#weird like there was some kind of velvet over it

[acutenobody]

Yoo, I used LSD for the 1st time yesterday (I mean, I tried once before but the motherfuckers sold us just a regular piece of paper, so it didn't work).

It was super cool. I didn't see things but sure felt a bunch of things, I don't even know how to describe it. Definitely doing again, but this time I'll double the dose, I want to see weird things lol (aside from the shadow people obviously)

[prettyboykatsuki]

chewtoy | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dead dove: do not eat, noncon, humiliation, abuse of power / power imbalance, master / servant relationship, titles like master satoru, he's being Really Fucking Weird (sniffs u a bunch...rip), oral(f!receiving) 18+

✮ wc ; 2k (????)

✮ a/n ; horrible horrible man. can he leave me alone. extension of this

"The young Master is calling for you."

You try not to flinch. Aiko gives you a warm, summery smile and a soft nudge to your side. You can only assume this means you've succeeded and she doesn't sense your disgust.

"He's so fond of you," She ends her sentence with a wispy sigh. "Must be nice to have a rich, powerful man fawn over you a bit, right?"

You remain indifferent. She smiles again. You think she is infinitely more beautiful than you. Soft, bouncy hair and smooth skin. Her naive nature makes her shine brighter than one thousand suns. It'd be nice if the young Master showed interest in someone like her.

You put the dream to rest quickly.

"You shouldn't keep him waiting," She hums. It's so innocent. "Go on, don't let me keep you."

You don't tell her you wish she would keep you. She is also right that you should not keep him waiting. If he's summoned you to his chambers deliberately, that means he is already feeling impatient. Master Satoru never seeks you out unless he is in some kind of mood.

He's had this habit since childhood. You've never made him aware of it, and you don't plan too. One of the few things you help you know what to expect from him.

You nod her along, tell her to finish up work in the living quarters to which she agrees merrily. Her spirits are lifted by the prospect of the young Master showing you fondness. Some part of you wishes you could share in her joy.

A pit of dread makes your steps heavy, but your footfall is light and beautiful. You are poised and cool as you walk along the dark, dreary hallways that lead to the Master's office.

A door swallowed in shadow, a single light shining on the golden plaque with the young Master's full name. You knock twice, announcing yourself.

"You're here," He says. You try not to flinch. You're certain you do not succeed. You are thankful he cannot see you - or you hope he can't. "Come in,"

You open the door and step inside to his office - shutting the door behind you. Muscle memory guides you to your curtsy. You bow politely.

"Yes, Master?"

"So stuffy," His voice makes your chest feel tight with discomfort. Frustration ebbs underneath it, cuts like a jagged edged knife. "At least call me, Satoru. Our relationship is much better than that, I thought."

"I could never be so informal to the young Master," You say, and then concede. "But I will call you Master Satoru, if you wish."

"How obstinate," He drawls. You do not life your head to see the face he makes. You already know what it looks like. It's burned into your mind. "But I suppose I'll make do. Lift your head."

You lift your head, but do not look at his face.

"Come closer,"

You step towards him, your lungs pushing air out of you manually. Remembering to breathe evenly is a herculean task. He beckons you closer until you're within distance of his touch.

He glances at you. "Look at me."

You try not to hesitate and force your eyes forward. His eyes undress you. Pointed gaze falls along your features, outlines your every inch, and analyzes your face. You remain even. He hums.

His frivolity is missing. This is suddenly more frightening. His mood is worse than you thought.

"Lift your skirt,"

Your muscles tense as you try not to shake. You succeed. He lets out a soft breath before he drops down onto his knees. You do not let yourself make any sort of expression, averting your gaze. He stares long and hard at your clothed pussy.

You tremble. He assess you silently, eyes flitting up.

"Sit in my chair with your skirt over your waist. So I can see you properly and all."

You listen to his instructions mindlessly. The velvet of his chair and warmth of his remaining body heat touch your bare ass and thighs. Satoru turns to you, still on knees. His hand wraps around your ankles and slips your shoes off of you.

You close your eyes. Sudden intimacy makes you slink back.

"Look at me."

It is is a command. You let your gaze fall on him again and watch on in excruciating nausea. Your stomach twists violently at the fragility of it all. Slender fingers hook into your knee socks and pull them down along your calve until they're off. His gaze catches yours. He does not smile at you. His hand comes around your ankle again and lifts your leg closer to his face. His nose presses against the bend of your foot.

