” Her voice rose then, only slightly—but enough to twist the air taut between you.

You stood still. “But I didn’t.”

Brienne finally looked up.

Her eyes, storm-dark, caught yours like a snare.

“You’re reckless.”

“I wanted to know if I could hold my own against you.”

“That wasn’t the way.”

You stepped closer, slow and quiet, like you might spook her.

“It was the only way. If I asked, you would’ve said no.”

She looked away.

“That’s not true.”

“It is. You’d have said no to protect me.” You crouched before her then, knees aching a little from the day’s battle. “And I love you for it. But I needed to do this. I needed to see.”

Brienne’s eyes flicked back to yours. “You could’ve said something.”

“In front of all those people? Who still think I’m only the King’s niece with a fondness for swords? You know what they’d do if they found out about us. About you.”

Silence stretched.

Long and heavy.

And then—very slowly—Brienne lifted one hand, rough and callused, to your face. Her thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, soft as a breath.

“I knew it was you,” she murmured. “Not at first. But something about the way you moved. I kept thinking: she fights like someone I know. Someone I—”

She stopped herself, but you heard it in the space between the words.

Someone I love.

You leaned into her touch. Let her feel you, warm and real and unbroken beneath her fingers.

“I never meant to frighten you,” you whispered.

Brienne let out a soft exhale. “You didn’t. You just… undid me.”

You stood then, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked with hers. Her hand dropped to her lap as you stepped between her knees. Her breath caught when your fingers gently found her jaw.

You kissed her—softly at first. Testing. A question.

She answered in kind, her hands finding your hips, her mouth moving against yours with slow, desperate hunger. Like she’d been waiting all day to touch you. To taste you.

When you broke the kiss, your lips barely brushed hers as you whispered:

“Yield.”

Her breath shuddered against your mouth.

And then she did.

She slid from the cot, dropping to her knees before you with a grace that made your stomach twist. Her hands smoothed over the backs of your thighs, reverent. Her eyes stayed on yours, blue and burning.

No hesitation. No shame. Only need.

“I would,” she murmured. “Only for you.”

You threaded your fingers into her hair and smiled, the kind of smile meant for no one else but her.

The kind that said mine.

Her breath hitched softly when your fingers curled tighter in her hair. She looked up at you from her knees—flushed, devoted, undone. No armor. No titles. Just Brienne.

Your Brienne.

You stroked your thumb across her cheek, marveling at the heat in her skin, the way her pupils stayed fixed on you like you were a star and she, a knight who’d spent a lifetime following the wrong light.

“Take your time,” you murmured. “No one’s watching now.”

Her lips parted slightly. You saw the hesitation flicker in her expression—respect, restraint, reverence—but you didn’t want reverence tonight. You wanted to be known.

You stepped back, just enough to unlace the front of your trousers, fingers a little clumsy from the nerves still buzzing under your skin. Brienne didn’t help. She waited, watching, breathing unevenly through parted lips.

When you bared yourself to her, you saw the change in her eyes—how they went darker, heavier with want. Still, she didn’t move. Not until you whispered:

“Please.”

That single word undid her.

She leaned forward, kissing the inside of your thigh first, just above your knee, soft and reverent. Then higher. Another kiss. Then a third, closer now, her breath warming your skin until your legs trembled beneath her. Her hands slid up to hold your hips—firm, grounding you—just before her mouth finally found you.

You gasped.

Her tongue moved slow, deliberate, drawing a long stroke through your folds like she meant to memorize you. She groaned low in her throat at the taste, the vibration sparking deep in your belly. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter as she licked again, pressing firmer now, more sure.

“Gods, Brienne—” Your head fell back, knees threatening to buckle, but she didn’t let you fall. Her arms wrapped around your legs, keeping you steady, holding you right where she wanted you.

Her mouth worshipped you like she was praying—gentle, rhythmic, unrelenting. Every flick of her tongue pulled another sound from you, raw and breathless, until you were panting her name in broken syllables.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Everything she wanted to say was in the way her lips wrapped around your clit, the way her tongue flattened and lapped, the way she kept moaning softly between your thighs like this—you—was the only thing that had ever made her feel alive.

When your fingers tangled tighter in her hair and your hips began to rock against her mouth, she didn’t stop. She adjusted. Let you chase it. Let you grind against her tongue as if nothing in the world mattered but getting closer.

You came with a cry muffled against your own knuckles, stars bursting behind your eyes, thighs shaking around her shoulders. She held you through it. Steady, patient, reverent still—as you rode the wave down, gasping her name.

When you finally opened your eyes, she was still on her knees, lips wet, eyes burning.

You tugged her up to you by the front of her tunic, crashing your mouth into hers, tasting yourself on her tongue. She kissed you back, deep and hungry, like she needed to remind herself you were real.

You pulled away just enough to murmur against her lips, “Lie with me.”

Brienne didn’t answer. She simply scooped you into her arms and settled you both onto the narrow cot like you weighed nothing at all. Her hand found yours between your bodies, fingers lacing together.

And in the dark, tangled in sweat and breath and silence, you pressed your forehead to hers and whispered:

“You can always ask me to yield for you.”

She smiled then—small, shy, and entirely hers.

“I know.”

————————————————————————

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[giuliannna]

HIGH & DRY | PT 3

you and hamzah stop tiptoeing around your situation, but fail to be careful about it. read parts one and two here

“we’ll only be twenty minutes or so,” martin says, grabbing the grocery list that’s scrawled with numerous ingredients in hamzah’s messy handwriting - the aftermath of your brainstorming while trying to decide what to cook for dinner.

“thirty,” mandy mutters, tying her shoes by the front door. “depending on traffic.”

hamzah just lifts a hand in a lazy wave from his seat beside you on the couch. “uh-huh. have fun.”

the door shuts. there’s a second of silence, before you hear the inevitable flick of a lighter. hamzah’s already pulling a blunt from his hoodie pocket.

“dude,” you laugh, leaning your head back. “did you seriously bring that over here?”

“i bring one everywhere,” he shrugs, lighting up.

you sigh. martin and mandy’s house is too pure for this.

you glance at their cat trees, the water bowls and pet beds. the matching throw blankets draped across the couch. the floral candle that’s lit on the TV stand, soon to be overthrown by the skunky aroma of weed.

the smell hits immediately - earthy and potent, curling into the clean air like it couldn’t care less about how domestic everything looks.

he takes a drag. passes it. you inhale and exhale. it’s a routine.

silence stretches for a few seconds while the two of you get comfortably high. a buzz blankets over you both - making the room feel warmer and the space between your bodies more charged with some sort of hazy energy.

now you're both slouched on their couch, staring up at the ceiling, legs touching. the blunt's halfway done and the living room feels like you hotboxed it with intention.

hamzah exhales slow, watching the smoke swirl above you. he gets your attention with a lazy nudge of your thigh.

you turn your head. “hmm?”

his eyes are already red. his lips are pink and shiny, a stark contrast to the gray plumes of smoke pouring from them.

“we should just fuck for real.” he sighs out.

you laugh, not even phased by his bluntness. “we did, though. even when you kept saying it didn’t count.”

he makes a face. “yeah, but like, for real.” he repeats, like it’ll change anything about what he said.

you snort, choking a little on smoke. “dude, c’mon.”

he shrugs. “m’just sayin.”

you pause, holding the blunt between your fingers. “so - what, you just wanna do it without feelin’ weird? cause it’s official?”

“uh-huh.” he reaches for the blunt, snatching it from your grasp. “pretty much.”

“really?”

hamzah shrugs again, stoned and shameless. “yeah, really. what don’t you get?” he teases. “you’re my best friend. and i’m askin’ you to fuck.”

you lips tug into a small grin. “so romantic.”

“you’re fallin’ for it, so.. yeah.”

you can’t argue. not when his hand is now sliding up your thigh, and you already know where this is going.

the blunt’s nothing but a memory now - burnt out and forgotten in a dish on the coffee table.

your shirt's pushed up. his hoodie's halfway off. your shorts are on the floor. his sweats are shoved just low enough.

and he's pulling your underwear to the side while mumbling, "don’t even take ‘em off.”

his hips are already slotted between your thighs, his frame hovering over you while the two of you try to remember how to breathe.

hamzah’s cock presses against your entrance, and everything’s so warm. you’re already soaked from how long this exact moment has plagued your mind.

“wait- wait, you good?” he mumbles, voice raspy and a little too stoned.

you nod, eyes barely open. “mhm.”

“okay. cool. that’s.. yeah. cool.”

he pushes in slowly.

you both let out matching, low groans as he sinks in - inch by inch, careful but not gentle. you’re high enough to feel everything, and he’s high enough to start twitching before he’s even fully in.

“oh, shit,” he murmurs, a million thoughts rushing through his mind. he’s not sure which ones he should vocalize. “oh my god, uh, you feel - fuck, you’re so..”

“shut up.” your voice is already shaky, your cheeks are deeply flushed and burning hot.

he bottoms out and stays there for a second - just looking at you. the way you stretch around him. the way your lips part like you’re trying to find words that don’t exist.

he drags his palm up your side, watching his hand spread across your ribs, his thumb swiping the edge of your bra.

“you’re pretty.”

you laugh, turning your head into the couch cushion. “oh, my god. you’re really high.”

he just grins. “you’re still pretty.”

his hips pull back slightly before he pushes in again - slow, lazy, way too deep. you choke on a moan, legs falling wider open around him without meaning to.

“fuck,” you breathe out, completely exasperated.

he groans lowly, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. “this position’s so unfair,” he mumbles. “i can see everything.”

you slap his arm. “stop narrating. you’re so weird.”

“can’t help it,” he pants, pulling out and rocking back in. “you just look so- i don’t know. fuck.”

you wrap your arms around his neck without any hesitancy, your hands buried in his hoodie as he starts fucking you. it’s slow and heavy and so warm that it makes your vision blur.

it’s gross. it’s sticky. it’s so high.

you both keep giggling under your breath every time you moan. like it's funny how good it feels. like it's silly that you're doing this in martin and mandy’s living room, of all places.

“shit, hamzah-” you pant. “you’re so deep.”

"yeah?" he pulls back to smirk at you. “told you m’good at this.”

his hips pick up this slow, sloppy rhythm. he’s not even trying to fuck you hard, he just wants to feel you all the way. his cock hits the deepest part of you over and over until your back arches off the couch and you’re gasping into his hoodie.

"shit," he mutters. "feels really good."

the couch squeaks beneath you. the armrest digs into your back. one of the throw pillows hits the floor.

it’s slow, drugged-up sex that burns in your belly and lingers under your skin. his hips flex under you with just enough rhythm to keep you gasping. sweat beads at your temple. your body is burning hot.

"we’re actually the worst," you choke out. "we’re on mandy’s fuckin’ fancy-ass couch."

“yeah, and you’re making a mess on it,” he mumbles, voice so low you feel it in your chest. “you’re fucking dripping.”

you slap him again, weakly. “don’t say shit like that.”

he laughs into your neck, breath hot and shaky. “you love it.”

you do.

hamzah groans and buries his face in your neck, his hands gripping under your thighs and pulling them up higher until your knees are damn near to your chest.

you’re folded. split open. wrapped around him in a mess of limbs and heat.

your whole body is buzzing, mouth open, barely breathing - just taking it. letting him fuck you deep and slow and so intimately it makes your stomach twist.

his hand slips between your legs without warning. two fingers rub over your clit, and your head jerks back against the armrest with a choked whine.

you cover your mouth with your palm. he hates it.

he grabs your wrist and pins it to the cushion beside your head. “don’t,” he murmurs, thrusting again. “wanna hear you.”

you moan involuntarily - not loud, but broken. he laughs a little, totally breathless. you laugh too.

he holds your gaze while he fucks you - cock disappearing inside you with every thrust, your thighs trembling, his hoodie damp with sweat where your hands are still grabbing at him.

“stay still,” he pleads, sensing through his drug-hazed mind that you’re both close to losing all sense of composure. “just let me - fuck - let me watch you cum.”

you nod, shaking, jaw slack as he rocks into you again. your limbs feel loose, your thoughts melting into heat and haze. you’re both moaning now, messy and uncoordinated.

the sound of your bodies pounding into the couch is obscene. you think you could cum just from the weight of him on top of you, the way he keeps whispering “just like that, good girl, fuck - that’s it-”

you’re right there. so fucking close - and the door opens.

you hear it.

hamzah doesn’t.

not until the grocery bags hit the floor.

“what the- what the fuck?!” martin yells. hamzah freezes, still fully inside you.

you’re under him, arms gripping his back, legs around his waist. the whole couch is creaking and the house reeks of weed and sex.

your eyes snap to the door. mandy’s standing there, staring, mouth open, one hand still clutching her car keys.

martin’s just pointing. “you.. in my house? on my couch?!”

“my couch.” mandy corrects him, sounding much less shocked than martin.

you slap your hands over your face with a groan. “oh, my god-”

“are you-” martin’s voice cracks mid-sentence. “hamzah! you’re literally still- why are you still moving?”

“m’not,” hamzah lies pathetically, his mind too stoned and his body too needy for his own good.

you grab the throw blanket and yank it over your face and chest, your legs still tangled under him, entire body humming with leftover pleasure and absolute shame.

mandy, still frozen, mutters, “i knew it.”

martin stares at her. “you knew?”

“it was obvious. i told you, martin. phone call? the way she was out of breath and hung up out of nowhere?”

martin groans, annoyed by how right she is.

“this is so much worse than what i saw last time.” he huffs.

“can’t believe you fully caught them first and still didn’t figure it out,” mandy says, exasperated, still eyeing you two like a car crash in her living room that she can’t look away from. “i told you they’re hooking up.”

“we aren’t!” you yell from under the blanket.

“you are right now!” martin nearly screams, completely overwhelmed.

another stretch of silence.

then hamzah - who’s still flushed, still high, still inside you - sheepishly asks, “..we still get dinner though, right?”

a/n: happy 4/20 guys ayyy

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @slushedup @arroganceisherfavoritecolor @layzerzlovesu46 @babysitter19 @marixoa @starjely @viennawaiits @a1exaaaa @freakzah444 @anginluv @gabwilliams @sturniyolo @screamertannie @brlwla @yourstrulykiya @thefantastickid @hamzaholic @divinesturn @forestlv4r @mayapuma20 @ottakugirl @hamzahsbestone @pulcen @rustnroll @venus-planetof-love @nickmillersn1gf @rock678 @wandas-lovey @guiltyfemcel @axetheboyboss @harrys0nlyange1 @ttlynotme

special mention for @isathefantastic who convinced me to take a break from my break .. ౨ৎ

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

You Do Something To Me 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, manipulation, roughness, degredation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern)

Summary: you do your best to please a man with high standards.

Note: wasn't expecting this tbh.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The knock echoes through the house. You can't help the shiver as you peer over your shoulder. You know there's nothing there but those old antique halls always put you on edge. Or maybe it's him.

No, you love your husband. That's not it. He can just be very intense. That's all.

You wait. No answer comes. That's as usual as the silence throughout this old house. You tap once more and upon a second lull, let yourself in.

You don't say a word as Sherlock's eyes stay on the folder clutched in his large hands. He looks like a man out of time. He always dresses��proper. You gently place the tray on his desk.

You pour him a cup and carefully add milk. The dairy plumes in the deep red tea and you place the saucer and cup by his elbow.

"You've interrupted," he says without looking up.

"You wanted tea and I did not want it to go cold," you touch his shoulder gently. He rumbles.

"Wise woman," he muses and sits back, his attention still on the page. He hooks a single finger through cup handle and lifts it. He hums. "The only who ever does my tea right."

Loose leaf. That's the trick. Your ratio is precise. Just as he likes all things.

"Let me not disturb you further," you appease and back up.

He huffs and drops the paper, then clinks down the porcelain.

"I wouldn't complain," he leans back in his leather chair. He smirks.

"Oh, and now he demands dessert with his tea," you shake your head.

He tilts his head, "I demand my wife."

A chill runs up your body. When he puts that voice on, your chest goes hollow and you feel all shaky. You can't deny that voice.

"Yes, husband," you come closer.

He runs his hand up your satin skirt and examines the seam. There's a stitch that's bunched. He never misses the detail. He clucks.

"This skirt is ruined," he tugs, "you will take it off at once."

It would be thrilling if you didn't know beneath it all that he's serious. He does not like inconsistencies. You suppose it is the reason he chose to be a detective. That and he's very skilled at untangling mysteries. As talented at seeing through deception.

You reach behind you and unzip the skirt. It slackens and you let it go. It pools at your feet and your legs speckle with goosebumps. These vintage houses are hard to keep warm. He has the thermostat as well to keep from waste.

"Come here," he urges as he spreads his shoulders wide. 

He grips the arms of the chair as you approach. You stop to strip off your panties. His chest rises and falls slowly as he sits patiently. You know what to do and it's better you don't make him tell you.

He's already hard, you can see him in his pants. You undo his fly and pull him out. He growls and holds the air in his chest. You turn and reach between your legs to line him up.

You press him against your folds and rub his tip against you. You try to focus and ready yourself for him. You take him inch by inch, urging yourself through the stretch. As you settle on his lap, he sighs.

"Mm, honey," he purrs.

You go to tilt and he grabs your hip, his other hand on your stomach.

"No, you will wait," he girds and reaches to the desk. He retrieves the paper. "When I've finished my work, you may finish yours."

You wiggle in his lap. He groans and pinches your thigh. You still and lean back, certain to keep out of his way.

He pets your head with his free hand as he reads. Little hums escape him. You feel him twitching inside you. He sets down the paper once more.

"My tea, honey."

You lean forward and quiver at the friction in your walls. You take his tea and give it to him. He drinks deeply and hands it back. You put it down and he frames your hips.

"Perhaps I might think better if I destress," he guides you up his length and you moan.

You place your hands over his as he moves you in his lap. You arch your back and follow his rhythm. You slip your hand down your pelvis and twirl around your clit. He grunts as he keeps the pace slow and deliberate.

"Mm, I've needed this," he growls. "Mm, yes, my wife, how you serve me so well."

You flick your fingers and tremble, your walls clenching as you get close to release. You reach back and clasp onto his thick side as you cum. As you spasm, he quickens your motion. You mewl through your climax as your head lolls.

In a moment, he's up. He has you over the desk. Your hips slam into the edge as he bends over you and grips the far side. He rams into you, each thrust long but sharp. He pulls back only to slam so hard the wood sends a pang through your pelvis. You whimper as the contents of his desk wobble and pens fall of their stand.

"You did this on purpose, yes? You interrupted my work for this?" He gropes your ass, his pelvis slapping the back of his hand as he ruts. "My wife, the whore."

He grabs the back of your neck and pinches until you squeal. You gnaw on your lip and hiss through your nose. That side of him is only yours. That deep, dark, feral side. He only lets you see it. It scares you but it feels special. It's just between you two.

"Yes, husband," you reach back and touch his pants as he pounds your hips into the desk. "I wanted this all along--"

You grit your teeth and your back racks. You measure your breaths as he puffs like a wild animal. His nails dig into your skin and your thighs tingle.

"I know it. You want it," he snarls. "You need it."

[kevenchi]

all mine / abby anderson — cw : sexual content, usage of cannabis, strap usage, sneaky link dynamics. “told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.”

the room was hazy, thick with the sweet, earthy scent of weed curling up from the joint perched between your fingers. you took a slow drag, letting the smoke roll in your lungs before exhaling with a lazy sigh. the vibe was chill—low lights, some rnb humming from your speaker—but your mood? that was a whole-ass mess.

“this sneaky link shit gettin’ old,” you muttered, passing the joint to abby, who was sprawled out on the couch beside you. her broad shoulders flexed as she reached for it, her tank top riding up just enough to show off that stupidly toned stomach. she smirked, taking a hit, her lips wrapping around the paper like she was about to say something smart.

“what’s the problem? he still trash?” abby asked, blowing out a plume of smoke. her voice was low, gravelly, and it hit you somewhere deep, even through the fog of the high.

you groaned, flopping back against the cushions. “bro, trash is an understatement. dude hits me up at two am like he’s bouta change my life, but he can’t even get me there. i’m out here fakin’ it just to get him out the door.”

abby chuckled, shaking her head as she ashed the joint into the tray on the coffee table. “that’s fuckin’ weak. you deserve better than some half-assed sneaky link who don’t know what he’s doin’.”

“my point exactly,” you mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. the weed had you floating, your body warm and loose, but there was still this itch under your skin—unmet, unsatisfied. you side-eyed abby, her freckled face glowing under the dim light, and something reckless sparked in your chest. “bet you could do better.”

she froze mid-drag, her blue eyes snapping to yours. for a second, the air got thick, like the smoke had turned solid. then she grinned, slow and dangerous. “you tryn’ find out, ma?”

your heart did a little flip, but you played it cool, smirking back. “maybe i am. whatchu’ working with?”

abby didn’t say shit for a minute, just handed you the joint and stood up, all 5’10” of her towering over you like a damn wall of muscle. “hold that thought,” she said, disappearing into her room. you took another hit, the buzz making your head swim, wondering what the hell you’d just kicked off.

when she came back, your jaw damn near hit the floor.

she had a harness strapped up, the black silicone jutting out like she’d been ready for this moment. the sight of her—confidence dripping, biceps flexing as she adjusted the straps—had you clenching your thighs together.

“jesus, abs,” you breathed, passing the joint back. “you keep that shit on deck?”

she laughed, plopping back onto the couch, closer this time, her knee brushing yours. “gotta stay prepared, pretty. you not the first to underestimate me.” she took a hit, then leaned in, her lips hovering near yours as she exhaled, letting you shotgun the smoke. it was hot, messy, and your brain short-circuited.

“fuck it,” you whispered, grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her into a kiss. her lips were soft but firm, tasting like weed and something faintly sweet, and she didn’t waste time. her hands were on you quick—gripping your hips, tugging you onto her lap so you were straddling the strap.

“shit, you’re pretty as fuck, mama,” she muttered against your mouth, her hands sliding under your shirt, rough fingertips grazing your skin. you moaned, grinding down on the silicone, the pressure hitting just right through your shorts.

“less talkin’, more doing, abs.” you shot back, tugging her tank top over her head. her chest was all muscle, freckles dusting her collarbone, and you couldn’t help but lean down to kiss along it, tasting salt and smoke. she groaned, one hand tangling in your hair as the other guided your hips.

“bet,” she said, flipping you onto your back with ease, pinning you to the couch. the joint was long forgotten now, smoldering in the tray as she yanked your shorts and panties off in one smooth move. you were soaked already, and she clocked it, smirking like she’d just won the lottery.

“damn, baby, you needed this?” she teased, dragging the tip of the strap through your folds, slow and deliberate. you arched up, whining, the weed amplifying every touch like your nerves were on blast.

“stop playin’ abby,” you hissed, and that was all she needed. she pushed in, slow at first, letting you adjust to the stretch, but once you started rocking your hips, she picked up the pace. the sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with your gasps and her low grunts.

“fuck, you take it so good,” she growled, one hand bracing on the couch, the other gripping your thigh to spread you wider. she was hitting deep, every thrust rocking you to your core, and the high had you seeing stars—literal sparks behind your eyelids.

“abs—shit, i’m close,” you managed, clawing at her back, leaving red lines she’d probably flex about later. she leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

“then let go, mama. i got you,” she rasped, slamming into you harder, and that was it. you came undone, loud and shameless, your whole body shaking as she fucked you through it. she didn’t stop til’ you were whimpering, over sensitive, and boneless beneath her.

when she finally pulled out, you were a mess—sweaty, panting, still buzzing from the weed and the best orgasm you’d had in months. abby flopped beside you, grinning like a smug asshole as she lit the joint again.

“told you i’d fuck you better,” she said, passing it over.

you took a shaky drag, laughing through the smoke. “yeah, yeah, you win. sneaky link.”

she just winked, and you knew damn well this wasn’t gonna be a one-time thing.

maggiesglock ©

[pseudowho]

Fumus et Ignis

Sometimes, Hiromi smokes after a hard day. Sometimes, he makes love to you until you're both crying out for each other.

And sometimes, he does both at once.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Hiromi being a desperate mess, and smoking is bad for you. *Gavel tap* Naughty.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+--+

Your thighs burn with effort as Hiromi's frown only deepens, one hand rucking your hips so your pussy presses down on his clothed cock, the other hand slowly raising a glowing cigarette to his lips.

He hisses, releasing a plume of smoke, charcoal eyes glinting like a hungry dragon as his jaw slackens, bucking his hips up into you. You whimper and shudder, feeling a gush of arousal seep from your aching pussy onto his black trousers; Hiromi's cock twitches within its confines, and his smoke-roughened voice breathes an open-mouthed growl of appreciation.

"You can do better than that, my love-- it's been such a long day..."

You feel the sharp sting of his hand slapping against your bare arse as your pace increases, rubbing your clit against the silk-on-iron sensation of his suit trousers over his throbbing cock. Hiromi sits up, hooded eyes heavy with lust staring deeply into yours, pulling his tie off with one hand and gripping your wrists behind your back with another. His cigarette, with its heady bitter scent and coil of rising smoke, is gripped between his teeth to the edge of his lips.

"Maybe if you're going to ride me, you need some reins," he rasps, sandy voice hushed against your ear, as he threads his black tie around your bound wrists.

Restricted, and so close to the edge of your orgasm, Hiromi groans through cigarette-gripped gritted teeth as he lifts your t-shirt over your head. It gets trapped at your bound hands, and he twists it round your bounds, using it to pin you down as he drops his cigarette into the ashtray beside him, taking your exposed breasts roughly into his mouth and hands, licking and rolling your now wet, puffy nipples.

Hiromi whispers his smoky breath against your breasts as he nuzzles, licks and sucks on you; "So filthy how wet you are, and I'm not even inside you...I've got to fill you up more than once tonight-- I need to-- I--"

The stinging pleasure of Hiromi sucking on your breasts like a man starved, connects like a thin thread to your clit as you roll your stuttering hips on Hiromi's cock, his groin now so wet with your combined arousal and pre-cum that you soak through to each other. Hot and shaking, you cum with a weak cry, Hiromi's bounds tight as he forces your fluttering pussy against his cock, pinching your nipples as he leans back and watches the show. As you tremble and come down from your high, Hiromi's gaze doesn't falter as he releases his cock, falling long and throbbing against his belly, the head red and angry with deprivation.

Pulling upwards on your twisted t-shirt and his tie, your wrists buckle and you're forced up onto your knees, thighs shaking with effort. Hiromi leans forwards, cupping you round the cheek and forcing your head to tilt as he nips the side of your neck, whispering dirty affirmations to you, his thumb dipping over your lower lip to stroke your tongue. Hiromi whines, biting your neck harder as you latch onto his thumb, flicking your tongue against its sensitive tip.

"We'll save that wet little tongue for later...but for now--"

With little warning, Hiromi bucks up into you, yanking you down against so your arse claps against his thighs, and you choke out a cry of his name as you twitch, his cockhead immediately deep and throbbing against your cervix. Hiromi moans through gritted teeth, bucking upwards, urging a constant pressure against your belly.

Leaning back onto the sofa and pulling you with him, Hiromi keeps you tethered down against him as he thrusts relentlessly up into you while you mewl his name, face muffled into his chest, smelling of sweat, smoke and this morning's cologne. Hiromi starts to fall apart, one hand twisting your wrists and the other grasping your cheek, urging you to look up at him. He hooks his thumb into your mouth again, an overwhelming burst of love and desire rushing through him at your flushed cheeks and glazed 'fuck me' eyes.

"Open up," he whispers, and you keen at him as he spits in your mouth, his spit hot and smoky, mixing with yours. Hiromi firmly squeezes the front of your throat as you move to swallow-- "don't. I need you wetter."

Holding his hand to your mouth, you coat Hiromi's first and middle fingers with your combined spit, and Hiromi ducks his hand between your flush bodies, coating your clit with the slick as he rolls, strokes and flicks your bud in his long, clever fingers. You gasp and your hips hump reflexively into him and Hiromi whimpers, desperate.

"Please cum with me-- I can't last--" Hiromi whines, eyes narrowed and desperate as his hips flick upwards, orgasm clenched in his thighs and back as he holds himself back, watching you twist and writhe your clit and cervix against his fingers and cockhead.

Sweaty and trembling with overstimulation, your second orgasm has you seeing stars, and Hiromi's eyes roll back as he feels your pussy flutter and clench around him, all he needed to bring him over the edge.

"Oooh, fuck-- fuck, please-- deeper-- deeper I'm--" Hiromi babbles, breaking off into nonsensical whimpers as he spasms roughly, his thighs cramping and head spinning with the force of his orgasm, gasping agonal moans into your hair as his seed coats your cervix in white, seeping down around his twitching cock until his lap is slick with cum.

You lean back together, both panting, inextricably tied. Hiromi lightheadedly releases the binds on your hands, floppy and pliable, his cock softening, sated, inside you.

Hiromi hears a grating flick, and smells a puff of flame, as you press something to his lips. Chuckling, he grips the cigarette between his lips, taking a dutiful inward breath and surrounding you both in a warm cloud of fragrant tobacco.

"Don't need one anymore," he whispers, sandy and playful, his embering eyes gazing at you in adoration, "you're far better stress-relief."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Thanks to @gojo-mochi for the filthy banter and inspo

[moonchildstyles]

rosemary for halloween?👀

wordcount: 4k+

—————

Harry frowned at his reflection. 

While he loved (Y/N) more than anything, and would do anything for her, he wondered if he finally found limitations to that philosophy. 

Because dressing up like a sailor just to match with her for a Halloween party was beginning to look like the line he needed to draw in the sand. The ascot was bad enough, he doubted the hat that was looming on the bed behind him was going to make this outfit any better. 

The familiar sound of perfume being sprayed from the bathroom told Harry he didn't have much time left to fiddle with his costume before (Y/N) would appear to fawn over him and make him change his mind. In an impulse move, he attempted to tug off the ascot around his neck and hide it away in a pocket she could see. 

All hope was lost just as (Y/N) emerged from the bathroom in a plume of sparkles and sea salt. Her hair was styled full of pearls and glimmering sea glass clips, matching the shifting blue and purple iridescent glitter spread across her eyelids. There weren't many places on her body that weren't imbued with a sparkling sheen, giving the effect of shimmering mermaid skin. Her top was little more than a decorated bralette cinched in a thick band around her ribs, emulating a pair of scallop shells studded with pearls and shards of sea glass. Her high waisted bottoms were a tight fit around her hips and thighs before fanning out after her knees, mimicking that of a mermaid's tail. The material was a swirl of pearly threads, shifting with pinks and purples, teals and bioluminescent greens. Her bag for the night—the purchase that inspired the costume—was a golden seashell. 

Harry, distracted by the sight of the swathes of skin she had on display—a strip of her soft stomach, the slope of her neck and sparkling décolletage, her pretty, manicured hands—didn't catch the way her entire face lit up when she saw him. 

"You look so cute, honey!" she bubbled, rushing towards him with her hands reaching out towards his collar. 

(Y/N) preened over him, a bright smile on her glossy lips. The ascot he attempted to rip off was smoothed down, his shirt straightened, and the epaulettes on his shoulders patted down. 

He wanted so badly to keep up the attitude he gained while looking in the mirror, but not a shred of it remained when she smiled at him like that. 

"Y'like it?" he murmured, his own lips creeping into a short curl. 

"I love it!" She beamed up at him with her hands going stationary on the planes of his chest. "I know you weren't sure about it, but I'm so happy we match. Thank you." 

Moving on instinct, he lent down and pressed his lips to hers, uncaring about the glitter that would no doubt transfer to his own skin. 

"'M happy we match too," he smiled against her skin, the tip of his nose knocking against her own, "I don't think anyone's going to be looking at me, anyway. Not when 'm standing next to you." 

Her grin turned giddy, only widening when Harry encouraged her to twirl before him. "Do you like it?! I think I put on too much body glitter, but I can't go back now." 

He shook his head. "'S perfect. Look like a real mermaid. Y'would have lured me right to the sea, no doubt." 

She keened under his attention, canting her head with a flutter of her lashes. "I couldn't do that, though—I wouldn't want to hurt you." 

"I'd learn how to breathe underwater, then," he answered simply. He would find any solution if it meant he could be with her. 

Her answering laugh was enough to have him eager to wear any and every silly costume she wanted. This reaction was always going to be worth wearing an ascot and sailor's cap. 

"You're sweet, H," she crooned, surging to her tiptoes to share another kiss. He chased after her when she pulled away, drawing one more kiss from her before she made a step away towards her closet. "Are you ready to go?" 

Harry answered with a nod, hoping she didn't notice the hat missing from the top of his head. 

"Perfect!" she chirped, "I need to put my shoes on, and then we can go!" 

Just short of breathing a sigh of relief, Harry figured himself to be in the clear by the time she slinked into her closet. 

Until, of course, she called out to him. "Oh, and don't forget your hat!" 

He wanted so badly to frown, to groan and tell her he didn't want to wear the hat. But none of that came out. Only a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

There was a time in his life that he never thought he would have anyone that would want to spend these kinds of nights with him, let alone in a planned out matching outfit. Even if it felt a bit silly, there wasn't a single bone in his body that was going to say no to something like this.

"I won't, peach." 

—————

Despite the sweat beginning to slick his palm, Harry didn't pull his hand out from (Y/N)'s. 

While he was growing more used to the idea of large and loud crowds of people—especially crowds that knew him and made a point to say hello when he walked by—but there was still much more progress to be made in that department. Sabrina's Halloween party was one of his bigger trials, that was for sure. (Y/N) was his only anchor, her hold on his hand being the only thing that kept him from running through an obsessive cycle of spying all exits and attempting to scan each face around him for anyone suspicious. 

Though, tonight, it was a bit hard to see from scanning the room, if only to get a view of all of the costumes and decorations around them. Sabrina's annual halloween party was something Harry had only recently learned about, but (Y/N)'s excited descriptions made the space as familiar to him as his own. As she promised, faux cobwebs were stretched across walls and stuffed in corners. Streamers and metallic fringe hung from doorways, the visages of classic horror tropes were scattered on the walls, including decals of blood spatters that Harry made a point not to look at for too long. Everything was orange and purple, black all throughout. Music played throughout the space, though it was decidedly softer than most of his experiences when it came to house parties. 

Harry saw many familiar faces among the party goers, though more often than not they were disguised in costumes and altering makeup. There were plenty of Barbies, and angels, a few fairies and sexy iterations of mundane professions all throughout, being broken up by even more silly costumes. Video game and movie characters stuck out in iconic silhouettes. Many couples and friends were in matching costumes like the one he was in (though there weren't any other mermaids and sailors as far as he could see). More than a few lent into the season with spooky costumes, fake blood and weapons at their sides. Those were not Harry's favorite. 

Especially not when he felt a little flush when he saw the liberal use of blood on some costumes.

There was no way Harry was going to be peeling himself away from (Y/N)'s side. Even if he was beginning to feel a little like a potted plant while he listened to her converse with her friends. 

"But, you don't mind, right, H?" 

Blinking back to earth, Harry saw (Y/N) looking up at him with an affectionate smile and a familiar face from his days of sitting in at the bakery looking at him expectantly. His mouth fell into a gape as he attempted to find the answer to a question he wasn't listening to. 

"Um," he started, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, "Sorry, what?" 

(Y/N) didn't look all that surprised to realize he hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation. "You like the costumes, right?" 

"Oh, yeah." He automatically nodded, looking at (Y/N)'s friend. "They were her idea."

A laugh bubbled from the woman, a joke Harry hadn't heard before now coming into play. (Y/N)'s hand pulsed around his own, her smile bright as she gazed up at him. 

"Next year, I'll have to see if he'll be the mermaid," (Y/N) laughed, her nose scrunching while her friend joined in. 

In the back of his mind, Harry was sure he should have tuned back in when the chattering started up once more, but he just couldn't. Was there ever going to be a time when he wasn't completely enamored, just short of being brought to his knees, when she muttered something so innocent like plans for the future? Was that ever not going to steal his breath? The idea of having a future and stability and someone for the rest of his life? 

(At least, he hoped (Y/N) would be with him for the rest of his life. He'd just have to scrounge up the courage to ask her one day).

Soon enough, (Y/N)'s friend bid a short goodbye, promising to see them around the party, before they were left to meander around. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom to look at my makeup, if you want to come," she said, looking up at him with a soft smile, "Unless you want to go get a drink or something." 

He didn't have to think before he was shaking his head. "I'll go with you." 

(Y/N) turned with that pretty smile on her face as she led him through the partygoers, taking a seemingly familiar route towards the restroom. Sabrina and others spotted (Y/N) as they passed, saying hello with glassy eyes and praising her costume in slurred comments. Every slowed step while she engaged in the short conversation, she never left him out, immediately pointing out that they went together. 

Harry was sure a flush was beginning to creep up his neck by the time the third person stopped them.

Lucky for them, by the time they successfully reached the restroom, it was empty. Slipping inside, Harry shut the door behind them. It was a small bathroom, leaving little room between them while (Y/N) turned towards the mirror. 

In the quiet of the restroom, Harry felt his lungs finally expand to capacity. It wasn't hard being at (Y/N)'s side while she was a social butterfly, but it was exhausting trying to remind himself everything was okay when there were so many people around them. He'd learn one day; his body would catch up one day. That's what (Y/N) told him, anyway. 

"You doing okay?" she asked, catching his eye in the mirror while she scraped a rogue glitter away from the corner of her eye. 

"Yeah," he muttered, nodding his head. "Jus'... a lot still, I think." 

"I know. We don't have to stay too much longer, though. I just want to hang out with Sabrina a little bit, and then we'll be free." 

"'S okay," he shook his head, his fingers a knot behind his back, "We don't have to leave until y'want. I'll be fine." 

Abandoning the reflection, (Y/N) turned towards Harry with a cant to her head. Her features were made of soft lines and affectionate eyes. "It's no fun if you're not having a good time, H." 

"I am, I am," he insisted, even if the deep breath he took in wasn't all that convincing. "Halloween is fun." 