He inhales. You try not to react but you can feel your eyes go wide. Feel your muscles clench, your heart sinking. Iron fills your mouth.

He lets his nose nudge up against the top of your calf.

"Young Master,"

He stares at you. Irritation flits through his gaze. There's no getting out of this, no mercy. You slink back again. He does smile that time.

Your body prickles with unwanted heat at the sensation. He licks along your legs, biting the supple skin - huffing the scent of your sweat every time he goes along. His teeth sink perversely into your flesh, sucking until there's throbbing, marks against your calves. The color of an orchid, purple and red. Fear strikes in you like a match. His grip on your ankles moves to the back of your calves and squeezes tight. He repeats the process on both calves intently.

There's claim to this. You know this part of him. He is claiming you with vicious confidence. Something with deeper magnitude then lust. For you, he is desire and ownership and want incarnat. A testament of his own beliefs. You willfully do no make noise aside from a gasp or breath.

You don't know how long it takes until he's satisfied with the state both legs.

He moves up. Bites the soft flesh of your thigh. You nearly spit out another useless plea. Shamelessness makes up his every move. His tongue slides over every single inch of your bare skin until his noses brushes along your cunt.

He doesn't lick you there. Not right away. Again he sniffs, breathes you in deep and uncomfortable. It's violating in all senses of the word, his grip tightening on your thighs as he huffs your scent. You haven't bathed. You've practically been running around since morning, but he doesn't let up and breathes you in anyway.

You squirm at that point. Your face contorts so slightly and he's watching you for it. His face finally cracks a smile and abject dread makes your spine lock up.

"Mm," He emphasizes the sound. It's so loud in such a quiet room. "That's it."

You don't have the strength to say anything.

It's frighteningly abrupt and rough, the feeling of his mouth along your pussy. He sucks at your clit from outside the fabric and you gasp - suddenly helpless. It's not the first time, of course not. But it's never this... random. Never this rough.

Your back arches at the sudden motion, face breaking - and Satoru grips you tighter and forces you back into the chair. Forces his tongue against your clit and sucks hard through the cotton material. Your body betrays you in its reaction - nipples pebbling underneath your clothes. Nearly screaming from the sensitivity. Your lower body is all ache - hickeys and bruises and bite marks making you throb perpetually. Too much, too much, too much.

Shame floods your system as the first spike of arousal forces itself from you - your cunt floods, gushing with a sudden spike of want from rough treatment. The sound of him sucking you so hard and drenching it with his saliva echoes across the room. You're sure it's traveling into the hall.

"Master Satoru," Your voice is even but it cracks on his name. Tears form at the corners of your eyes - fear and shame mixing into desperation. "Satoru,"

He hums into your pussy and you shake. "What is it? What wish would you like your master to fulfill for you.

"Please," Your voice is hoarse. Bone-deep exhaustion is out done by adrenaline. "Not through the fabric, please. It's dirty."

He sucks again and you keen - nails digging into your palms as you throw your head back.

"Your Masters spit soaking your panties is dirty? How rude." He teases. The whimper leaves your mouth without permission. You wish this would end soon but even amidst your fog you know that is not more than a pipe dream.

He takes them off. Rolls them down your thighs all wet and drops them. You let out a sigh of relief before his nose bridges touches your clit again. Swallowing the sound, you look away.

"It's soaked," He says conversationally, "Your needy little cunt is making a mess of your Master's chair. Tsk, tsk - so shameful."

"I'm sorry," You croak, unsure of what else to say. "I'll clean it."

He laughs, seemingly alleviated from his prior upset at the state of your humiliation.

"I'm sure you'll do an excellent job," He rests his hand over the mound of your sex - using pointer and thumb to spread your lips apart and get view of your swollen little clit. He breathes on it. "But you're still begging me for my attention down here. Filthy pussy for such a meticulous maid. Do you know how wet you are? Did you miss me so much?"

You don't answer him. He goes on.

"I thought of you all week," His voice is soft. Tinged with affection, or something like it. "Ahh, dealing with higher ups is such a pain."

You stare at him. He looks back at you with a smile. You flinch. You flinch certainly. "But I can always take it out on you, can't I? This perfect, filthy, needy cunt. It'll only every belong to me and I get to use it to my hearts content. I thought of that suddenly then called you."