At this, she couldn't help but to let out a bubbling laugh. "Is it?" she teased, crossing the short space between them to wrap his middle in her arms. His body moved on instinct, draping his arms around her shoulders. "If you have to say it like that, I have a feeling it's not really true." 

He could feel his expression loosening as he gazed down at her. If this were another life, and he were a sailor out on the sea, it would only take a glimpse of her between the waves to have him swimming out into the unknown. Though that was what he figured his real life was like anyway; she was the lighthouse that guided him to a new shore, away from everything he knew before. Now, here he was, at someone's home on Halloween night in a sailor's costume. And he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. 

"I jus' like being with you, peach," he admitted, "If you're happy, so am I." 

"You're gonna make me cry," she laughed, eyes shimmering like her eyeshadow, "I really do want to go home soon, though. This outfit isn't as comfortable as I want it to be." 

A pinch appeared between his brows. He knew the corset-like fit of her top was what she wanted, but he'd worried about how well she was going to be able to breathe. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hands beginning to frantically trace around her form. 

"I'm okay, honey," she assured, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the point of his chin, "I think I'm just ready for some pajamas." 

He could work with that. He could make sure they were safe and comfortable at home soon; if he was fast enough, he might even be able to throw her pj's into the dryer while she takes off her makeup, leaving them warm for her once she was ready. 

"'M ready whenever y'are, peach." 

This time, when she raised to the tips of her toes, she met his lips with her own. It was a short kiss, hidden away from the rest of the world, but still more than enough to draw his heart into pounding against his ribs. 

This kiss was urging him to take back his earlier words. He should have told her he wanted to head home immediately. 

—————

"Oh my god, did you put these in the dryer?" 

Harry couldn't contain the smile stretching across his face when he heard (Y/N)'s shout from her bedroom. He didn't respond when he heard feet padding across the floor, coming right towards where he was tucked into the cushions of her sofa. 

Still with her mermaid hair and makeup on, she now had on a light purple crewneck and teal blue sweats. She wanted to stay within the spirit of her costume for when children would inevitably knock on the door for candy, but Harry could see she was much more comfortable in her new clothes. 

"Harry," she crooned, looking to him with softened features. Warm, pumpkin lighting filled her home, candlelight flickering over the glitter pasted to her skin. 

"(Y/N)," he said, parroting her affectionate tone. 

"You're so sweet, honey. Thank you." She crawled atop his lap as she spoke, fitting her knees on either side of his hips. 

He moved instinctively, his hands landing on her waist while she looped her own around his neck. Looking up at her, Harry let a smile bloom over his lips, a warmth bubbling under his skin. 

"Do y'feel better?" he asked, running his hands over the curve of her waist, "More comfortable?" 

"Much," she affirmed, pursing her lips to dot a kiss on the bridge of his nose. The sparkle in her eyes rivaled that of the flecks sticking to her skin when she pulled away. "Thank you for coming with me tonight. It was more hectic than I thought, but it means a lot that you came anyway." 

Harry's smile turned shy at her praise. It was still a very hard thing to hear these kinds of sentiments directed to him. The honey of (Y/N)'s voice made it just a touch easier to take, at least. 

"I know 'm not very fun at these things, so thank you for staying with me." Shifting to bar his arms around her middle, Harry pulled her into a hug as he perched his cheek on her shoulder, nose skimming the column of her neck. 

(Y/N) slid her fingers into the curling locks on the back of his head, threading through the waves in comforting trails. "It'll get easier, H. You're already doing so much better than you think." 

A flickering silence settled over the room. "Thank you," he murmured into her neck, "I want to keep getting better. With you."

In that moment, Harry was brought back to a motel room. He was sitting on a much stiffer, mustier sofa with darker thoughts clouding his brain. But he still had (Y/N) in his arms, reassuring him that he could—and would—get better. That she was right there with him, would be right there as long as he needed her. 

He held her tighter at the memory. 

She didn't make any move to pull away, letting Harry get his fill of her before eventually peeling away to gaze up at her. 

"You're still alright with me spending the night?" Despite posing the question, he didn't think he would have an easy time getting out of this spot even if she said no.

"Of course—who else is going to protect me on Halloween night?" 

She spoke with a teasing smile, canting her head with a slight pout puffing her lips. This was one of those moments he had to remind himself that he wasn't occupying his previous life—this was nothing more than a joke, something flirty that (Y/N) said to draw an affectionate reaction out of him. There was nothing real, nothing coming to get her in the middle of the night. 

A short smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I think I can manage that, peach." 

She must have sensed the brief hesitation, causing her to push a soft kiss to the curled corner of his mouth. 

"If you start some popcorn, I’ll pick a movie for us?" she offered. 

He responded with a quiet nod, pulsing his hands on her waist before she climbed off of him. He left her on the couch as he started towards her kitchen, the ghost of her warmth clinging to his front. Keeping an ear out, he rooted through her cabinets in search of a packet of popcorn—a snack she seemingly always had on hand, though he hadn't caught her indulging in the kernels more than once in the last months. 

A ring of the doorbell succeeded by muffled giggles had Harry's muscles bunching for a split second. It's Halloween, he reminded himself. Of course there were going to be people at the door, and (Y/N) wasn't going to hesitate with swinging it open. 

Old habits die hard, even the ones that were already in the process of being buried. 

Hurriedly shoving the packet into the microwave with numbers punched into the pad, Harry moved across the kitchen. Peeking around the threshold, he had a clear view of (Y/N) with a large bowl in one hand as she answered the door. 

The giggling grew louder as she pulled open the door. From the angle she was standing before the threshold, he had a view of her smiling profile as she took in the little critters at her stoop. The children, flanked by parents standing a few feet away, all smiled brightly up at the mermaid before them. 

"Trick or treat!" 

"Wow, look at you guys!" (Y/N) cheered, balancing the candy bowl on her hip, "You look amazing! Such cute costumes!" 

"I'm not cute, I'm a zombie," one of the children contradicted, a lisp in his voice. 

(Y/N)'s smile only grew wider, before she fell into a shocked character. "Woah, you are really scary. I don't have any brains, will candy do?" 

Harry was vaguely aware of the way the children cheered for her, the giggles and smiles filling the doorway as she handed out bundles of candy, but he only had eyes on the mermaid. 

He doubted she even knew just how fearless she was. More than once, he'd heard her describe herself as shy, boring even. Never doing anything new, sticking to her routine. She had no idea what kind of effort Harry would have had to exert to do this simple task she did so easily. 

She had no idea just how special she was in the most mundane ways. He would never run out of things to admire about her. He was sure. 

Waving goodbye to the children and their parents, (Y/N) shut and locked the door behind her. It was then that she caught eyes right on her. 

"They were cute, don't you think?" she chattered, unwitting of the fact that he could barely recount any of the details of any of the trick-or-treaters or their costumes. 

"Yeah," he agreed anyway, a dreamy haze smoked around his voice, "Really cute." 

Before she could offer a response, the microwave beeped. The fragrance of buttery popcorn scented through her home, drawing him away from the entryway. He made quick work of emptying the packet into a pastel pink bowl, rushing to head back to her side out on the sofa. 

Curled up, legs under her bottom with a pumpkin-printed throw blanket across her lap, (Y/N) flicked through her chosen streaming service on her television. It wasn't until he was seated at her side, his peach lifting up the edge of the blanket to allow him to slide in next to her, that he saw what she was looking for.

True to the season, he was looking through a section of Halloween movies. Though, not quite the kind he was sure was playing in many other houses in the neighborhood. 

"I know it's not really scary, but I was thinking Scooby-Doo might be fun to watch tonight," she muttered, looking through the various classic movies available for streaming. One Harry remembered watching as a child caught his eye.

Definitely a better option than the home invasion or slasher films he never really found the appeal of.

He moved to overlap her legs over his thighs, spreading her warmth across the side of his body. "That sounds better than anything scary." 

Moving to pick through the popcorn bowl settled on his lap, Harry saw from the corner of his eye the way (Y/N) turned her attention to him. 

Her eyes were impossibly soft, tracing over the planes of his face. She canted her head as she looked at him, just enough so that the light caught the glitter on her face. He wasn't sure what she saw when she looked at him like that, but whatever it was enough to draw her closer to his side. 

"H—" 

Before she could finish whatever it was that she was going to share, the doorbell rang. She hesitated before removing the blanket from her lap. 

"I'll be right back," she murmured, "You pick. 

A soft kiss was pressed to his cheek, just where his dimple devoted his skin. 

Remote in hand, Harry absently scrolled through the title cards though he was listening instead to the giggling conversation happening at the door. 

The sound of her voice soundtracked the beats of his heart. He heard the way she bubbled to these children, playing along to whatever tricks they pulled for the treats in question. He could still feel the press of her lips against his cheek, the warmth a point of clarity as he sunk into the amber-tinted moment that was his own life. Never would he have thought he would ever find himself in a place like this.

"I'm already starting to run out of candy," (Y/N) exclaimed as she made her way back to the couch, "I'm probably giving out too much, but I feel bad if I don't give out, like, handfuls." 

(Y/N) slid back into her spot, as natural as breathing. Entirely fearless, always. 

"You're so sweet, peach," he breathed, much too heavy an answer for something so simple. 

Though it was entirely worth the smile she gifted him. 

Harry wasn't sure if he was ever going to be a huge fan of Halloween, but he could see why others enjoyed it. Especially if these breezy nights went on like this. 

—————

happy (late) halloween everyone! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own, please send them in!!

[thewinter-eden]

Don't Look At Me Like That

images are mine (except middle HH pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 4 of the skz crack!horror series (this concludes the Hyung Line).

pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: hitman!Hyunjin’s next target is you, the child of a foreign diplomat. But when he shows up to do the job and finds you ambivalent to the threat upon your life, he can’t help but ask what the hell is wrong with you.

warnings: Terminal illness, smoking, asshole family, political family, angst, unrealistic trust fund, drugs, implications of overdose, implications of involuntary overdose, assault, discussion of surgery, depictions of cysts/tumors, USD instead of Korean Won, Gossip Girl reference, some language, kidnapping.

word count: 6k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info PART 2 INFO

The first igniting drags of your cigarette feel like a second glass of wine. For a second, you’re lighter than air and the world tips on its axis.

Your family hates your penchant for cigarettes. They call you disgusting; unhygienic; stupid.

Although, In a way, your literal toxic trait has actually strengthened your personal hygiene—a rigorous unskippable skincare routine, to fight the weathering of your face, expensive and regular dental care to prevent the yellowing of teeth, your hands under a constant layer of hand sanitizer and scented perfume to combat the clinging stench of smoke, every surface of your bedroom cleaned daily and your laundry crisply pressed and regularly washed—just because you’re a shameless human chimney doesn’t mean you intend to wear the grime of cigarette smoke as an accessory.

Not that any of that matters anymore.

You take another drag and feel your body settle into the familiar rhythm. In front of you, on the other side of your glass cage (read: bedroom window) the city stretches out in front of you, lights poking holes in the blanket of darkness that covers it.

The clock reads 6 PM.

Lifting one hand, tapping a black-polished nail against the glass, watching your arm tremble, you give a resigned sigh and blow a puff of smoke through the opening. The plume rises and disperses into the atmosphere, vanishing before your eyes.

You finish your cigarette and crush the filter into your ash tray, yanking the curtains closed. The next few minutes are muscle memory—shrugging out of your robe, spritzing it with vodka to remove the smoke smell, exfoliating your hands and arms with a sugar scrub, brushing and whitening your teeth, covering yourself head to toe in moisturizer.

All for the sake of appearances.

When you close yourself into the bathroom to change half an hour later, all you smell is coffee from the sugar scrub and the sickly sweet aroma of your flowery lotion.

“You’re coming, right?” Your best friend Lisa’s voice booms through the phone, the sound of pounding music and raucous laughter filling the background.

You’re already dressed, brushing excess highlighter and powder off your face as you stand before your mirror. “Of course I’m coming, I promised you I would. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” You take a second to check your watch.

Lisa had made plans with you to meet at the party at 8, but she always arrives early enough to be four or five drinks ahead by the time you show up. This inevitably leads to her finding someone to spend an hour in the closest lockable room with and you calling your dad’s driver to take you home.

It’s not that you don’t ever want a hook up or a boyfriend or anything, it’s just that you’re the seventeen-year-old daughter of a politician and you have rules.

You can’t be out after 11, you can’t be seen with mile-deep cleavage or thigh-high hems, and you certainly can’t be drunk in public—especially as a minor. So you smooth the fabric of the just barely appropriate outfit you’ve chosen and check your reflection one last time.

It takes a second to convince yourself that the heaviness of your eyes isn’t because of your dark liner, that the dullness in your expression isn’t obvious.

“Well hurry on over. I’ve found someone you just have to meet.”

When you arrive, you’re wading through a house that’s teeming with high schoolers, the walls reverberating with pounding music. You find Lisa near the kitchen, one arm slung around the neck of one of her friends, the other hand clutching a plastic cup.

When her eyes land on you, she all but screeches your name over the clamor and reaches for you. The girl that she was just leaning on takes the opportunity to pull away and stretch her arms upward, trying to correct the awkward hunch that Lisa had put her in. She shoots you a grateful smile and disappears into the crowd, looking for her boyfriend.

Lisa’s in your face in the next second, her breath already reeking. She catches you in a tight, sloppy hug, the contents of her cup splashing your shoulder as she trips. “I’m so glad you’re here,” She says, and if her body language says drunk, her voice certainly doesn’t. Her lipstick is smeared and she’s staggering a little but her voice is crisp and sharp. “I was worried you’d change your mind again.”

She runs a hand up the back of your neck and playfully squeezes the knot of your hair that you’ve taken the time to elegantly pin.

It’s a ritual at this point.

You have the worst habits—smoking and drinking and slipping your curfew after everyone’s asleep—but you don’t go anywhere without a Princess Grace-like appearance. Because it doesn’t matter what you do as long as you’re not shitfaced on the front page the next morning. Even if you’ve snuck out at night to meet a boyfriend, when the cameras catch you on the streets you’re perfectly coiffed and sleekly styled.

Even now, you don’t look like you’re dressed for a high school party so much as a cocktail one, but Lisa tells you it makes you look more like Blair Waldorf than the homeschooler you’re always worried you emulate.

You push her hand out of your hair and check to make sure the pins haven’t come out. “Did you get me one of those?” You nod towards the cup in her hand and her eyes light up.

She nods towards the kitchen. “I got you, babe, come with me.”

You follow her, one hand reaching for her hip to steady her when she falls off one of her high heels, and then you’re in the kitchen and the noise of the party is muffled behind the heavy swinging door.

There’s one other person in the room with you, a tall, slender guy near the sink, shoulders hunched slightly as he gazes out the window. You’re still trailing after Lisa, but your eyes are taking in the long black hair that the guy has pulled back in a half pony, the slim-cut jacket with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, the ripped jeans that cinch at his small waist and hang loosely around his legs.

When the two of you enter, his head turns, and you see the sharpness of his jaw, the definition of his features. There’s a flutter in your chest when his dark eyes land on you, and you whip your head away, crowding yourself behind Lisa.

She’s crushing something with a spoon, dumping it in the cup she’s just poured for you. Then she spins on one heel—surprisingly stable as she does—and passes it to you. “Here.”

You stare at the powder floating on top, and then back at her. “What did you put in this?”

“Nothing heavy.” She assures you, and knocks back a couple of the tablets herself. “Just something to take the edge off. Go ahead.”

It doesn’t matter anyway.

You drink, sucking in the yeasty beer with fervor, trying your hardest not to taste it as it goes down. Before you can finish the cup, Lisa catches your arm and turns you towards the man at the window. She introduces you without giving you a chance to question her, and tells you his name is Hyunjin—the guy she wanted you to meet.

He turns to you fully, eyes tracing you head to toe. There’s a gentle smile on his full lips as he notices the blush that rushes to your face. “Nice to meet you,” He says kindly. “I think I’ve seen you on TV.”

As the words reach your ears, you feel yourself growing more guarded despite the opposite effects of the alcohol. You’re used to being recognized, you’re used to being used for your dad’s fame and fortune. You’ve been burned before, and you have no intention of using this time to be manipulated again.

So you pull yourself up into a respectful posture and prepare to treat him like the occasional politically-conscious “fan” who asks you to take a picture. It doesn’t happen often, but you do tend to be popular amongst the poli-sci students at the local college.

“He’s a senior.” Lisa says, and gives you a nudge towards him. “He’s going to study art.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, and you look over Hyunjin again. At second glance, he does look the type. He’s effortlessly fashionable, quiet, reserved—at least on first impression. You extend your hand politely. “Pleasure to meet you. Are you a practitioner or a history buff?”

At your strictly professional tone, Hyunjin laughs under his breath and steps in to take your hand, enveloping it in the warmth of his own. “A little of both, I suppose. I sketch and paint. Lisa tells me you’re quite the watercolorist?”

You blush a little at the recognition of your most intimate hobby. “I play around with it a little, but it’s just for fun.” When you notice he’s still grasping your palm, you gently pull your hand back.

Lisa grips your arm again, and leans in so close that you can smell the cologne of the last boy she had her hands on. “Why don’t you two hang out a little? You’re both the same about parties, so I figured you’d get along. Cool? I’m going to go find Mingyu.”

There’s nothing you can say to make her stay, even if you could think of the words to try. So you just watch her disappear, the noise of the party warbling strangely as the door swings back and forth behind her.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Your eyes snap back to Hyunjin. “What?”

“When I said I’d seen you on TV.”

“Oh.” You pull another long sip from your drink and wince. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re standing like you’re at a press conference.” His eyes are alive with mirth as he watches you subtly try to shuffle your posture, brows lowering.

You’re coming back to yourself, your body acclimatizing to the atmosphere and whatever it was that Lisa put in your drink, your nerves no longer responding to every little glance that Hyunjin gives you. So you just shrug a shoulder and search the kitchen for your drink of choice. “I’m not uncomfortable as long as you’re not interested in some kind of fifteen minutes of fame bullshit.”

There it is.

You drain your beer as Hyunjin chuckles behind you and rinse your cup of the vile liquid, instead filling it with about four ounces of whiskey from a glass cabinet.

Hyunjin watches your movements with an eyebrow cocked. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t meant to be a party favor.”

You nurse the drink slowly, settling into the comfort of the initial burn. “You gonna tell on me?”

He examines you again, shaking his head. “Not if you pour me one.”

You do, and then settle back against the counter. “Why come to a party if you’re going to hide in the kitchen?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Kinda surprised your dad lets you come to something like this.”

You used to be, too. Now you just huff. “As long as I’m not a scandalous headline tomorrow, he doesn’t care where I go or what I do. And I don’t usually hide in the kitchen.” It’s true, you don’t. There’s a handful of people out there that you like to talk to, a couple of them you even like to dance with if the occasion calls for it, but right now you’re not itching to leave where you’re at.

Hyunjin’s eyebrows raise as he looks at you, and he glances towards the door. “Then why—”

“Because I’m talking to you.” The confidence comes with the whiskey. The taste of it in the back of your throat distracts you from the blush you would ordinarily be fighting if you had said those words soberly to someone as attractive as Hyunjin, and right now you’re just enjoying the way his eyes crinkle and the sweet smile explodes across his face.

It’s cute.

He’s cute.

He shuffles his feet beneath him for a second, the air between you comfortable as he lets the effects of your statement fade. When the flustered state is mostly gone from his face, he glances up at you again, almost shyly. “You’re really pretty.” And then, feeling the weight of his own words as they drop off his tongue, his eyes widen and he hastens to soften their impact. “I like your earrings.”

But you just smile, watching the pink in his cheeks as he swallows a regrettably large gulp of whiskey.

“You’re really pretty, too.” You say, and his head snaps around to you.

For a long second, he just stares at you.

It’s not often that you find yourself talking to someone you want to open yourself up to, someone you like to see so flustered, but he’s so completely enchanting that you can’t take your eyes off him and you don’t want to stop saying things that make him look at you like that.

There are only so many things that you can enjoy in a life like yours, and you want to enjoy this.

Hyunjin pours you both another drink.

You’re grateful, especially because there’s a nagging part of you telling you to go outside and smoke a cigarette, so instead you bring your cup to your lips and sip. You move to reach for a bottle of lemon juice and it puts you right next to him, feeling the radiating warmth of his side as you mix your drink into a whiskey sour.

He doesn’t move away.

Out of the corner of your eyes you catch the faintest tremble of his hand, and a smirk curves your lips.

His eyes are on you as you pinch a sprinkle of sugar into the drink and then suck the granules off your thumb.

You turn slightly, so close that you don’t even have to reach to offer him your drink. “Want to try?”

His eyes flick from yours, to the drink, and back to your face. Hyunjin’s tongue appears to swipe across his lower lip, and then he nods, taking the cup from you.

You thoroughly enjoy the swirling in your stomach when his fingers brush yours.

He drinks from your cup, face scrunching slightly as he takes in the taste of it.

At the crumpling of his eyebrows, you frown, suddenly interrupted from the sense of control you feel. “You don’t like it?”

Hyunjin lowers the cup from his lips with a look of surprise, shaking his head. “I love it.” He holds it out to you. “Would you show me how you made it?”

It’s not a complicated drink, the whiskey sour.

You find yourself smirking again, and push the cup back towards him. “Keep it. I’ll make myself another one.” And you take his whiskey from him, turning to fix yourself another drink. When he just stands there, mentally processing how he somehow ended up trading drinks with you, you know you have him.

So when he edges closer, the heat of his body flooding into your skin, you’re not surprised. You keep your hands moving, your eyes on your drink, pretending you don’t notice the way he’s suddenly leaning into your side.

“You smell good,” He says lowly, and your heart does a flip.

But you play it off casually, focused on getting the lid off the lemon juice bottle. “You like it? I’m not so sure yet.”

It’s gotta be the oldest trick in the book, but he takes the opportunity like it’s a written permission slip and then his face is at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the whisper of his breath on your skin.

“I like it,” He murmurs.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him place his cup on the counter next to you, and then both of his hands settle on your arms. His touch is light, gentle, his thumbs smoothing questioning strokes against your sleeves, asking permission.

When you tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to him, it’s a yes.

His lips are on your shoulder then, his fingers wrapping firmly around your arms.

Your entire body heats up.

He’s leaning into you, trailing his mouth from your shoulder to your neck, then slowly up your throat until your head is edging back, leaning against his shoulder, giving him access. Hyunjin’s hand slides up one arm, cupping the curve of your neck as he litters wet kisses across your jaw, and his other hand reaches around to cover both of yours where you realize that at some point you abandoned your efforts to make a drink.

He turns you around and you let him, throwing your head back as his mouth leaves a glistening trail across your collarbones and up your throat, moving up to suck gently at the point of your jaw beneath your ear. “I really do like your earrings.” He whispers, and you feel him flick the dangling gemstone with his tongue.

You’re trembling under his hands, and you wish you could say it’s from his highly effective ministrations, but you know it’s not. You peel your eyes open, all but panting as his arm circles your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead drops against yours, and you watch his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

“Can we move this somewhere more private?” He whispers, and then he’s sucking at your jaw on the other side, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips.

You can’t help a laugh. “More private than the closed kitchen where it’s just us?”

“Please?” He whimpers against your throat.

You have absolutely no reason to protest. You’re nodding, aching, allowing him to push you towards the kitchen door, because this could be it. This could be your last. He’s every fantasy you’ve ever had, the absolute embodiment of beauty and seduction, and even one night with him could be everything.

What do you have to lose?

You stand to lose more by turning him down at this point.

So when his hands guide you through the living room, your ears barraged by music and laughter, your eyes assaulted by the flashes of too much skin and way too much pda, you just lean into his touch around your waist and let him find a room to duck into.

That’s how you find yourself pushed onto your back on someone’s bed, your heart in your ears as Hyunjin straddles you, his face returning to its spot against your throat, kissing his way towards your collar.

You feel his hands trail up your sides, his thumbs sweeping at the swell of your breasts, and for a second, you panic.

You’re not sure what he’ll think of you, how he’ll react to you when he finally gets his hands on you, but you can’t even worry about it for long because he’s nipping at your throat, his hands dragging your arms above your head.

Breathing in gasps, heart hammering as he laces the fingers of one hand through both of yours, trapping your hands above your head, you arch yourself into him as his free hand comes back towards his hip.

“You really are very pretty,” Hyunjin breathes into your ear, and then he presses a surprisingly chaste kiss to your cheek. “I just want you to know that.” Still holding your hands, he settles his weight back on your hips and pulls something out of his pocket.

You frown at him, chest heaving with breathlessness, confused. “What do you mean?”

Hyunjin brings his free hand back into view, now holding something cylindrical. Bringing the end of it to his mouth, prying off a plastic cap with his teeth, you can see the object as it catches the light.

A hypodermic needle, filled with something.

He spits the cap out of his mouth, eyebrows pinched in concentration. “Don’t move, angel, this doesn’t have to hurt.”

But you’re not moving, you’re just staring at the needle, trying desperately to make sense of the complete shift in atmosphere. You’re no longer trapped in a lovers’ embrace, you’re trapped. He has your hands immobilized, your lower body caught beneath his own, completely vulnerable.

He arches his body, reaching to slip the needle into a vein in your arm, and you understand.

You understand.

A deep sigh rushes out of your lungs.

You thought you’d have more time, but at this point, what does it matter?

Just before the needle pricks your flesh, Hyunjin seems to realize that you’re not fighting him at all. His eyes flick down to you, and he finds you blinking solemnly at his shoulder, not a single emotion on your face.

He pauses.

You close your eyes, suck in a deep breath, and let it out.

There’s no fear, no more surprise, no apprehension.

Just exhaustion; resignation.

It doesn’t matter. He leans in towards your arm again, angling the needle to prod your vein. You don’t even flinch as it pricks your skin, sliding into your flesh. His thumb hovers over the plunger, but doesn’t press.

He’s never had a mark just lay there.

They’ve never just…accepted it.

He glances at your face again. “Angel…do you know what’s happening right now?” You had only had a few drinks, and the flush of your face could be from the drugs or the drink or his lips on your throat, but surely you should be a little concerned by the sheer volume of what he’s about to push into your bloodstream.

“I know,” You respond flatly. “He shouldn’t have bothered, honestly, but it’s not like he knew.”

Hyunjin’s brain stutters with confusion. “He?”

“My father,” You say, and your eyes meet his. “He wasted his money, hiring you to kill me.”

Huh.

That’s not at all how he expected this to go.

“I guess he’s paying Lisa, too, since she started with the pills.” It stings, knowing your best friend would accept cash to kill you, but you also know that your father wouldn’t have offered an insignificant sum.

Whatever he’s paying Lisa will set her up for life.

“So they’ll find me, tonight or tomorrow, just another stupid teenager who tried to have too much fun, and the two of you are just the dumb high school friends to corroborate that it was just an accident. Right?”

You don’t cry, you don’t fight, you don’t yell.

He stares at you, shocked. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“You don’t seem apprehensive about killing a girl for money.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens. “It’s my job.”

“So you don’t go to this high school, then.” You mutter sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t go to any high school.” Then he catches your gaze again. “But it really is my job. It’s not like it’s personal.”

You take a second, absorbing the reality of what’s happening to you. It’s over.

It’s over.

This is it.

Forget three months.

It’s over now.

You weren’t prepared for this timeframe, but you are prepared. You have coped.

It’s not a new idea.

So you just nod. “Okay.”

It’s like he starts to lean to finish the job, and then pulls himself back. “Why did you say he shouldn’t have bothered?”

You laugh then, a loud, inelegant burst of laughter, almost directly into his chest.

He’s startled, eyes wide, leaning back on your hips to stare down at you. “Angel, I’m literally about to kill you, why the hell are you laughing? There’s no way you’re that drunk.”

And you’re not.

The sheer adrenaline of his lips on your skin burned through that alcohol what seems like hours ago, and now you’re just sinking into oblivion, still laughing.

Finally, tears of irony in your eyes, you wheeze up at him. “Go ahead and finish it, Hyunjin, or whoever you are. It doesn’t make a difference anyway. I’m alright. Finish it.” You nod upwards, towards the direction of your joined hands, and wish that the scent of his skin wasn’t still making your head swim.

It’s really not the time to be attracted to the assassin whom your father hired to murder you.

But he’s stuck, indecisive.

Because you’re laying underneath him, sniffling past a rush of humor—of all things—completely unconcerned and telling him that you’re alright with him killing you. That you’re alright with him subjecting you to a drug overdose that’s going to be painful and terrifying and the end of your life.

At this point, you seem to be more alright with it than he is.

And then you’re smiling at him. “Thanks for being nice about it.”

His heart lurches. “What the hell.” He yanks the needle out of your skin, releases your hands, and sits back on your hips again, eyes wide and unbelieving. “I mean—what the hell? What is wrong with you?”

You roll your eyes. “He must not be paying you much if you’re willing to back out just because I’m pitiful.”

Which isn’t true, he’s supposed to be paid quite a lot for this job, but he just can’t comprehend how you’re reacting.

“Why shouldn’t he have bothered?”

You’re no longer trapped except for the way he’s straddling your hips, so now you’re just laying against an uncomfortable pair of pillows, feeling the pins of your updo poking into your neck. If he’s supposed to kill you, why won’t he just do it? You search his eyes, finding only confusion and concern.

Sighing, you reach for his hand—the empty one that used to be holding both of yours against the headboard.

Oh, how you expected a very different outcome from this situation.

He flinches as he suddenly finds you bringing his hand towards your chest, jerking it back when you lay his palm over your breast.

It’s almost comical the way his face heats up.

Clearly, his earlier show of attraction towards you had been aided by a hurriedly consumed volume of alcohol and a professionally put-on flustered attitude, but now, when you made him touch you, he seems genuinely awkward.

And, for your side of things, you were going to let him feel you up anyway, so what’s the difference now?

You quirk an eyebrow. “I’m not asking you for anything, just give me your hand.”

He doesn’t protest when you catch his hand again, his cheeks flushed pink, until you drag his fingers across the slope of your breast and they trip over a lump of flesh that’s hard as a rock. The flustered color drains from his face, and then he’s frowning, leaning in, moving of his own accord to swipe his fingers over the place once more, as though he wasn’t sure he felt it the first time.

You let him.

When he pulls his hand back into his lap and stares at you, you just smile. “Did you know, in the early days of breast cancer surgery, a woman went in to have a lump removed, and when she came out of anesthesia, she was missing an entire breast, some ribs, and like half of the muscle wall of her chest? And the fuckass doctors were like “we got it!” Like, you don’t burn down the house in order to kill a spider and then say, “Don’t worry, we got it!””

Hyunjin blinks at you, mentally parsing your unexpected rambling. “They’ve, uh…come a long way in terms of cancer surgeries, I think.”

A puff of breath escapes your lips, another sardonic laugh. “It’s too late for that. It’s in my bones, my lymphatic, everywhere. I got to it too late.” You roll your eyes and press a palm to your forehead. “So, yeah, he shouldn’t have bothered. Three months and I would have been out of his hair for free.”

A few seconds pass as you process the words you haven’t yet admitted out loud to anyone, as he processes what you’re telling him.

He’s trying to kill a girl who’s already dying.

No wonder she didn’t care.

“So, how much is he paying you?” You question lightly, eyes searching for the syringe. You assume he’ll finish the job—everybody has to pay the rent, and it’s not like you’ve got your life ahead of you anyway.

Hyunjin scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Three million.”

You outright scoff at that, shocking him once again. “He’s ripping you off, dude. Did he tell you why he hired you?”

“I don’t ask. I am a professional, you know.” He brings his hand to his chest like he’s offended, and allows the slightest smile to twist his lips when you roll your eyes again.

You wedge your hands under you. “Can I sit up? I need to smoke and you’re killing my back.” You wiggle your hips and try to scoot yourself back. As he lifts his own hips off of you, you raise an eyebrow. “Not that I mind.”

At that, he flushes again.

Laughing softly, you pull yourself up to sit against the headboard, dragging your knees to your chest, and watch as he sits himself in front of you, cross-legged. For the time that it takes you to slide a cigarette from your purse and light it between your lips, he’s silent, watching you.

The syringe is at his side, laying between the wrinkles in the blanket, forgotten.

“My trust fund defaults back to him if I die before I hit eighteen.” You inform him. “And it’s 25 million dollars.”

His mouth falls open. “Why the hell is your trust fund so much money?”

“When my mom was dying, my father promised her he would help her allot her estate into a trust fund for me, plus a hefty sum from his own assets as a romantic gesture. For all his faults, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved her.” You scoff, sucking in a comforting drag of smoke. You’re careful to blow it away from him, to knock your ashes into the ring tray on the bedside table instead of allowing them to fall into the carpet. “But that was fifteen years ago, and I guess he forgot that he loved her once.”

“So he wants your trust fund.” Hyunjin says, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm. “Because he forgot he loves you too?”

Your lips pinch. “I’m just a reminder of when he used to be a better man.”

Silence ticks between you, and the smell of your cigarette permeates the air. You can’t care enough to apologize to him for your filthy habit, because if it’s the last cigarette you’re ever going to have, you might as well enjoy it.

But he doesn’t seem put off by it, instead wrapping his hands around your ankles and pulling your feet into the criss-cross of his legs so he can scoot closer to you, resting his hands on your thighs.

You’re surprised, but not displeased with the gentle embrace of your legs.

“I don’t want to kill you, angel,” He says, and rests his chin on your knees.

It’s too much, the doe-eyed boy staring at you through the dim light, holding you close to him and running his hands up and down your thighs, fingers sweeping low enough to run across your hips.

You can’t look at him.

Turning your eyes away, you knock the ash off the end of your cigarette and laugh. “That’s so kind, thanks.” You drop the rest of the butt into the tray and brush your hands together. “Alright. I’m ready. Let’s get you paid.” You scoop up the syringe and hold it out to him, eyes wide and inviting.

He takes it from you, but he doesn’t take your arm again.

In the quiet of his indecision, you can’t help yourself. Your fingers find the soft swoop of his hair falling over his forehead, letting a few strands slide through your fingers before you pull yourself together and extend your arm to him. “Do it, Hyunjin.” You say softly, ignoring the way your movements made him look at you. “If you don’t do it, he’ll hire someone else. His campaign isn’t doing well, he’s facing asset forfeiture—he needs the money. If you don’t kill me, someone else will.”

Hyunjin’s hand finds yours, his fingertips smoothing up the underside of your forearm towards that vein that he found earlier. A drop of blood has gathered where he pricked you, the trail where it dripped dry and crusted.

You’re not scared, you’re not worried.

You’re a little relieved, actually, that you don’t have to pretend anymore. Because you’ve known for months that your time is running out. You’ve known for months that no one would care even if you told them.

The pounding of the music outside the door fills the space, reminding you that you were supposed to come in here to have the night of your life, and now, instead, the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen is going to inject poison into your bloodstream and leave you to die on a stranger’s bed.

That does dishearten you a little bit.

He presses his thumb against the vein. His eyes flick up to yours. “When is your birthday?”

You cock your head curiously, wondering. “Next month.”

Hyunjin lets the vein go and sets the syringe down near his hip. “I’ll make you a deal.” He takes your other hand, too, peering into your face with sincerity. “If I keep you alive until your birthday, we split the trust fund, 70-30. Then at least you don’t let your dad win, and maybe you can see if there’s some super expensive doctor who can help you. Or something. What do you think?”

You blink. “You’re going to trade being an assassin for being a bodyguard just for eight million dollars?”

He smirks, a flash of teeth in the dark. “Seven and a half, actually. And it’s a better gig than killing a dying seventeen-year-old just so her asshole father can take her trust fund. So, what do you say?”

You’re almost a hundred percent sure there’s no doctor or surgeon in the world who can fix your cancer at this point. All the ones you’ve spoken to so far won’t even recommend radiation or chemo, because there’s no point. They keep saying things like “quality of life” and “keep you comfortable,” not, “if only you had more money.”

But it’s interesting, this deal he’s put forward.

Die tonight or spend a month with a gorgeous young assassin?

Is it even a choice?

“We split it 50-50.” You say. “All I want to do with my half is give it to cancer research.”

He’s surprised again, his mind now struggling to grasp an influx of almost thirteen million dollars, and he nods slowly. “Okay. So we have a deal?”

He’s already holding your hands, so you can’t exactly shake on it, but you nod with a shrug. “Deal.”

You’ve never seen a smile as sweet as the one he gives you after that. “Good. Get your coat, angel—you’re coming home with me.”

Eyebrows skyrocketing, you follow his movements as he bounds off the bed and scoops up your purse. “So you’re going to kidnap me instead of murdering me?”

He holds out a hand and waits for you to take it. “Are you arguing?”

You let him haul you off the bed and find yourself laughing as his arm circles your waist and he hurries you out of the room. “Not in the slightest.”

Comment a request to be tagged! Han's is next :)

PART 2 INFO

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[urfavleo777]

Warnings: SMUT18+, high sex, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, strong language.

A successful concert was the perfect reason to plonk down on the couch and smoke a joint. That was the first thing Joost did when he opened the door to his living room, holding you continuously in his arms. He gently placed you on the soft cushions, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he settled beside you, taking a slow drag from the joint between his fingers. The first tendrils of smoke curled between you, filling the air with a musky, herbal scent.

“I can feel you lookin at me, y’know,” you giggled with eyes closed, a sweet moan escaped your lips as he sat you on his lap, not shying away from the physical contact.

“Can you blame me?” He asked softly, his breath warm on your skin as his lips ghosted over your shoulder. “I was up there on stage, and all I could think about was you.” He took another deep inhale, the smoke settling in his lungs before he exhaled it slowly, the plume of grey fog swirling and dancing around you. “God, I needed that,” he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he slouched back against the couch. His head turned to face you, his gaze lazily roaming over your body. “You wanna try?” he offered, his hand finding its way to your thigh, gently stroking it.

You nodded, your eyes tracking the way his lips wrapped around the joint, taking another slow draw. Joost held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, and then leaned towards you, his lips hovering close to yours. “Open.”