It's not just your cunt he's interested in. That'd be relieving if that were the case. If he only ever used you to vent his sexual frustrations, treat you like a personal cocksleeve. You think it might be better that way.

He's too fond of you for that.

The young Master treats you like a chew toy instead. He bites, licks, slobbers, and misuses you. He might hump you to chase his high from time to time, might throw you around for rough sex should the mood suit him. But he's not a clueless oaf, some classless barbarian who only feels pleasure from his cock.

His violation is something else. It's deeper in scent, richer in taste. It is born from his greatness.

He's smart enough to know exploitation and that's what gets him off most. He exploits you. Exploits your reactive body, exploits your stoicism, exploits your dedication to your duty. You're his chew toy because you are designed to be unbreakable. You are indestructible.

But you have the perfect amount of give. You flinch, sigh, and whimper enough to make your Master thrilled. You squeak and moan like you're heat addled when he plays with you enough.

To Satoru, you're the most perfect thing to ever grace his life. His favorite toy that he's bitten at since he was just a boy and grew so fond of.

No matter how much you end up in tatters, Satoru can't help but love you with all of his heart.

You get exhausted being thrown around. But you can't go anywhere, either. He's so watchful of you. He might go crazy and bite if you were to disappear.

"Cum for me," He says, sucking on your clit much more softly. He's gentle but exact. Knows the ins and outs of your body enough to send you racing towards the edge with an unimaginable speed. You gasp and shudder, holding onto his chair for your life as an orgasm shoots through like lightning through a telephone wire.

You cum. You cum hard, bruised and mind-broken and nauseous and you cum so hard something spurts out of you and makes the chair wet. The young Master is nonplussed of course, and laps it up like a dog drinking water.

"Ahh, much better." He's pleased as he stands up and then bends down to your height. His hand cradles the back of your neck with a pleasant sigh as he forces a cum-soaked kiss onto your mouth. "Just as I thought, you were just what I needed."

Utterly defeated, you pull away with a gasp. "...I'm happy to serve you, Master Satoru."

"Such a nice sentence from your mouth, true or not." He gives you one more kiss, to the crown of your head. Too tender, too raw. "Prepare yourself to service me a bit more, then."

[luveline]

could I get some miguel aftercare pls 🙏🙏🙏

cw suggestive content mdni !! I actually loved writing this it was the highlight of my day, thank you for requesting. fem, 1k

“You’re doing that thing,” Miguel says. 

You’re breathless where he’s fine, voice lost as you ask, “What thing?” 

He smooths his hands across either side of your face briefly. “Locking up. Relax, sweetheart. Catch your breath.” 

You cover your face with your hands but end up too hot, the back of your neck wet with sweat and your face glowing with heat. Miguel laughs softly, blowing cool air up and down your face where he lays beside you. 

He’d usually call you cariño or some other pet name in his native tongue, so sweetheart is out of the blue but no less affectionate. You close your eyes against his cold breath and slouch toward him, where you’re quickly held in his arms again, his voice quieter as he asks, “You okay?” 

“Mm.”

“Yeah?” He works the soft cup of your bra back down over your chest, pressing a kiss to the hill of your breast. “You sure?” he asks, your skin warmed by his breath. 

You curl down around him, trying to keep him there, your face in his hair and your knee sliding up his thigh as you turn onto your side. 

You’re hot all over and aching, but not unhappy. You walk a careful path up his chest and shoulder to his neck, your fingers brushing over the soft surface of his skin one centimetre at a time, not dragging, just touching, searching for his face. You hold his cheek in your hand and kiss his hair, not caring if it’s slightly ineffectual. He’ll know what you’re trying to convey either way. 

Sex with Miguel nearly always leaves you like this. More than satisfied, desperate to be hugged, and desperate to impress upon him how much he means to you if the sex hadn’t already. Your hand moves with him as he lifts his head to yours, eyes aligned, the familiar hint of a smile playing on his lips. 

“You want me to open a window?” 

“I love you,” you say, because what you want is reassurance that it felt the same for him. 

His voice is velvet. “I love you. Te adoro. When I look at you… me dejas sin aliento.”

“Tell me,” you mumble. 

“I can’t breathe.” 

You tip your head back with a laugh, “That’s ironic,” you say. 

He chases you there, his nose down the curve of your throat and his hands pressing behind your back, wrapping you in, hugging you and kissing under your ear, bridging the gap again. It’s weird to be so together, to feel like one person and to have that end, but he hugs you and it’s nearly the same. It’s a different kind of connection. It eases your heart, calms your hot flush. 

“You are beautiful,” he affirms. “I just have better stamina.” 

“Don’t say stamina.” 

“You’re jealous of my stamina, and that’s okay.” He smiles into your neck before kissing it tenderly. 

Moments of this Miguel are rare. He’s so happy, you only get to see him as uninhibited in moments of intense connection, though that can be anything with him. A teasing remark as he helps you up the short step of the tram or a shared smile when you lean back into his chest for no reason at all, knowing he’ll take your weight. 

You savour it. He’s got a good heart. 

And a great physique. “Doesn’t count. You got it all from a bottle.” 

His lips part. “Oh?” he says, the slight scratch of his teeth sending shivers down your arms. 

His lips close in a soft, soft kiss. Miguel pulls away from you to sit up a touch, and then he’s caressing your hip and your knee like he can sense the ache, his face pensive. “Do you want to shower, or should I bring you a towel?” 

“Whatever you want to do.” 

“I want to take care of you,” he says earnestly, hand back up, resting on the strip of fat between hip and ass. “But…” 

You look at him. Unbeknownst to you, Miguel’s taking you in, and thinking you might be the most lovely thing he’s ever seen, not just because he’s fucked you and you took it beautifully, or the sounds you made, or the feeling of your arm wrapped behind his head as you kissed him, but everything about you. He loves you and you know that, but he can’t convey it right. And he thinks if he cleans you up he might spend an hour just looking at you, because you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen, all your marks and wrinkles and softness. He’d lose half the night. 

“You want to fuck me again?” you ask gently. 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” he denies, leaning down over you. You close your eyes and allow him another kiss. “It’s late, we can’t stay up all night. You’re tired.” 

You hum regretfully. “Yes.” 

“Was it everything you wanted?” he asks. “I can…” His hand trails down to your stomach. 

You laugh under your breath. “I don’t think I can anymore,” you mumble, half flirtation and half aching fondness. “Thank you.” 

“Thank you?” He brings his hand up and squeezes your face, taking another kiss, so many now you can’t count them. 

You smile into his mouth. You’re thinking thank you for being caring enough to think about it, and he’s thinking you’re crazy for not expecting it. Regardless, he doesn’t touch any lower, only dropping his hand and rubbing a sweeping, soothing line over your tummy and your side. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. 

You peek at him through threaded lashes. “Your eyes are closed,” you whisper back. 

“I knew before I closed them, and I know it now.” He sighs. “Sorry,” he says, kissing your cheek, “forgive me. I’ll get a towel.” 

“It’s my fault, being so enchanting n’ all.” 

Miguel kisses you again. “Exactly.” 

[piratefishmama]

There was just something magical about a good Renaissance Faire. Something in the air that set Eddie’s little crow brain alight with excitement. Especially around December when Christmas loomed around the corner and snow dusted the ground.

Be it the shiny trinkets dangling from wooden hooks amidst the old wooden stalls, be it the haggling voices of stall vendors and customers, all dressed in garbs they’d likely sewn, dyed, modelled themselves, the smells of the food stalls, the glow of twinkling fairy lights reflecting on the snow, the music played on lutes and sang from haybales for gathering crowds, be it the energy of likeminded folks all there to be a little bit weird, joyously, freely, without shame or judgement.

He could be himself there.

Dressed to the nines in layered fabrics purposefully aged and torn to simulate era appropriate wear and tear. His hair held silver trinkets, tied up by lengths of dark fabric in a messy up-do that’d taken Wayne a good few hours to figure out, and would no doubt take them both a hell of a lot of huffing and puffing to remove without cutting it out later. He had a cloak made out of a thick set of curtains he’d thrifted, dyed, and repurposed.

He had his bag, something he’d sewn himself out of extra fabric from those curtains, made with plenty of little pockets and places to put his spoils, he’d saved up for months to get as much out of this faire as possible because things weren’t CHEAP there.

Most things were handmade, most things were lovingly crafted by gifted individuals. He didn’t even want to haggle, he had money specifically for the faire! He was going to spend money on the endlessly talented individuals at the faire!

He got himself a new journal, leather bound with thick blank pages for sketching in. it was embossed with intricate swirling patterns around a pentagram that he’d absolutely get shit for if he ever pulled it out in public but it was beautiful, and it had a cool swing lock clasp.