You opened your mouth slightly, curiosity mixing with a hint of nervousness as his head dipped lower. Joost exhaled slowly, and you felt the warm, spicy smoke fill your mouth as his lips pressed against yours in a soft, languid kiss. He pulled away slowly, eyes watching as you exhaled the smoke in a thin, curling stream, your heartbeat picking up speed in your chest. You hadn't mentioned it to him before, but it was the first time you had been exposed to any kind of stimulants, although it was rather obvious from your sour face, which you were clumsily trying to hide. Joost couldn't help but chuckle at the contorted expression, his hand gently tilting your chin up so that you looked at him. “You’re cute when you’re stoned,” he teased, his finger tracing the contour of your face. “Your eyes get all lazy and heavy-lidded.”

You stumbled slightly, the room spinning a bit as the weed took effect. Joost steadied you with a firm grip on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin slightly. “Careful,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “Don’t want you falling off my lap just yet.”

“It's just... getting very hot here.” You managed to mumble, rubbing against his crotch. Joost let out a soft gasp, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He turned to place the joint on the coffee table, needing two free hands to take care of you properly. Your actions had caught him off guard, and his hand tightened on your thigh, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Jesus, you're not wasting any time,” he muttered, his gaze darkening as he looked down at you. He moved suddenly, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you onto his lap so that you were straddling him. His hands slid up your sides slowly, his palms splaying against your bare skin as he pushed your shirt up, exposing your midriff. “Much better,” he murmured, his eyes sweeping over your bare torso appreciatively. “I like having you like this, on my lap. You look good on me, you know that?”

“I want you,” you moaned, moving your mouth to his ear. “I want you so bad it's driving me crazy.” A low groan escaped Joost's lips as your words hit his ears, his fingers flexing against your hips. As you moved again on his lap, you felt a bulge forming beneath you, giving you goosebumps.

“Undo my belt, schatje,” you were a little surprised by the harshness in his voice, but the use of the dutch pet name sent a shiver down your spine, making your heart flutter in your chest. You reached up, your fingers trembling slightly as you fumbled with the buckle of his belt. When you finally undid it, Joost's hand captured your wrist, holding it firmly. “Just keep them there,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding.

You swallowed hard, your heart beating faster in your chest as you nodded. Joost's gaze held yours for a moment, his eyes flickering with a combination of desire and something darker, more intense.

Then, he let go of your wrist, his hands moving to his jeans.

He quickly unbuttoned them, the sound loud in the silence of the room. The zip was undone next, and then he pushed them down, kicking them off. Your eyes dropped to his lap instinctively, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning. Joost chuckled softly, noticing the direction of your gaze. “See something you like?” he teased, voice low and velvety.

At this point you couldn't wait any longer. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself on the floor, kneeling in front of him. He looked down at you, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

Joost was a different person when he was under the influence; he was more calm, but the way he fucked you made you think you did something wrong to him.

“Go ahead.” He encouraged, “I hope you’re better at this than you are at smoking a joint.”

Otherwise, this comment would make you feel offended, but not then. You nodded obediently, taking him into your mouth eagerly. He moaned when he felt your tongue swirling circles over his tip and his eyes flutter closed. Meanwhile, he took one last drag on the joint, tilting his head back. “That’s it, pretty girl.”

Your pace quickened, sucking and stroking him with a new hunger, pulling off of him to spit on his tip before taking him back into your mouth. Joost's hands tangled themselves in your hair, pulling softly on the strands as he lost himself in the rhythm. You wanted to take your time with him at first, but Joost was not a patient man; he grabbed your head and held it into place before he began to fuck your mouth. “Fuck, look a’ you. Takin’ me so fuckin well.” He continued to praise you as your mouth worked him up, moaning into the darkness of his living room. The more you heard his pretty voice and his sincere compliments, the more you wanted to please him.

Joost studied your face for a moment, a mixture of amusement and desire in his eyes. “Such a good-fucking-girl. Fuck, baby, I'm so close.”

His hips stuttered and his thighs shook slightly on either side of you, waves of pleasure rolling through his body and he finally released thick, white strands of cum onto your tongue. Joost swore he was on fire and was melting beneath you.

You coughed a bit, regaining a bit of composure before Joost grabbed a handful of your hair and brought you into a kiss.

The kiss was hungry, almost desperate, as if he was drinking you in, devouring you. He gently tugged on your hair, sitting you back on his lap. His tongue teased against your lips, silently demanding entrance, and he groaned softly as you granted it, his hand tightening in your hair. He pulled you against him, impossibly close, his body a firm press of warm, hard muscle and coiled tension. “My baby, you have no idea how much I couldn’t wait to get off that stage,” he murmured against your skin, his soothing tone almost making you cry. “I wanted you in my arms, where you belong.”

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Green

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: Jackson believes in a green future, which includes marijuana. You like to get high. Tonight, Joel joins you and you get to treat him like he treats you. Chapter Warnings: Smut, marijuana use, soft dom reader, sub Joel, m receiving oral, unprotected p in v, riding Joel's thick thigh, you bite Joel's stomach (because it has to be done), Joel watching himself masturbate in your mirror, Joel drinks water out of your hands. Words: 5,100 A/N: Happy 4/20! I wanted to give you another entry akin to Golden Walkway, a little peek into the future of my Elks babies. Please note, this can be absolutely read without knowing any of the story.

Playlist

Times never change instead of hiding your illicit use from your parents, now you hide it from a teenager. Joel and you always lock yourselves away in your home so you can get high... just in case Ellie needs something. Can’t be a bad influence.

You pull the box of papers and weed out of the drawer before sitting down on your couch.

“So you never really smoked much?” you ask, leaning over your coffee table preparing to build your joint.

“Mm, never really was my thing, too risky if I got caught growing up in Texas during the 'Just Say No' years. Had football eligibility to worry about ‘n then Sarah came, just never was the time for me.”

He leans back into your armchair, brown eyes intently watching your actions. You begin to crumble weed up and place it on your rolling paper. 

“Makes sense, it’s good for me when my nerves really get to me,” you begin to roll your joint, “helps kinda soften the harsh lines of reality a lot. Makes my body and my mind a little freer.”

You lick your cigarette closed and admire your handiwork, welcoming the anticipation of being with Joel while stoned. 

The match sizzles as you strike it against the box and spark your joint, rotating it in your mouth to light it up. Joel chuckles as you inhale the first hit. 

“What’s so funny?” you ask in a cloud of exhaled smoke.

“Nothin'. Maybe I should get high, s'making me hard just watching you do this.”

“Oh yeah?” you sit back against the soft couch cushions, joint dangling from your lips. 

“Yeah, maybe I should start, never was one for smoking though.”

“Mm, I can help, I can just blow the smoke into your mouth if you want to try it." Your heart begins racing at the prospect of Joel taking you up on the offer.

“Sounds good sweetheart." He pats his lap. “Now, come sit with me, have nowhere to be tomorrow.”

You stand and grab the ashtray, resting the joint between your lips. Your bare feet pad across the plush carpet of the area rug as you walk over to Joel. 

“Hi,” you smile out with a small puff of smoke. 

“You look so cute like this, little cigarette sticking out of your mouth, eyes all cloudy and happy. Love it when my girl is happy.”

You giggle at his compliment as you lift your leg up to rest on the chair, your foot tightly fitting within what little room is left on the seat between Joel’s thick thighs. His mouth rests slightly agape when he looks up at you, his usual furrowed brow a lot less creased, more relaxed.

“I am happy,” you answer as his hands begin to massage your calf. “You look a lot less grumpier than you normally look. That makes me happy.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yep,” you say before inhaling another hit. 

“Why don’t you make me happier and sit on my lap, that’d make me really happy darlin’.”

A plume of smoke blows out of your lungs as you place yourself on Joel’s lap, knees bent against his thighs and the armrests. The denim covered shape of his half hard cock rests against your cotton shorts. Your tits underneath your faded and holey t-shirt are right at Joel’s eye level. 

“S’nice,” he whispers staring forward at your chest. 

“My eyes are up here Joel,” you chuckle at your own joke, taking another hit.

“I’d tell you to knock it off, but your whole body’s shaking against me ’n your tits are bouncing in my face,” Joel grins leaning forward and kissing a breast through your shirt. 

Fuck, now that feels amazing. 

You reach the joint out to him. “Hold this.”

He takes it between his fingers, eyes concentrating on you taking your shirt off. So much for relaxed Joel. He holds up the joint, still in his hands, to your lips.

“Take a hit baby,” his voice gravels out, his cock hardening underneath, “‘n lemme have some.”

You inhale and move your mouth to his, forming a tight seal between the two of you. Joel welcomes the smoke and sucks in as you blow out. 

You grab the joint from him and take another pull as he exhales, a white cloud of smoke floating above the two of you. Your body feels so much lighter, your brain less complicated. 

“Can I have that back?” he asks. “Want to do the same you did for me.”

You hand him the joint, smiling a silent agreement.

He brings it up to his mouth, holding it between his thumb and pointer, the joint disappears between his large fingers save for the glowing orange embers that light as he takes a hit. He looks so fucking tempting, his cheeks slightly puffing out filling with smoke. Everything Joel Miller does is hot, but the way he drags on a joint, pillowy lips wrapping around the white paper, broad shoulders rising when he breathes in, this might just be the hottest you’ve ever seen him. When will you ever get tired of looking at this man?

You bring your lips to his and he exhales into your mouth. Oh, this is the best way to get high. You pull away, releasing the smoke from your lungs.

“‘Bout shot, don’t you think?” he raises the joint and looks at it.

“It’s shot."

He stubs the joint put in the ash tray. A luxurious comfortable groan leaves his lips when he looks at you, eyes heavier than usual, a little red and glazed. You’ve seen his eyes glazed over with lust numerous times, this glaze is a little lighter, a little happier. You scoot farther up his lap and move a finger up to pet the smoothness of the little heart patch in his beard. 

“How are you feeling?” you ask as Joel’s hands trace up and down your back. 

“Good, real good,” a deep exhale out of his lips answers. 

“Relaxed?” You ask, your finger moving to brush back and forth across his lips. 

“Mm.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this free before. A light smile underneath half shut eyes staring back at you, his whole face more relaxed. He looks good this way, you love when he’s happy and relaxed, you’ve never met anybody more deserving.

“Feels good,” Joel says as you rub your finger across his soft lower lip. A deep breath leaves his half parted lips, the air blowing against your finger. “Real good.”

“Good,” your hand moves to trace around his top lip, the hair of his mustache bristles against your finger. “I like making you feel good.” 

You feel the the lines around his lips rise when he smiles. “You’re so good at it baby.”

“Yeah? What do you like the most?”

“Mm, s'hard to pick. Love the way your eyes always blink as you cum for me, can always tells how good you’re feelin’ by how big your eyes get right before. Love the little gasp you always make when I start fuckin’ you. Love that you grab for my hands at any chance you get, like you need to touch me as much as you can. Love that you always need me.” The last sentence comes out the softest.

“I do need you,” you confess, “all the time.”

“I know baby,” he hugs you against his chest, “I need you too… so much.” 

“But, I do also need you for sex stuff, you know?"

Joel’s chuckle vibrates against you. “My girl’s funny, real funny.”  

“But really, what do you need tonight Joel?” You pull away from his chest and look him in the eyes. You love it when he compliments you, you love it when he calls you his girl. You love that he needs you just as much as you need him. 

“I need you to tell me what you want from me tonight.  Make me yours. Talk to me like I talk t’ya.” Joel’s eyes staring into yours as they widen with his admission. “I’m yours baby.”

A bit of trepidation lands in your brain. Joel’s always the one to depend on to chart the stars of your intimacy. He’s so good at predicting what you want, you let him navigate. The thoughts are silenced once you feel his hands move along your hips and thighs. You can tell he wants you to do this for him. You want Joel to experience what you feel after he’s done with you. You want him to believe in you like you believe in him. You sit up higher on him, feeling braver and bolder. Ready to bless him for his confession. 

“Okay. I’m going to get up, walk to the kitchen to get something to drink, and when I come back, I want you to stand in front of my mirrored wall over there. Keep your clothes on.”

You’re shocked by the confidence in your voice. Joel as well, his hands pause their movement as you speak. He stares at you, his mouth slightly open in surprise. 

You rise up off of Joel, folding your arms across your naked chest. “Understand?”

“Y-y-yes,” Joel stutters. 

“Good,” you wink and turn towards the kitchen, your confident steps leaving a bewildered Joel in your chair. You’ve never acted like this, your brain swirling with ideas of what you want to do, what you want to say, how you want to make him feel. 

You grab two glasses out of your cupboard and fill them with water. Your mouth is parched, you’re sure Joel’s is too. You walk back to your living room, your courage building with each step closer. You know you’re ready when you see Joel standing as instructed in front of your mirror. 

“Hi handsome,” you walk to stand behind him, still topless and only in your shorts, his eyes moving from looking at his own reflection to your chest. You wouldn’t expect less from him, you love how he looks at you.

“Hi,” Joel whispers. You think he’s a little nervous, a little excited, he probably feels exactly how you feel. 

“I’m going to watch you watch yourself get undressed. I want you to listen to me and follow my directions, okay?”

“Yes,” his simple answer resolutely spoken as you put the waters down and turn the lamp on besides you, the light bathing both of you in a smoldering golden hue. You want to fully be able to watch Joel do what you have planned for him.

“Good, I don’t want to hear much from you, okay? I’m the one talking.” 

You like this feeling, you especially like the serious nod Joel gives you through the mirror. 

“Take your shirt off.”

You watch Joel’s hands move to the hem of his t-shirt and lift it over his head. 

“Give it to me,” you step forward and extend a hand out. 

The soft gray fabric is still warm with Joel’s body heat as it hits your hand. You bring it to your nose and inhale his scent. “You smell so good all the time. I love the scent of you.” You take one last sniff before putting his shirt on, his smell now encompassing you.

“Wh—“ 

“Quiet,” you interrupt Joel’s protest, “I don’t want to hear anything out of you, I want to smell like you and wear your shirt while I make you feel good.” 

He looks a little annoyed, you like that. 

“Look at your chest. It’s perfect. I love how your shoulders are so wide and so strong. I love how your arms are muscular and yet they’re so soft when I rest my head against them. I love how soft your stomach has gotten meaning you’re well fed and healthy. You like the praise baby?”

Joel nods as his eyes darken hearing you call him one of the pet names he always calls you.

“Unbutton and unzip your pants, but don’t take them off.” Your pussy getting wetter at the thought of the sights that you’re about to see, all directed by you. All broadcast on your mirror. 

Joel nods, as he unbuttons his jeans, his fingers move to his zipper and pulls it down. You love that he never wears underwear when he comes over. You love how you can see the trail of hair from his belly button down to his bush. He’s the perfect amount of hairy. He’s the perfect amount of manly. He’s just fucking perfect.

“Good. You’re thirsty right?” He nods. You lean over to the table and pick up a glass of water. “Drink all of this. Want to watch your neck move as you swallow it down.” 

Joel takes the glass and brings it to his lips, his eye contact not breaking with yours through the reflection. He takes a large gulp brows wrinkling with seriousness for the task at hand, no matter how significant or insignificant it is. It’s so Joel.

“I love watching you drink. I love how small the mug looks in your hand when you drink your coffee in the morning. I love how you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand after downing a whole glass of water when you’re hot. I love how gently form your lips around a glass of whiskey.” You finish your praise as he empties the glass, taking it from him and placing it on the table. 

“Good. Feel better?” 

He nods.

“Take your pants off,” you think of what Joel would say in this moment. “Lemme see all of you.” 

He smirks as he starts to move his jeans down his hips, he knows you’re going to love this part. His cock springs out as it’s freed, fully erect and throbbing, you knew you’d get him good and hard with your attitude. He bends over to shuck his jeans fully off, kicking them to the side, and when he stands up, shoulders back, dick hard and ready to follow your instructions, you almost fall to your knees. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot, baby,” you breathe out. His smirk still remains, he knows what he does to you. 

Your eyes roam his body, he’s so large and so thick, his body screams protector. He’s your protector. He provides for you. You love that you get to love him and make him feel this way. 

“I’m thirsty, why don’t you hand me my glass?” You love how seriously he follows your commands, like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. You love how powerful it makes you feel to see Joel readily do your every request. 

Joel turns towards the table and picks up the glass, handing it to you. 

“Thank you.” 

Another nod. 

You quickly drink the water down, save for the last quarter of it. “You’re still thirsty, aren’t you?”

This time it’s not just one slow nod from Joel, it’s three quick nods. He’s thirsty.

“Then come stand here in front of me.” 

You’ve enjoyed watching him from a couple of feet back, standing far enough to be able to see all of him in the mirror. Now that he’s right in front of you though, this is how you like him the most. Right beside you. 

You empty the rest of the water into your mouth, your cheeks swelling out with the amount you’re holding. You bring your palms up to your mouth and cup them together. Joel begins to breathe heavily as he watches you spit the water into your makeshift hand bowl.

“Now, drink it up,” you order.

He moves so fast, so eager to please. Joel’s head quickly craning down as his brown eyes look up at you. Your heart begins to race as his tongue comes out of his mouth and begins to lap up the water out of your hand. “I love how you’re looking up at me, you look at me the same way when you eat me out.” 

Joel grunts as he leans further forward and starts to suck the water up from your hand, never breaking eye contact. The groove of his dimple getting deeper as his cheeks hollow and he sucks up all of the water.

Now you wear Joel’s cocky smirk just like his shirt. You get to know him like he knows you, you get to play with his body like he plays with yours.

“Very good.” You move your hands to wrap around his erection, the slickness of the water allowing you to easily stroke him. A gruff breath leaves Joel’s mouth, the air landing against your face. You only leave your hands on him for a couple pumps, just enough until he begins to arch his back. His eyes widen as you remove your hands, a small “mmf” is let out of his pursed lips.

“I know, I know, I know you want more. You’ll get it soon. You’re being real well behaved for me, aren’t you?” 

Another nod. Joel still hasn’t spoken a word, you miss his voice but you also like to watch him challenge himself to stay quiet. 

“Face the mirror again Joel.”

He likes it when you say his name, he’s told you so many times how he likes to hear your voice say his name. 

“Touch yourself for me Joel.” 

His heavy eyes slowly shut as he bites his bottom lip with a moan, he liked that… a lot. He opens his eyes and with a look of determination, he spits in his hand before moving it down and gripping his shaft as he looks at you for his next command. 

“Stroke yourself for me.” 

He begins to slowly pump himself, savoring and watching himself in the reflection. His gaze anchoring in on pleasuring himself.

You wonder when the last time he did this was.

“When’s the last time you made yourself cum?” His movements falter as he looks up at you and takes in your question. “Go ahead, you can talk, tell me.” 

“That last night you were painting f’me,” a half smile shows up on his face as he begins to stroke again. 

Now you’re the one who only nods, your words lost at his confession. “Go on,” you muster up. You need to hear more. 

“Went to bed that night, ’n all I could see was your pretty eyes lookin’ up at me, how you looked in those overalls, I felt like I could still feel your lips on mine.” His strokes getting quicker, his hand pausing as he twists his hand around his tip. “Was so hard for you, had to take care of things before I could fall asleep.” 

Your whole body shivers, his words making your pussy begin to drip out onto your shorts. The look of his face as he recalls his memories. Those words added to all of his others that prove to you again that you have Joel’s heart, mind and body. He is yours. 