He got himself a pretty necklace, wire wrapped with a fancy gem that he’d keep safe to use as a prop at some point.

He found some beautiful homemade dice, made in such a way that it looked like liquid moved inside of the dice, little flecks of glitter sloshing around a cloudy liquid inside the green tinted gold leaf inlaid resin with every roll, beautiful, eye catching, immensely satisfying to his little crow brain. Surprisingly enough they were the most expensive purchase he’d made at the faire, tiny little dice, fifty whole dollars. Not the most expensive thing he’d seen there, but definitely the most expensive thing he now owned from the trip.

They came with an incredibly pretty velvet dice bag though, which he hadn’t expected to get as a little freebie but the girl at the stall winked at him when she handed it over and wasn’t that a trip. The fabric was dyed to look like some kind of galaxy, with little silver and gold stars embroidered into it.

It made those dice a steal and he would treasure it and them, always.

He perused the fabric stalls, getting himself a cool hand painted scarf, detailed with a beautiful dragon that he’d find a good frame for later to hang up because it would not be worn, no siree. He grabbed a cool hand carved wooden mug for Wayne that looked like something straight out of a Viking’s mead hall, he’d give it to him for Christmas.

He got himself some food. He watched a joust, got a photo with the riders and their horses, one of which tried nibbling his hair, tipped the riders, and very quickly found himself running low on cash.

All that scrimping, and saving, and dealing… worth it. So very worth it.

So sue him if he looped back around and walked through again, he couldn’t afford much of anything else, he’d spent his last ten spot on a fridge magnet, had five left for gas station snacks on the way home, but that was fine, he could take photos, he’d borrowed Gareth’s camera, Gareth would have come but his parents had one stipulation for him attending the faire, and that was taking his failing grade in biology, and upping it to something that at least predicted a pass before thanksgiving.

He’d failed, and no amount of grovelling could fix it. No Ren Faire for you good sir!

Jeff was out of town with his family on some ‘visit all the out of state family members before Christmas snowstorms lock everything down’ country wide tour. And Dougie couldn’t get the time off his part time job to go.

So Eddie had promised plenty of photos to show them what they missed out on.

It was the very last stall at the end of the strip that caught his attention. Maybe it was the way the dying sunlight hit it, or the way the wind caught the chimes dangling from its flimsy rafters, he felt… called to it. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame and who was he, but a lowly little moth, to ignore the call of the fire?

So he wandered over, let himself be drawn in, offered a friendly little finger wave to the greying woman sat behind a makeshift counter wrapped in shawls and decorated in silver jewellery that jingled as she worked a single crotchet hook into a slowly coming together wine red shawl. The woman offered him a simple bow of her head and a small smile in response but no sales pitch.

No conversation of any kind really, she simply sat there while he looked, crocheting away without a care in the world. He could appreciate that, not being bothered by pushy sales tactic, especially when he had so few funds left to play with, he always felt guilty when he couldn’t afford what they were selling.

Like why was he even there if he had no money to spend?

The old woman didn’t do that, allowing him to wander through her surprisingly large stall full of little trinkets and goodies uninterrupted, which was for the best because had she spoke, he might not have stayed long enough to spot it. Amidst the little boxes decorated with carved patterns and pretty gemstones, amidst the scarves, crocheted bags, amidst the leather work belts, and wallets sat a single, solitary little bottle.

Sealed with a cork coated in wax and pressed with a decorative seal in a shape too worn down to really make out but obvious that it’d at one point had a shape. The bottle was hand blown, not manufactured, lightly frosted a dark brown to a brilliant amber around its square base, the colour crept up the smooth sides towards its seal, like a diamond in shape.

The bottle wasn’t empty either.

Much like the dice that’d caught his crow brain hook line and sinker earlier, this little bottle was filled with some kind of liquid. It swirled like a galaxy inside, and at the centre a brilliant light that looked like it held its own sun, always at the centre of the swirl, never distorting or shifting out of place, eternal in its circular flow.

It was warm in his hands. He didn’t even realise he’d picked it up.

“Two dollars.” Eddie damn near jumped out of his skin, whirling around, the bottle tight in his grip. That old woman had moved. And she’d done so with a quiet stealth some might attribute to a ninja, which was impressive considering how much jewellery she wore.

“Huh?” So eloquent of him.