“God. Th—that’s good,” you breathe out, your eyes widening when you watch him bite his lip as he squeezes his cock. He has you flustered, and he knows, his mouth grinning into the signature cocky smirk he gets whenever you get like this. As if his sense of self blooms whenever he makes your heart race. 

You can’t allow him this pleasure over you, you’re the one in control tonight. You remind yourself that this is what Joel wants. You steel yourself and stand a little taller. 

“Stop,” you bark out. 

He obeys, mouth slacking open in shock at your raised voice. His hand unwrapping from around himself. 

“Good job, I think you were getting a little too comfortable, weren’t you?” 

Joel just stares at you, seems he forgot to nod. 

“I can’t let you have the power tonight, can I? Acknowledge me Joel.”

“N—no,” an actual stutter from Joel Miller’s mouth. Not a grunt, not a short one word answer, an actual nervous stutter. 

“That’s right. Now, I think you’ve had too much fun putting on a show for me. Go sit in the middle of the couch.” 

He nods, his broad frame passes by you, he doesn’t even take the time to look at you. 

You follow behind and wait until he takes a seat. You love seeing Joel on your couch, in your bed, using one of your bowls to eat oatmeal out of. You love seeing him in your space, all comfortable and domestic, but seeing him now naked on your couch, his hard cock sitting straight up, his large hands sitting atop his strong thighs, shoulders taking up most of the backrest of his seat, sitting ready to listen to your commands.  This is how you really like to see him. He’s fucking gorgeous. 

“So, you had your fun with your body, I want to have my fun with your body,” you stand over him. Now your body gets to loom over his. 

You bring the collar of Joel’s shirt up to your nose, inhale deeply and moan. “Have I told you before how much I love how your smell? Sometimes I’ll be wearing one of your shirts to bed I’ll smell your scent on it and it’ll make me wet while I’m trying to go to sleep.” The sound from Joel’s mouth makes you bolder. “One night, I might just knock on your door, in only your shirt and my jacket, make you help me take care of what smelling you does to me. Would you like that?” 

Joel shudders and furiously nods.

“Ohh, had a feeling you would,” you chuckle as you remove his shirt off of you. “I’m going to do something I've been wanting to do, okay?”

A nod, a groan, and a sigh now. The more reactions you get at once, the more you know how good you’re doing. 

You pull down your shorts, and kick them aside. His fingers grip into his thighs, his forearms straining at the sight of you. He’s going through it. 

“Can you see me glisten for you baby?” You ask as you lift your foot onto the couch cushion and snake your hand down in between your legs. “See how wet I got watching you touch yourself for me?” You take a finger and run it across your folds gathering your wetness. You hold it up for Joel, his eyes glued to your finger. “Open your mouth.” 

He listens. You slide your finger into his mouth, his lips forming around it, a low moan vibrating against it. 

“Put your hands on the couch, you can’t touch me, you can only watch. Okay?” 

Joel obeys. He still sucks your finger as you straddle his thigh. His skin radiates heat against you once you place your wet pussy on it. You’ve wanted to do this since you saw his bare legs for the first time, his thighs are so muscular and yet so supple, much like the rest of his features. Joel groans as you begin to ride his thigh, rubbing yourself back and forth against his skin. 

“You like how wet my pussy feels on your thigh?” You pull your finger out of his mouth. “Answer me Joel. Want to hear your voice.”

“Yes.”

“What do you like?” 

“Your wet pussy on my th— I like your wet pussy on my thigh,” his low cadence and the pressure against your aching cunt pushing you close to your orgasm.

“I’m going to make myself cum on your thigh, okay? I’m so close.” You begin to grind your hips down on his his thigh, putting the perfect amount of friction against your clit. 

Your hands splay against Joel’s chest, feeling his breaths and his moans rumble against your palms.

“I’m gonna cum on your thigh Joel.” You grab and pull on his chest hair as your climax reaches you, cresting over and spilling onto Joel’s thigh as you grind against it. Joel’s eyes boring into you looking forlorn and tortured that he can’t touch you as you cum on him. 

You rest your head against his shoulder as you catch your breath. You need to recover quickly, you’re ready to ride him. 

Joel grumbles as you stand back up. 

“Would you look at that? Look down baby, look how wet I got your thigh.” You place your hands on his thighs, a hand resting in the puddle of your slick left on his skin. You lean forward as he looks down and nibble the bare skin of his heart patch before licking your way down his neck and chest. “Should probably clean that up, huh?” You ask as your rest your lips against the plush of his belly before gently biting it. 

He groans as you move your mouth down, bypassing his hard cock to the side. You stick your tongue out and lick a long stripe up his thigh tasting yourself as you clean his skin. His breathing turns more labored as he watches you lick yourself up.

“Mm, wonder how I’d taste licking my cum off your cock?” You ask, nuzzling your head into his crotch, his hard cock throbbing against your cheek.

His hips jut as you turn your head and kiss the shaft of him. 

“You’re going to cum fast for me, aren’t you?” You leave a kiss on his shaft higher than your last one.

“I love how hard you always cum for me,” another kiss moving your way up his hardness. 

“I love the way you fuck my mouth while you cum down my throat,” another kiss.

“I love the way my name sounds as you chant it when I make your legs shake,” another kiss right under his tip.

“I love how your cum tastes as I lick it from my lips,” another kiss on his tip, tasting the precum collected on it. 

“Fuck,” he finally utters, not being able to hold back as you lick along the trail of where you just kissed him.

“Shhhh,” you silence against the soft skin of his firmness. “I think it’s about time for me to fuck you, before you get any more ideas about talking.”

Another deep exhale from him, his nose flaring in frustration. You fucking love this. 

“Put your hands on the top of your head, and don’t you dare lower them. Don’t touch me, okay?”

Joel nods raising his hands as you plant yourself back on the couch, straddling his legs. His eyes follow your body, his brows a bit more furrowed now. 

You hover your pussy over his cock, leaving enough space between the two of you that if he really wanted, he could raise his hips and stick his cock in, but he doesn’t. He wants to do good for you. 

“Open your mouth,” you angle your head forward, your lips right in front of his. Joel’s mouth opens, his heavy breathing hitting you in the face, as you lick into his mouth.

You swirl your hips over his cock slowly lowering yourself on him, you’re so soaked for him he easily slides into you. 

A long sigh escapes the back of his throat as you begin to ride him. You pull back from his mouth and rest your hands against his chest. His hands still sit on top of his head, you glance up and see how he’s grabbing at his hair in exasperation. 

He watches as you move your hands from his chest to yours, cupping your breasts and playing with your nipples. 

“Like watching me touch my tits like the way you do? Like how I pinch and pull my nipples like you?”

High pitched moans and groans of frustration leave his mouth. Joel Miller is whimpering. 

“Shhhh, shhh, I know baby. Now quiet. Want to hear my wet pussy ride you, stay quiet,” you say grabbing his jaw and pushing his mouth shut. 

You begin fucking him harder, the sound of your wet cunt bouncing on him and his whimpers the only sounds in the room. You lean forward and rest your head in the juncture between his head and shoulder. You slam yourself up and down on him, the rapidness of your movements matching the rapidness of your heart as you bring yourself close to your orgasm.

Your back straightens as you place your hands on his biceps, staring in his big brown eyes as your body snaps, your pussy clutching his cock as you cum around Joel. He bites his bottom lip fighting his orgasm for as long as he can. His biceps straining against your grasp as you feel his body begin to quake. 

“Clooooose,” he husks. You slip out of him, moving quickly on shaky legs through the aftershocks of your orgasm kneeling down in front of him. His hands are still in his hair as he looks down at you, watching you seal your mouth over him. You bob your head up and down on him as he cums down your throat. 

You swallow all of him down as he chants your name. His hands lower, resting against the hollows of your cheeks as you still keep his softening cock in your mouth.

You stare up at him, his hair left awry and twisted from his hands, eyes wide and still blown out as he blinks down at you, his chest rising and falling still catching his breath. He looks at you, like you’re the only thing in this world. You are the center of his universe. 

[avonnimimi]

❀·°∗✧🌸✧∗°·❀

Blazed Affection

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a/n: This concept was requested, but i’ll keep her anonymous;) Hope you like it <3 If you guys are uncomfortable with non-con please let me know, I wanna make sure everyone enjoys:) Also i don’t think i’m good a writing soft dom stuff LMAO MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: non-con, smoking weed, fingering (r!receiving), talking you through it, softdom!ellie, subby!reader, intox. Lmk if i missed anything!

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Ellie leaned against the porch railing, a thick blunt nestled between her lips, her gaze fixed on the night sky. Bathed in moonlight, she possessed a captivating allure. You watched, mesmerized, as she inhaled deeply, a blush creeping up your neck as you observed the way her lips enveloped the blunt. She glanced at you as she exhaled a plume of smoke.

"Can I try that?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, eyes full of curiosity. Ellie had always been firm about keeping her drug use separate from you.

"No," she stated flatly. Your face fell, a pout forming on your lips. You yearned for just one taste, one experience.

"But you do it all the time," you murmured, your lip trembling slightly.

"It's not exactly good for you, lily-bug," Ellie replied, her gaze softening as she took in your expression. Your pleading eyes and full lips, so close to hers, made it difficult to refuse.

"Please," you whispered, your voice laced with longing. Ellie sighed, then took your hand and led you to the small chair beside the porch steps. She sat and gently pulled you onto her lap.

A blush warmed your cheeks as you settled into her embrace, your face inches from hers. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

Ellie explained that this would be a one-time thing, just to satisfy your curiosity. But you couldn't touch the blunt; she didn't want your pretty hands smelling of weed.

Taking a long drag, Ellie inhaled deeply. "Open," she instructed. You parted your lips obediently. She leaned closer, and for a moment, you thought she might kiss you. Instead, she exhaled the smoke into your mouth.

The urge to cough was overwhelming, but you suppressed it. "Suck it in," Ellie said. You obeyed, but the burning sensation in your throat forced a cough. Ellie grinned. "That's what some good old state-side does to you, pretty girl." You frowned.

"How come you don't cough?" you asked.

"Because I've been smoking for a while now," she replied. Despite the stinging in your throat, you craved another try, and Ellie seemed to know it.

With each drag, Ellie blew the smoke into your mouth, patiently teaching you how to inhale properly. You watched, giggling, as she blew smoke rings that dissipated in the air between you.

Soon, a wave of drowsiness washed over you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and a desire to lie down consumed you. "I'm tired," you mumbled against Ellie. She pulled you closer, kissing your forehead. "No, baby, you're just high," she chuckled softly.

You ignored her, trying to comprehend the strange sensations coursing through your body. Your head felt heavy, but a warmth bloomed between your thighs, an ache building within you.

Hearing your soft whimper, Ellie understood. She shifted you so your back rested against her chest, her knees parting your legs. She lifted your oversized t-shirt.

Ellie shifted you so your back rested against her chest, her knees parting your legs. She lifted your oversized t-shirt, her warm breath ghosting over your skin.

"Ellie..." you whimpered, your head lolling against her shoulder, too intoxicated to fully grasp what was happening. Yet, a sense of security enveloped you; you were safe in Ellie's care.

"I know, baby, I know," she murmured, kissing your temple. "I'm gonna take care of you, don't worry," she whispered, her voice a low rumble against your ear. She pulled your panties aside, the cool night air a stark contrast against your heated core. The sensation sent a shiver through you, a moan escaping your lips.

You felt Ellie's hand slide down your stomach, her fingers tracing the curve of your hip before dipping lower, settling between your folds. A soft curse escaped her lips as she registered your wetness.

"Oh, fuck... guess this pussy likes weed," she muttered to herself, her voice thick with desire. Two fingers slipped inside you, a slick sound echoing in the quiet night. The feeling was intense, heightened by the haze of the high.

Ellie curled her fingers, exploring your depths, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Too high to process the sensations fully, you simply reveled in the pleasure. "You like this, hm?" she asked, her voice a low murmur against your ear. You tried to nod, but your head only lolled to the side.

"Gonna make this pretty pussy cum," she murmured, kissing your forehead. You smiled lazily, a warmth spreading through your lower belly. "You wanna cum?" Ellie asked, and you whimpered in response, the word lost somewhere between a plea and a sigh.

"Sound so good, princess." Her fingers moved faster within you, a rhythmic pulse that sent waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"No matter how many times I finger this cunt, she always stays so tight," you heard her mumble, a soft giggle escaping her lips. She hit a spot deep inside you, and a cry tore from your throat, your back arching, hips bucking against her hand.

"E-Ellie!" you gasped, convinced you'd climaxed, but the tension remained, coiled tight within you. Every sensation felt amplified, the world reduced to the feeling of her fingers inside you.

"Just relax, I got you... I know everything feels different right now," she reassured, her voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. You grasped her hand, the one relentlessly pleasuring you, hiccuping between breaths as tears welled in your eyes.

The wet sounds grew louder, slick and rhythmic, as she continued her ministrations. Ellie brought her other hand around, her thumb brushing against your clit, sending sparks of electricity through your body. Your thighs trembled, whimpers spilling from your lips, each one a testament to the pleasure consuming you.

"Keep your legs open for me, baby," she commanded, her tone sending shivers down your spine. The slight pressure of her knees against your inner thighs was almost unbearable, adding another layer to the swirling vortex of sensation.

"I-c-can't," you stammered, your muscles clenching involuntarily.

"Yes, you can," she murmured, her fingers thrusting deeper, stretching you, filling you. You could almost feel her inside your stomach, a strange and impossible sensation that sent your head spinning. Your eyes rolled back, your body teetering on the edge.

The pressure built, intensifying with each stroke of her fingers, each flick of her thumb against your swollen clit. And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, you came undone, waves of pleasure washing over you, your body convulsing around her hand. You cried out Ellie's name, the sound muffled against her shoulder.

"Mhm, yeah, just like that, baby. Good girl," she whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction. She continued to stroke your clit, sending aftershocks through your still-trembling body. Your hips jerked in response, each spasm a lingering echo of the intense orgasm. Exhaustion finally claimed you, and you drifted off to sleep in her lap, the lingering warmth of her touch a comforting presence against your skin.

—————————————————————————

this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

[elexaria]

Simon Riley who had been on a lookout for a particular peer of his after high school, sweet little girl who normally did all of the schoolwork for him. Even behind the teachers back. Even when their handwritings never, ever matched up; but the teachers only let her off because, at the very least, he was passing with an A.

Sweet, somewhat nerdy!Reader who actually felt bad for a guy, in general just a person, going through such a rough time when in reality school would only fuck up people into being robots for the government and absolutely do no help for the post puberty and traumatized Teenager!Simon. She tries to have sweets on her for whenever he pops in, also tries her hardest to be nice to the other Riley. Sweet young lady Reader who somehow becomes well known around their high school after winning a last minute game in volleyball, followed by basketball, tennis, track, and soccer. Medals and whatnot. Even earned a goddamn picture in the Coach’s office — the female coach, the male one who seemed to be more like a father to sweet Reader.

Sweet!Reader who is suddenly gone. Desk of hers absolutely empty. No pens, no pink notebooks mixed with pastels. Not her signature backpack in sight. No scent of hers, no constant chirping, no glances that arrived at Simon once she caught glimpse of him in the hallways right before first period. Third period feels… loud. Ironic since there’s a pin-drop silence, even breathing. He normally has the rest of the periods with her from then out, until seventh period. He could recite her entire schedule.

Simon can’t help fidgeting, biting his tongue from asking where she is. Not to be nosy, not to be teased, outwardly and fucking pushed into the lockers teased. Perhaps she was coincidentally absent?

Years pass on, evidently screaming she was, in fact, gone. Even on missions, Simon can’t help but glance everywhere. He’s more fucked up, a bitter version, working exactly for the monarchy (almost forgot he’s British, for God’s sakes) and saving his people.

And just one day, one day that everything seemed normal for Johnny and the rest of Simon’s boys, he catches a goddamn glimpse of her. Her face, specifically. Rushing around, apron around her waist and down her thighs. Appropriate attire of a waitress serving a man with a comically huge cigarette and in a suit whilst speaking to another duplicate of his.

His grip on his whiskey tightens.

(Andddddd you continue!!!)

-🍓

ohoho, strawb anon you genius >:)

simon feels his chest tighten up, his grip on his drink tightening as he glances at the mom and pop diner across the street. no… could it..?

before he can indulge himself with another thought, gaz nudges simon gently. “you alright there lt?” he asks sincerely, an eyebrow raised as he tries to figure out what simon was glancing at. he just grunts in response, relaxing his shoulders as he downs the last remaining drops of whiskey. “thought i saw someone. ‘scuse me—“ he murmurs in response, standing up from the pub booth as he saunters past gaz and up and leaves. when one of the lads asks where he’s going, simon grumbles out a ‘goin for a fag’ while lifting up a ciggie and his lighter.

simon leans against the alley wall that faces the diner, deep in thought as he exhales plumes of smoke while glaring right at the restaurant. come on, he thinks to himself, show yourself. he begins to wonder if he was just seeing things, like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert or something. wishful thinking, he muses to himself.

and just when he pushes himself up from off the wall, his lips drawn into a thin line in disappointment— he spots her.

she’s absolutely beautiful, breathtaking even. the faint crows feet around his eyes crease as his gaze softens. it’s funny how time has treated them both. one of the only friends he had considered himself to have during school has found herself working as a waitress, cute pinafore hugging her curves in all the right places— while he’s just a bigger, meatier version of the boy he once was. he’s just a husk of a man now. war’ll do that to a bloke.

he fidgets nervously with the zipper of his windbreaker, chewing the inside of his lip as he contemplates popping over to say hello. would that be weird? hell, would she even remember him anymore? his feet are itching to move, but he’s cemented right there— forced to stare at the diner, and the siren within that seemingly tempts him.

with a groan, simon pulls out his phone to text the group chat— “gonna head off, see you back on base” before shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. and with a clear of his throat, he steadily paces across the road to the mom and pop diner. simon feels sick with anticipation, a feeling he’s never really felt before in his life. even when he had found the bodies of his family, even through the torture— he’d never felt quite a strange amalgamation of emotions before. and that really freaked him out.

the diner’s door bell rings, the dulcet tones of doo wop music playing in the restaurant greeting simon when he steps inside. he waits patiently in the small foyer, calloused fingers reaching out to smooth over the creased laminate menu on display. and his heart damn near falls out of his ass when the waitress greets him with a friendly smile.

“hi there! welcome to pop’s EZ diner! my name is ____ and i’ll be your waitress today!” you greet enthusiastically, beaming up at the stranger stood in front of you, awkwardly glaring right into your soul with hauntingly beautiful stormy blue eyes. it was kind of creepy, but weirdly endearing. you just wrote it off, assuming he was socially awkward— after all, he clears his throat and struggles to find the words to say for almost a minute before finally opening his mouth.

“uh… hello. you don’t—“ simon pauses, clearing his throat again as his hands continue to fidget with the menu, his gaze nervously flitting from the menu back to you. “you don’t happen to recognise me, do ya? simon? simon riley? from st matthews?” he says, the timber of his voice itching the back of your brain in a pleasing way. st matthews? how did he know where you went to school?

you shake your head politely, nervously tucking your notepad and pen back into your pinafore pocket. “oh, um. sorry, i don’t—“ you reply, offering him a sympathetic smile. the man, simon, turns bright pink— again, nervously clearing his throat as he nods, lowering his head as he turns on his heels to head back out the diner. “oh, sorry. nevermind.” he murmurs, raising his hand politely to you before his hand reaches for the door handle.

and then it clicks.

oh. my. god.

it’s been YEARS since you had thought about simon riley, and suddenly your mind was being overwhelmed with all these memories of helping a teenage simon out in school. your eyes widen, a hand reaching out to gently grip on his windbreaker sleeve. he freezes, half glaring and half shocked as he turns to face you. but the expression on simon’s face eases when he realises that he was right, it was you.

“simon riley? oh my god—“ you gasp out, eyes wide as you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, one that sends a shiver down simon’s spine.

what an interesting reunion this would turn out to be..

[atlasthegreatest]

Crossing Lines / Ning Yizhou x Gender Neutral! Reader

In the dead of night, Y/n Nakamura—a highly skilled secret agent—is on a mission to retrieve classified intel from a covert facility. Everything is going smoothly until they realize they’re not the only ones after the prize. Ning Yizhou, a spy from a rival agency, is already inside, her own objective mirroring theirs. Old tension crackled between them. Their history is complicated—former allies on one mission, enemies on the next, always walking a fine line between rivalry and something more dangerous.

Word count: 4611

Warnings: Secret Agent Au. Gun violence. Blood.

A/n: This one was requested by an anon. The gender wasn't specified so, the gender is neutral. Enjoy it!

The city hummed with neon lights and the distant murmur of passing cars, but for Y/n Nakamura, the world had narrowed to the soft click of their gun’s safety being flicked off. They crouched in the shadows of a rooftop, watching the target building below—a high-rise filled with criminals who thought they were untouchable. The secret agent had been tracking them for weeks, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And yet, despite their precision, their instincts screamed that something was off.

Then they saw her.

Ning Yizhou.

She moved like a shadow, slipping past the security with effortless grace. Her figure was clad in sleek tactical gear, and even from a distance, they could see the sharp gleam of her knife tucked against her thigh. Y/n should have expected this. If they were on this mission, it only made sense that she was too. Different agency. Same target.

Same unresolved history.

Y/n’s fingers tightened around the trigger of their gun before they exhaled sharply and lowered it. A confrontation here would be reckless, and they knew better than to let emotions interfere. But Ning had always been a complication.

Y/n hadn’t seen her in months. The last time had been in Prague, in a hotel room still thick with adrenaline and regret. They had fought side by side, as they always did when their agencies’ interests aligned. But something had changed that night—words had been spoken in the heat of the moment, truths they weren’t ready to face. And then, just like always, they had parted ways.

Now, here she was again, a ghost from the past.

As the woman reached the rooftop, she stilled. Her body language told Y/n everything—they weren’t the only ones who had noticed the other’s presence. Slowly, she turned her head, and even under the dim city lights, her eyes found theirs.

A slow smirk curled her lips. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Y/n stepped out of the shadows, keeping their stance neutral, but Ning knew them too well to be fooled. Her smirk didn’t fade, but there was something else in her gaze—something sharp, cautious.

“Should have figured they’d send you,” they muttered.

The Chinese woman tilted her head. “Same to you.”

There was a beat of silence, charged with everything unspoken between them. They could pretend this was just another mission, another unfortunate run-in. But they both knew better.

“Are we doing this the hard way?” she asked, fingers brushing against her knife. “Or are we pretending to play nice?”

Y/n’s jaw tightened. “That depends. Are you going to get in my way?”

Ning’s smile didn’t waver, but they saw the flicker of something in her eyes. “Depends,” she echoed. “Are you still afraid of what happens when we’re on the same side?”

Y/n’s breath hitched for half a second—so brief that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Ning Yizhou wasn’t most people.

Before they could answer, a distant explosion rumbled through the city, and both secret agents snapped into action. Instinct took over, years of training overriding whatever emotions still lingered between them.

For now, the mission came first.

But later?

Later, Y/n wasn’t sure they could keep running from her.

———————-

The explosion rattled the rooftop beneath their feet, sending a plume of fire and smoke into the night sky. A second later, the alarms from the high-rise blared to life, filling the air with sharp, piercing urgency.

Y/n moved without thinking. Instinct kicked in—secure higher ground, assess the situation, and find an exit. But before they could act, Ning grabbed their wrist, her grip firm but not forceful.

“That wasn’t us,” she said, eyes scanning the chaos below.

Y/n knew what she meant. Neither of them had placed charges. Which meant someone else had. Someone who didn’t want either of them to complete their mission.

“Backup?” Y/n asked, though they already knew the answer.

The woman gave a dry laugh. “If I had backup, you’d be tied to a chair by now.”

That was probably true. Her agency didn’t take chances, and if they knew Y/n was there, they wouldn’t hesitate to remove them from the equation. But if her team wasn’t behind the explosion, and theirs wasn’t either, then—

“Third party,” they muttered, glancing at the burning floors below. “Someone’s trying to erase evidence.”

Ning let go of their wrist, but the ghost of her touch lingered longer than it should have. Y/n ignored it. They had to.

Instead, Y/n focused on the mission. The explosion had compromised the building, but if there were survivors inside—witnesses, assets, loose ends—they needed to move fast.

Ning seemed to come to the same conclusion. Without a word, she pulled a grappling hook from her belt and fired it at the nearest intact floor. The cable latched on with a solid thunk, and she glanced back at them.

“You coming or not?”

Y/n hesitated. Working with her was never the problem. It was everything else—the moments between the mission, the way she looked at them like she could see past the mask they wore, the history that refused to die.

But the fire below roared louder, and hesitation wasn’t an option.

Y/n grabbed onto her harness just as the woman kicked off the ledge, sending both of them swinging down into the shattered window of the high-rise.

Glass crunched beneath their boots as Y/n landed, rolling into a defensive stance. The heat from the explosion was intense, the air thick with smoke and dust. Y/n could hear distant voices—frantic, desperate. Survivors.

Ning pulled her mask over her mouth. “I’ll take the east wing. You go west.”

A simple plan. A temporary truce.

But as Y/n watched her disappear into the flames, they couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another mission.

It was the beginning of something they weren’t ready to face.

———————-

The building groaned under the weight of fire and destruction, steel beams bending as the flames licked higher. Every breath tasted of smoke and ash, but Y/n pushed forward, scanning the wreckage for any sign of survivors.

Their earpiece crackled. “Found one,” Ning’s voice came through, slightly muffled but still sharp. “Female, mid-thirties, unconscious. What about you?”

Y/n glanced around, stepping over debris. A soft cough caught their attention.

“Got a live one,” they replied, kneeling beside a young man pinned under a collapsed beam. His face was streaked with soot, his breaths shallow. “Hang in there,” they muttered, reaching for the emergency lift device strapped to their belt.

The building shuddered again, and from the east wing, Y/n heard a sharp curse over the comms. Then gunfire.

“Yizhou?” Y/n secured the injured man with one arm, the other hand flying to their earpiece.

No response.

Damn it.

Y/n activated the lift, sending the survivor up toward the rooftop where extraction teams—theirs, hers, someone’s—would pick them up. Then they drew their gun and sprinted toward the sound of the shots.

Smoke clouded the corridors, but Y/n moved fast, weaving through the broken remains of what had once been an opulent office floor. They found her near a collapsed stairwell, crouched behind a desk, exchanging fire with two masked operatives.

“Friends of yours?” Y/n called out, firing a shot that sent one of them scrambling for cover.

The Chinese didn’t look away from her target. “No. But they’re trying to kill me, so I’m guessing they’re not yours either.”

Y/n cursed under their breath. A third party was here. Someone who wanted everyone dead—witnesses, agents, all of them.

Y/n moved without thinking, covering Ning as she reloaded. It was seamless, like old times—before everything between them had gotten so complicated.

“You trust me?” The woman asked suddenly, still focused on the enemy.

It was a dangerous question. And it came at the worst possible time.

But they answered anyway.

“Always.”

The woman nodded once. “Then cover me.”

Without hesitation, Y/n unleashed a volley of bullets, forcing the enemy back. Ning took the opening, darting forward with inhuman speed. Her knife flashed in the dim light, and in seconds, the fight was over.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, broken only by the distant roar of flames.

Y/n exhaled, lowering their gun. “Next time, warn me before you pull something like that.”

Ning turned to them, lips quirking up in a smirk, but her eyes were unreadable. “What, you worried about me?”

Y/n didn’t answer. Because they were worried. Always had been.

And that was the problem.

Before either of them could say another word, their earpiece crackled again. This time, it wasn’t Ning’s voice—it was Y/n’s handler.

“Abort the mission. Now. New intel—this was a trap.”

Y/n stomach dropped. A trap? For who?

Then, almost as if in response, a sniper shot rang out from the rooftop across the street.

Neither of the agents hesitated. Y/n tackled Ning just as the bullet grazed where she had been standing, the two of them crashing hard onto the floor.

For a second, there was nothing but the sound of Y/n’s heart pounding. Their body was half-draped over the Chinese woman, their hands braced on either side of her head.

Her breath was uneven, her gaze locked onto theirs. And in that moment, with a fire burning around them and an unknown enemy closing in, the mission didn’t matter anymore.

Only she did.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

————————

Y/n didn’t move. And neither did Ning.

For a second—just one—the world narrowed to the space between them. The heat of the fire, the distant gunfire, the chaos outside—it all blurred. All that was left was Ning Yizhou beneath them, her dark eyes searching theirs, her lips parted slightly as if she was about to say something.

Then she shoved them off.

“Sniper,” she reminded them, her voice sharp but not unkind. “We need to move.”

Y/n rolled onto their feet, scanning the rooftops through the smoke. Whoever had taken that shot wasn’t just sending a warning. They were hunting.

Ning pressed a finger to her earpiece. “Command, I need an evac now. The building’s compromised, and we have an unknown hostile.”

Y/n’s own earpiece buzzed to life.

“Stand down,” their handler ordered. “Do not extract with her.”

Y/n’s stomach tightened. Of course. Their agency had always been cautious about field agents getting too involved with outsiders—even when those outsiders were as skilled as Ning Yizhou.

Y/n heard the unspoken warning in their handler’s tone. She is not one of us. Do not trust her.

But that was the thing. Y/n did trust her. Maybe more than they should.

Y/n turned to the woman, whose own expression had gone unreadable. “Let me guess,” she said, her voice light but laced with something darker. “Your bosses don’t want us working together.”

“Not exactly,” they admitted.

The Chinese woman smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Figures. Guess that means we should split up before—”

Another bullet whizzed past, forcing both of them to dive for cover. A second later, a grappling hook latched onto the ledge above. The sniper wasn’t working alone. They were coming in fast.

No more time to argue.

Y/n grabbed Ning’s wrist. “Forget the orders. We get out together.”

For a brief moment, Ning hesitated. It was unlike her—she was always decisive, always one step ahead. But then, just as quickly, her fingers tightened around Y/n’s.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if we die, I’m haunting you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Y/n shot back.

The woman rolled her eyes but didn’t let go.

Together, they ran.

————————-

The extraction was a disaster.

They made it to the emergency stairwell just as another explosion rocked the building. The fire was spreading too fast, cutting off their original escape route. Their agencies had both sent separate evac teams, but they were too deep inside to reach either without a fight.

And then there was the sniper.

Whoever they were, they weren’t just a hired gun. They were a professional—like them. Someone who knew how they moved, how they thought. Every exit they considered, they had already anticipated.

Y/n and Ning barely avoided the next shot as they burst onto an open balcony.

“Any brilliant ideas?” The woman panted.

Y/n scanned the skyline. Just across from them, on the neighboring rooftop, a transport drone hovered, likely meant for one of the survivors they had sent up earlier. It wasn’t ideal, but—

“I see that look,” Ning said warily.

Y/n grabbed her hand again. “Jump.”

She blinked. “Excuse me—”

But Y/n was already moving, pulling her toward the ledge. The sniper fired again, the bullet hitting the railing just as the two of them leaped.

For a terrifying moment, the city spun beneath them—lights, fire, smoke, all blurring together. Then Y/n’s hands found the edge of the drone, fingers gripping tight as it jerked under the sudden weight.

Ning landed beside them, cursing under her breath.

“You are insane,” she hissed.

“You’re welcome,” they shot back.

The Chinese huffed, but a small smirk tugged at her lips. “Fine. But next time? I get to be the reckless one.”

Y/n didn’t argue. Because deep down, they knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

And that was what scared them the most.

The drone wobbled under the weight of both of them, hovering precariously over the burning city. It wasn’t built for passengers—especially not two field agents in full gear—but they had no other options. The moment they hesitated, they’d be dead.

As the wind howled past, Ning reached into her belt and pulled out a small device, pressing it against the drone’s control panel.

“Tell me that’s not an override,” Y/n said.

She grinned. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”

Y/n sighed, gripping the drone’s side. “Your agency is going to love this.”

“They’ll get over it.”

The drone jolted forward suddenly, responding to Ning’s override, and shot toward the outskirts of the city, away from the burning building and the sniper’s line of sight.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The city lights stretched beneath them, the chaos of the mission left behind—for now. Y/n took the opportunity to glance at Ning. She was leaning back slightly, head tilted toward the sky, but her grip on the drone was tight. She looked calm, but they knew her too well.

“Your arm,” Y/n said, nodding toward where blood seeped through her sleeve.

The woman followed their gaze, then let out a soft tsk. “Ah. Guess they got a lucky shot.”

Y/n frowned. “How bad?”

Ning shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Just grazed. I’ll live.”

That didn’t mean Y/n liked it.

The woman must have caught the way their expression darkened because she smirked, nudging them lightly with her elbow. “What, worried about me?”

Y/n didn’t answer immediately. Instead, they reached into their gear, pulling out a small bandage. “Hold still,” they muttered.

Ning blinked but let them take her arm, watching quietly as Y/n wrapped the wound with quick, practiced movements.

“You know,” she murmured after a moment, “this is the part where you remind me we’re still technically on opposite sides.”

Y/n finished tying off the bandage, meeting her gaze. “Are we?”

The words hung between them, heavier than they should have been.

They were on opposite sides—different agencies, different agendas. They’d spent years running into each other on missions, sometimes working together, sometimes against. But somehow, they always found themselves here. Caught in the in-between.

Ning’s lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something. But then—

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

The drone’s warning system blared, and before either of them could react, the engine sputtered. The override had worked too well—the drone was failing.

“Hold on!” Ning yelled.

The machine lurched, tilting violently. Y/n barely had time to grab the woman before the drone gave out completely, plummeting toward the rooftop below.

The last thing they heard was the rush of wind—

And then impact.

————————-

Pain. That was the first thing they registered.

It wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to remind them that they’d just fallen from the sky.

Y/n groaned, pushing themselves up on shaky arms. They had landed hard against a rooftop, their body protesting as they moved. But the first thing they did wasn’t check their injuries.

It was looking for the Yizhou woman.

She was a few feet away, lying on her back, staring up at the sky. For a terrifying second, Y/n thought she wasn’t breathing—

Then she let out a short, breathless laugh.

“That,” she panted, “was the worst landing ever.”

Relief flooded through them, though they masked it with a groan as they sat up. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Ning turned her head toward them, still lying flat on her back. “You good?”

Y/n rolled their shoulder, wincing slightly. “Been worse.”

Ning propped herself up on one elbow, glancing at them. “You always say that.”

Y/n met her gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

Before they could respond, their earpiece crackled to life.

“Agent, report.”

Their handler. Y/n hesitated, then pressed a hand to their comm. “I’m alive.”

There was a pause. Then—“And the other operative?”

Y/n’s eyes flickered to Ning. She was watching them closely, waiting for their answer.

They exhaled. “Gone.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

Their handler sighed as if expecting that answer. “Understood. Get back to base for debriefing. We’ll discuss next steps.”

The line went dead.

Y/n looked at the woman. “Your agency?”

Ning tapped her earpiece. “Radio silence. Pretty sure they’re pissed.”

“So what now?”

The woman smirked. “You tell me. You’re the one who insisted we stick together.”

Y/n shook their head. “I said we get out together. That doesn’t mean—”

The Yizhou woman took a step closer, cutting off their words with a knowing glance. “Doesn’t mean what?”

Y/n swallowed. They were too close—too aware of the way her gaze lingered, the way their heart was still racing from the fall, from the mission, from her.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

They were supposed to leave. To let this be another mission, another moment where they parted ways and pretended none of it mattered.

But Y/n was running out of excuses.

And from the way Ning was looking at them now, she knew it too.

—————————

The city stretched below, humming with life despite the chaos you had just escaped. But up here, on this abandoned rooftop, it felt like Y/n Nakamura and Ning Yizhou were the only two people left in the world.

She hadn’t moved. Neither had them.

Too close. Too quiet.

Y/n needed to say something—to break whatever this was before it became something they couldn’t walk away from.

“I should go,” they said, voice steadier than they expected.

Ning raised an eyebrow. “Should,” she repeated, tilting her head slightly. “But you won’t.”

Y/n exhaled slowly. “Yizhou—”

“I’ll make it easy for you.” She took a step back, giving them space. “Go. Walk away.”

It was a challenge. One Y/n should have taken.

But they didn’t move.

The woman let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “See? You never do.”

She wasn’t wrong. No matter how many times Y/n told themselves this—she—was a complication they couldn’t afford, they never left when they should have.

Just like now.

Ning’s smirk softened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. “What are we doing?” she asked, quieter this time.

Y/n didn’t have an answer.

Because if they were being honest, this wasn’t just about tonight. It wasn’t just about this mission or the countless ones before it where they had crossed paths.

It was about all the times they had almost let themselves get too close. The stolen moments between assignments, the split-second decisions where they had chosen her over the job.

The way Ning looked at them now—like she was waiting for them to admit what they both already knew.

Y/n’s hands clenched at their sides. “This isn’t a good idea.”

The Chinese woman hummed, considering. “Probably not.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, in a move so quick Y/n barely had time to react, she reached into their jacket and pulled out their phone.

“Ning!” Y/n grabbed for it, but the woman danced out of reach, smirking as she typed something.

A second later, their device buzzed.

The Yizhou tossed it back to them. “My number. In case you decide to stop lying to yourself.”

Y/n stared at the screen, her name flashing back at them.

When they looked up, she was already walking toward the edge of the rooftop. A moment later, she activated her own grappling hook, preparing to disappear into the night.

“You should stop making me your problem,” Y/n called after her, though there was no heat in their voice.

The woman turned slightly, silhouetted against the city lights.

“Too late for that,” she said.

Then she was gone.

And Y/n was left standing there, phone in hand, knowing damn well they weren’t going to delete her number.

Because no matter how many times they told themselves this wasn’t supposed to happen—

It already had.

Bonus Chapter:

Days passed. Then weeks.

Y/n told themselves they wouldn’t use the number.