“Just two dollars, child. The bottle? It is… calling to you, yes?” He couldn’t place her accent, something foreign, European maybe, he had no idea but it definitely didn’t sound any parts American. “I take two dollars for it, will bring you luck.” He looked back to the bottle, eyeing the swirl that still held its pattern even as he’d jostled it, like nothing could knock it out of its gentle swirl, then back to the old woman.

What was two dollars, really?

He had five left, if nothing else the bottle could make a really cool prop, and if it did bring him luck, then hey bonus. Who was he to argue with a mysterious old lady at a Renaissance Faire? “You uh… you got yourself a deal, ma’am.” She smiled brightly at him, eyes alight with both happiness and… something else, something that reflected in the light that he didn’t think hard enough about. She accepted the five dollars he had left, she gave him his change, and a little paper bag filled with tissue to hold his new purchase, which he didn’t really need as he put it right into his own bag after receiving his change, and then she sent him on his way, uncaring as to whether or not he wanted to look at her other wares.

He’d gotten the bottle. Nothing else mattered apparently. Maybe he should have found that suspicious, but why would he?

As soon as he left the little stall, all thought of it seemed to wash away from his mind leaving him freely wandering back to the entrance where his trusty steed, his Van, awaited him to take him home. Blissfully unaware of the little bottle he’d just purchased. Blissfully forgetful of the stall he’d visited, of the old woman he’d just met, of her smile, her eyes, her mysterious accent.

All of which was for the best, really, as if he’d thought about it, if he’d taken a single moment to stop and look back to the little stall at the end of the row, the little stall that held more treasures than it should have been able to for its size, if he’d looked back to wave his goodbyes to the old woman and her treasures, he’d have found nothing.

No stall, no woman, no trinkets or treasures. Just a single row of recycling bins and benches.

But he didn’t look back.

Definitely for the best.

Part 2

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Dark Shades of Innocence Lost Part 3: Take It All✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: This series is quickly becoming one of my favorites to write. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for beta reading for me 🥰

Chapter Summary: Another night back at Club Inferno comes with more than you bargained for. There’s pleasure, but something else starts slipping through. That something might be feelings.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags: Dom! Joel, soft! Joel, flirting, feelings, pining, unprotected piv, fingering, so much filth, a little angst, Joel takes you on the pool table

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  “Shut up! No he didn’t!” Brianna screams over the rim of her cold glass of strawberry wine. 

   “Yeah,” you giggle as Taylor joins in on the screaming chaos. 

   “You mean to tell me that man took you into his private room and went down on you?” Taylor asks excitedly as she pauses 10 Things I Hate About You and sets the black controller on the rustic coffee table.

   “Mhm,” you hum shyly over a mouthful of bubbling wine. 

   Brianna leans forward on the violet couch and curls her fingers into the velvet of her cotton blanket. “Did he make you come?” she asks with raised eyebrows, like she’s investigating you for anything you might be keeping from her. 

   You swallow some wine and clear your throat as your cheeks turn a bright red color. “Three times,” you say shyly as you push a lock of hair behind your ear.

   Brianna spits out a mouthful of wine into her glass, and Taylor nearly falls off the edge of the couch. “No he did not, shut the fuck up!” Brianna shouts as she reaches over and grabs onto your pink blanket that’s sprawled across your lap freely. 

   “Three times? Holy shit,” Taylor whispers as her green flecked eyes grow wide. 

   “Three times,” you confirm as you push your back into the soft cushions of the couch. “And I may have deep throated him…” you giggle out as your cheeks grow hot.

   “You little slut!” Brianna teases as she jumps out of her seat and joins you on the opposite side of the sectional. “Three times? God, that must’ve been amazing. And his cock? Was he big?”

   “So big,” you gush as you sip more of the cool beverage in your hand. 

   “You lucky girl! Evan doesn’t even make me orgasm three times,” Taylor whines as she leans over and grabs a handful of buttery popcorn. “He must like you a lot.”

   “Oh, I don’t know…” you say skeptically as you play absentmindedly with the fringe on the end of the soft blanket.

   “Don’t play coy with me!” Taylor shouts across the end of the sofa, glittering eyes all on you as she waits for you to continue. “So, what happened after?”

   You rake a hand nervously over your thigh and look up innocently. “Well, it was kind of weird, I guess. He, ummm… he cuddled with me. Like in a soothing, gentle way, and he told me to relax because I was tense. And I just kinda sank down into his chest while his fingers brushed over my arms. And it just felt… safe.”