The secret agent had gone on with business as usual—missions, debriefings, pretending like nothing had changed. Their agency never brought up the last mission again, though they could tell they weren’t happy about it. Not because of the sniper, or the botched extraction—no. It was because they had let her slip away.

They didn’t trust her. And they didn’t trust them around her.

And maybe they were right.

Because despite everything, they were standing outside a dimly lit bar in a city halfway across the world, their thumb hovering over a single message on their phone.

Are you in town?

It was a bad idea. The worst idea.

But they hit send anyway.

————————

The bar was quiet, tucked away from the main streets, the kind of place only people in their line of work knew about. Dim lights, hushed conversations, an air of unspoken agreements.

Y/n had just ordered a drink when they felt it—a shift in the air, a presence sliding into the seat next to them.

“You must be desperate,” Ning murmured, her voice smooth as ever. “Breaking all your little rules just to see me.”

Y/n didn’t turn immediately, taking a sip from their glass instead. “You came.”

The woman let out a soft chuckle. “Of course I did.”

Now they turned. And there she was, Ning Yizhou, bathed in the low glow of neon lights, watching them with that familiar mix of amusement and something deeper—something more dangerous.

“You’re reckless,” they muttered.

Ning smirked. “And you’re predictable.”

She reached for Y/n’s drink, stealing a sip before setting it back down. “So,” she continued, “what is it this time? Another mission? A warning? Or did you just miss me?”

Y/n hesitated. They could have lied. They probably should have.

But instead, they sighed. “I don’t know.”

The woman’s expression flickered, just for a second.

Then she leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down Y/n’s spine. “You do.”

And she was right.

Because here they were, after everything, sitting beside her in a bar like old habits weren’t impossible to break. Like they hadn’t spent the past few weeks telling themselves this was a mistake.

And the Yizhou woman—she knew it, too.

She tilted her head. “Tell me one thing.”

Y/n swallowed. “What?”

Her gaze held theirs, unwavering. “What happens if I kiss you right now?”

Y/n’s breath caught.

It wasn’t the first time she had teased them, pushed them just enough to see if they’d finally break. But this time—

This time, Y/n wasn’t sure if they wanted to hold back.

Because they were tired. Of fighting this. Of pretending it didn’t mean anything.

So when they spoke, their voice was quieter than before.

“You’ll make things worse.”

The Chinese woman’s lips curved. “Good.”

And before they could stop themselves, before they could think of the consequences—

They kissed her first.

The moment their lips met hers, everything they had been holding back, everything they’d been telling themselves—don’t cross that line—shattered.

There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just a sudden rush of heat, of need that they both couldn’t deny.

For a second, everything was quiet. The world outside the bar, the city, the chaos of your respective lives—all of it faded into the background.

Ning’s hands found their shoulders, pulling them closer. Y/n didn’t fight it. The kiss was urgent, more intense than they had ever imagined, a dangerous spark igniting between them both.

The Yizhou woman pulled away first, just enough to breathe. Her lips were slightly swollen, her eyes darkened with something that matched the wild beat of Y/n’s heart.

“Bad idea,” she murmured, but her voice was filled with a challenge, not regret.

Y/n laughed, low and hoarse. “Tell me about it.”

The woman smirked, her thumb brushing across their jawline. “You think we can stop at just one kiss?”

Y/n’s breath hitched at her words. Was that what this was? Just one kiss? Was it enough?

No. Not even close.

Y/n leaned in again, this time slower, letting the anticipation stretch between them. The world around them didn’t matter anymore. Only her.

When they finally pulled away, Y/n didn’t know how much time had passed. All they knew was that their body ached with wanting more, and Ning Yizhou was just as caught in it as they were.

“This is dangerous,” they said, their voice thick with the weight of what had just happened.

“Nothing’s ever safe when we’re involved.” Ning’s words were quiet but firm, her expression unreadable as she stared at them. “We’re both spies. We live in danger every day. So, what’s a kiss or two? Maybe more?”

The air between them shifted, charged with the tension of something that was no longer just a mission.

Y/n didn’t know what to say to that. They were already too far gone. There was no going back now.

The woman was right, though. This was dangerous. They were already tangled in something they couldn’t walk away from. And yet, Y/n couldn’t bring themselves to regret it.

“Why are you doing this?” they asked, their voice barely above a whisper. “We’re enemies. Different agencies. Different priorities.”

“Because you want this,” the Yizhou woman replied, her gaze locking onto Y/n’s, so intense that it sent a shiver down their spine. “Because no matter how many rules we break, no matter how many times we’re told not to trust each other—there’s something here we can’t deny. Something we’ve both been ignoring for too long.”

She was right. They both had been ignoring it.

But they weren’t sure how to handle it now. How to navigate this new territory.

Y/n took a deep breath, struggling to find clarity amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside them. “What happens now?”

Ning gave them a small—almost sad— smile. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Her fingers brushed against Y/n’s, the touch gentle, almost soothing. “I don’t know the answer, but for now…” She trailed off, leaning in just enough to rest her forehead against theirs. “For now, let’s not think about the consequences. Let’s just be.”

Y/n closed their eyes, letting the silence stretch between them. For the first time in a long time, they didn’t feel like they had to make a decision.

Maybe consequences were waiting for both of them. Maybe there was a price to pay for crossing this line. But right now, in this moment, all that mattered was the feeling of her close to them, the warmth between them, and the possibility of something that could change everything.

“Alright,” Y/n said quietly, finally letting themselves believe that maybe—just maybe—it was worth it.

“Let’s just be.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I've Got You Under My Skin 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Summary: your husband is a very demanding man.

Note: I can't help myself with the super soldiers.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You bend through the dryer door to gather the last of the socks. As you do, a sudden grip closes on your hips and you hit your head on the basket. You squeal as Steve's laughter erupts from outside the appliance walls and your legs give out in fright. You rub your head as he guides you backwards out of the round frame.

"Stevie!" You rub your crown as he spins you to face him, skull still reverberating from impact.

"Sweetheart," he snarls and lifts you easily onto the dryer. "Miss me?" You pout up at him as you keep your hand on your head. He arches a brow, "don't give me that look."

"You know I can't stand when you sneak up on me. I'm a baby!"

"My baby," he kids.

"Mm," you drag your hand down your head and reach to tug a short shank of your beard, "how do I know that's my husband under there?"

He smiles beneath his thick beard. "Through thick and thin, wasn't that the gist of those vows?"

You shake your head, "why didn't you tell me you were on your way?"

"You wouldn't be surprised," he leans in to rest his forehead on yours, his hands running up and down your sides, grabbing waist, hip and thigh as he hungrily growls. "You know I love it when you make that noise."

"I do too, but not when it's like that," you whine.

"Mm, you miss me?" He breathes.

"Always," you rub his shoulders and bite your lip. "Gotta fold the laundry."

"Sh, shh," he hushes you. "Let me fold you up first."

You giggle as he kisses you, smothering your lips as his beard tickles you. You squirm and scrunch up your nose. You always liked the smoothness of his clean shave but lately, he's been letting his hair grow out. Your not surprised the beard came with it.

Your hands run down the front of his suit. He's still in his Captain's best, though it's got some wear and tear. Your fingers catch in a tatter. Your hook them in fabric as you slide to the edge of the dryer and wrap your legs around him.

He scoops his hands under your bottom and lifts you up. He carries you to the laundry table and bends over you as he puts you on your back. Your mouth slips from him and you moan. You run your hands up and down his torso and purr.

Your skirt falls up your thighs and he tuts as he searches beneath, rubbing along your panties. He clucks and nips your lip. You latch onto his belt.

"Panties?' He growls.

"I didn't know you were coming,"

He slides his fingers under the seam and rips through them easily. You yelp as he flicks his fingers between your folds, the fabric hanging off your waist. He strokes you with his roughened fingertips as you shudder. You grab his chin and make him kiss you again.

He pets you until your wet and quivering. You puff moans into his mouth, a hand in his hair, the other gripping his thick arm. He spreads your cunt with two thick digits, dipping a third into you, gliding in and out. You clench around him and whimper.

"The Captain needs you, sweetheart," he snarls.

"Whatever the Captain wants," you hum and push your head down into the table. 

He growls again and slides a hand back to hook under your knees. He drags his other from your cunt and grabs our other leg. He pushes them as high as they'll go, curling you on the table.

"Captain says take him out," he plumes.

You writhe and reach beneath your bodies. You strain to grab his belt. You struggle to undo it and slide your hand under the thick fabric. He's hard and throbbing. You swear you can feel the blood coursing through him.

You bring him above the waistband and he shifts closer.

"Captain says put him in," he grits.

You guide his tip along your entrance but before you can tilt your hips, he slams into you. You squeal as he plunges to his limit. Your walls spasm at his intrusion. It's been a while. Longer than when he's home.

He lets your legs hook around his elbows as he crushes you on the table. He frames your face and chews on your lower lip as he snarls. He slides back and shivers. He glides back in and grunts, his muscles knotting.

The table lurches with his motion. It builds to a rut that has your hand against the wall to keep your head from hitting it. You hiss through your teeth as he pounds into you, lost in his furor. He hangs his head next to yours and bites down on your earlobe.

You moan as he detaches, "you wait for me?" He asks.

"Yes, Captain."

"No touching?"

"Never, Captain," you wisp. "Only you."

"Good girl," he grunts and rams deeper. "I can tell."

He puffs into your neck as he fucks you until your pelvis aches. Until your clenching him, pulsating as your cunt weeps around him. Your bodies squelch together as he hammers himself through an overflowing climax. He stills as you feel him dripping down your ass.

He stays on you. You're pinned to the table, legs still bent around his arms, spine bent, thighs thrumming. You pet his hair and kiss his temple.

"You had a good mission?" You ask.

He laughs and turns to kiss your cheek. He starts to rock again. You whimper and clasp onto his side. You're starting to feel the first time.

"Steve," you moan.

"I've been thinking of this all week," he rasps. "Captain's not done."

[seethesin]

vampires everywhere!

pairing: Vampire!Hazel Callahan x F!Monster Hunter!Reader

tags/warnings: sexual content, hazel & reader are 18+, supernatural/vampire au, blood kink, heavy petting, biting, cunnilingus, teasing (18+, mdni)

a/n: based on the request by anonymous found here. i know i said i'd wait until we got closer to halloween, but this idea had a chokehold on me. gif pack/gif credit.

click here for part two!

"You came."

There's genuine relief in your target's disembodied voice as you enter the mausoleum. You look around frantically, squinting to try and adjust to the darkness. It's impossible though and suddenly, your hostess drops from the ceiling. She lands neatly on her feet, looming over you as she rocks gleefully on her heels. Startled, you back into the door.

She stands at average height with unkempt brown hair. Her skin is translucent; even in the dark, the blue plume of her veins crawls up her neck. A broad, boyish smile plays on her lips, revealing a pristine pair of fangs.

"I'm Hazel."

On instinct, you draw your silver stake. The tip presses precisely into her chest and she smirks.

"Feels like someone's happy to see me tonight."

You dig the stake deeper, watching as it tears a hole through her shirt and pierces her skin. Moments later, the scent of rotting, burning flesh fills your lungs and you cough. Droplets of blood drip from the wound and carefully, Hazel uses her middle finger to clean up the excess. She slips the digit in her mouth, sucking it clean as her skin sizzles against the silver. Her cheeks hollow sinfully and you gulp, your mouth watering.

You were disgusted with yourself. You were supposed to kill her, not fuck her.

"I'm thrilled," you respond blankly, gripping the hilt of your weapon steady. "Thrilled to dispose of another leech."

Hazel sneers, leaning back so that the tip of your stake unsheathes itself from her flesh. Moments later, the wound begins to heal itself.

"We both know that's not the reason," she singsongs, glacier-blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

Okay, maybe it's not the entire reason.

Through the monster hunter grapevine, you heard of a nightclub that hosted some high-profile fiends—The Last Drop. Many of the frequent flyers had bounties on their heads and you were eager to cash in.

As you spent your nights staking the place out, there was one person that you always noticed. It was the girl currently hovering over you, wearing her smile like a gold star on her chest. Like clockwork, Hazel left every time by four in the morning. Where she went after that you didn't know. But you would be lying if you said she didn't distract you from your main mission.

Hence why you were currently in this predicament. Curiosity got the best of you tonight and you followed Hazel back to whatever this was. Her lair? Her home? Her timeshare?

A snarky comment is readied on your tongue, but it dissolves as soon as you feel her mouth on yours. Your eyes go wide as saucers and your grip on your weapon falters. The stake hits the floor with a clatter that echoes throughout the high ceiling. Hazel's tongue slips between your parted lips and you taste the iron of her blood. Her fangs graze against your lower lip, drawing blood that she laps up eagerly.

Regaining control, you rip your face away from hers. Your breathing is shallow as you stare at her, bewildered. Hazel cackles in delight, drinking the sight of your swollen and bloody lips.

"I can read your thoughts, sweetheart. Don't they teach you that in Van Helsing school?"

Blush crawls up your neck and you lean into the door, defeated. This was beyond humiliating. To be completely bested by your enemy like this was difficult to recover from. You refuse to look at her willingly, but she closes the distance between you again. Her fingers pinch your chin, tugging it up so that you're forced to look at her.

Suddenly, you're dragged up the door, caged in between Hazel's arms. Her palms are planted at each side of your head and her thigh slips in between your legs.

"Guess not," she mutters, clearly amused.

The pressure of her thigh against your cunt makes you gasp. The rough denim of her jeans brushes against pussy, making you cant your hips. You refuse to admit it out loud, but you want more.

Thankfully, Hazel doesn't need to hear you say it.

Her hands grip your hips, holding you steady as she drags you down the length of her thigh.

"Oh god," you whisper, eyes screwed shut as you dig half moons into your palms. The sensation felt too good.

"Like that?"

You go mute. Hazel huffs, pushing you back up the length of her thigh.

"Gotta use your words," she urges and your eyes shoot open into a glare. Hazel's stupid grin does not falter as she leers predatorily at you. "If you don't, you're not cumming."

You whine.

It comes out before you can filter your thoughts. Your hands fly to your mouth, glancing up at Hazel as her intimidating stare melts into something mirthful.

She begins to laugh, adding to your embarrassment.

"There she is."

Her knee remains pressed into the wall, watching you expectantly. Defeated, you roll your hips, stealing friction between the fabric of your clothing. Eagerly, Hazel leans in. Her mouth is on your skin, kissing across your jawline and down the slope of your neck. You feel her teeth graze your flesh before quickly, her fangs pierce into your skin.

You moan, reflexively jerking away before leaning back into Hazel's unnaturally cool touch. Her tongue pokes out from her mouth, lapping the blood that drools from your fresh wound. Her hands slide into yours, pinning them against the door. She removes her thigh from between your legs and you whimper at the loss of contact.

"If your blood tastes this good," she begins, removing one hand from your wrist, only for the other hand to gather them both between her fingers. She presses your wrists back into the wall as her free hand sinks down your abdomen. Her hand slides to your pants, fingers sliding up the length of your clothed cunt. Your blood roars in your ears.

"I can't imagine what your pussy tastes like."

"Then do it."

Your statement is so immediate it makes Hazel flinch. She blinks in shock, looking up at you with the same surprise you experienced minutes ago.

"Yeah?" she asks and you nod curtly.

"Don't make me change my mind, leech."

Hazel beams.

Quickly, she brings you back onto the floor. Your fingers are at your pants, unzipping and unbuttoning the fly before shoving them down your thighs. You shimmy out of them, discarding them onto the floor. Your underwear follows soon after.

Hazel stares unabashedly, pupils dilated wide as her hands are on your waist. She hoists you back up against the door, positioning you so that she's between your legs, knees hanging over her shoulders as she stands eye level with your weeping pussy.

You feel Hazel's lips on your skin, her warm breath sharply contrasting the cold grip her fingers have on your body. A string of moans pushes from your throat as you feel her kiss across your inner thighs. Her fangs pierce the soft skin, drawing blood as her tongue cleans up the mess they leave. Your fingers thread into her dark hair, tugging firmly to guide her closer to where you need her most.

She chuckles and the vibrations go straight to your throbbing clit.

"So impatient," she tuts, but concedes and follows your somatic demand.

Her tongue darts out from her lips, kitten licking the length of your slit to your clit. You sigh out, rutting your hips toward Hazel's face as she envelops her lips around your clit. She sucks sharply and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your skull. You're not going to last long and Hazel doesn't need to read your mind to know that too.

It's when she fucks you with her tongue that you that you finally cum. The dam in your gut shatters and a wave of pleasure washes over you. Your nails claw at Hazel's scalp, shoving her in place as you grind your cunt into her eager tongue. Her hold does not falter, keeping you steady until your labored breathing evens out. After a few moments, her head darts out from between your legs. Even in the darkness, the shine of spittle and slick glows on her chin.

"How was that?" It was your turn to be cocky and you relished every moment of it.

Hazel lowers you back onto the floor, allowing you to locate your discarded clothing. She wipes her chin, the flat of her tongue licking off the remnants on her palm.

"You tell me." She tosses the question back to you as you pull your underwear over your hips.

"Well," you start, stepping in and pulling up your pants. You meet Hazel's inquisitive gaze as you fasten the button and pull the zipper up. A shit-eating grin cracks across your face.

"You're still alive, right?"

[heartfullofleeches]

I come with request 🛐, Femboy reader getting high with Slasher yan for the first time- (Femboys first time, I feel like Slasher gets high every other weekend.)

[weed ment,male reader]

You flinch as the flame ignites. A hand strokes up your thigh, stopping at your hip as restless eyes watch the nervous bounce of your leg against the wooden floor.

"You scared, pretty boy?"

"No... it's just...."

That smell.... It's really getting to you now. An awful stench permeating through the basement door, clinging to the walls of your mouth with every intake of breath. It stuck to their clothes, their skin. You've voiced your concerns before, but they always brush you off. It's nothing. They assured. I got a few plants in the basement for personal use. Maybe you should join me for a session if you doubt me.

It was getting worse - and you hadn't even started.

"Take it easy - you're stressed out over nothing. This'll take your mind off everything. Here."

A glass tube is pressed to your lips before you can form them to your rebuttal. Accepting defeat, you purse your lips around the end of the pipe as they reignite their lighter. Heat funnels down your throat as you breathe. It catches in your chest, swelling in your lungs as tiny plumes of smoke rolling past your lips. A hand gripping the back of your neck keeps you from pulling away as you cough. A musky scent floods your nose as the herb burns. Your face scrutches up as it lingers on your tongue.

"See?"

Something still feels off. You can't quite put your finger on it, but there's definitely a difference between the smell of cannabis and whatever wafted from the basement. It's hard to pin out, but whatever it was is gone from your mind now. There's no really reason to doubt them anyway. You quickly lose than train of thought entirely as you take the pipe from them. They warn you to be careful, but there's no bite behind their words. As you take another hit, the hard glass is replaced with the softness of their lips. Pushing their thumb against your jaw, they force the smoke from your lips - sucking in as they shift your legs into their lap. Your skirt rides up as you're adjusted to the new position - your head falling to their shoulder as it spins.

"I'm sorry for doubt you....Can you believe I thought you were hiding a body down there?"

They kiss your wrist as you giggle your worries away.

"I'm heartbroken you'd even suggest that."