   Brianna and Taylor give each other a knowing glance, one only shared between the two of them. You know that look, the serious and concerned look. 

   “Babe,” Brianna says gently as she puts a hand softly on your knee, “that’s called aftercare. It’s normal, or it should be.”

   “Yeah, I know. It just kinda startled me. I wasn’t… expecting that, you know? It kinda scared me.”

   Brianna nods your way and keeps her light brown eyes on yours. “Yeah, I get it. But not all the guys are going to be like… well, you know who. It sounds like Joel is a good guy. From the sounds of it, he seems to like you a lot.”

   You smile warmly as you look back down and nod your head while you twist your fingertips into the edge of your silky shorts. “Maybe. He got me chicken and water after he cuddled with me. He didn’t even have chicken in the back of the club before last week. I kinda complained there weren't any food options at the bar, and I guess he took it to heart.”

   “What the hell, that man does like you!” Taylor screams across the way which nearly sends you into shock. “Chicken? He made you chicken? One of your favorite things to eat? That’s insane, and you didn’t even have to ask. Yes, babe! He likes you a lot! I don’t know another man that would do that. None of my hookups ever went that far for me. Seriously, I’m so happy we pushed you to go talk to him.”

   You giggle out and shake your head, flipping your phone over in your shaking hands as you think of those smoldering dark eyes and devilish smirk. “I’m glad you guys made me go talk to him. He’s ummm… pretty great.”

   Taylor throws a sequenced teal pillow at your arm and talks through a mouth full of popcorn, “Are you gonna see him again?”

   “Yeah, Saturday,” you blush as you smile nervously her way. 

   “Oh, look at you! Gonna go back to his playroom while he has his way with you? Kinky girl. God, it’s like something out of Fifty Shades.” 

   “Bri!” you laugh as you shove her in the shoulder while she nearly spills her wine all over her lap. “It’s not like that.”

   “No? So the man didn’t have you ride his thigh in a dark hallway where anyone could see, and he didn’t take you back to his private room and give you the best three orgasms of your life?”

   “I mean, yes, but no! He’s not like some intense BDSM man. He’s warm, gentle, a bit of a dom, and the man says absolute filth, but he’s so… sweet, too.”

   Taylor and Brianna raise their eyebrows at you and smirk. Oh no. That can’t be good. Who knows what kind of insanity is about to come out of their mouths. 

   “Sounds like he’s the perfect Christian Grey then, yeah?” Taylor laughs while you throw the pillow back at her. 

   “You guys are too much,” you smile. 

   Suddenly, your phone lights up as it buzzes in your lap. You unlock the screen, and your eyes light up like a Christmas tree when you see Joel’s name scrolled across the screen. You giggle like a little school girl who’s about to get a handful of candy when you read his text. 

   Joel: Passed by the library today on my way to work. Made me think of you. Almost stopped in, but figured you’d already be off. Maybe I should’ve tried my luck. Might’ve got to see those beautiful eyes of yours in the sunlight. See ya Saturday, angel. ;)

   You can’t stop smiling, your cheeks feel like they’re stretched to their limit as you curl your toes underneath you and squeeze your fingers around the delicate blanket. Joel sure knows how to make your heart flutter uncontrollably. 

   “What are you beaming about, hmm? Is it Mr. Club Owner?” Taylor laughs from the other side of the couch. 

   “Let’s see.” Brianna snatches your phone from your clutch, and you try to dive for it, but she holds it up to where you can’t reach. 

   “Bri, give it!”

   “Oh, I was right. It is him! And holy shit is he obsessed with you. Look at how cute this text is, Taylor!” Brianna tosses it to Taylor, and she catches it with ease as she scrolls through your numerous texts with Joel. 

   Taylor practically loses it as she chokes on a sip of wine. “He called you beautiful! He can’t wait to see you again? And Christ, you guys have been texting a lot. Fuck me!” 

   You lean forward and grab the phone from her prying fingers and set it down underneath your fuzzy blanket. “Okay, guys. You had your fun. Happy?” you ask annoyed, rolling your eyes as you try to hide the flush of crimson that’s bright on your cheeks. 

   “Umm yeah, babe! He is totally into you!” Brianna squeaks as she tosses a piece of buttered popcorn your way. You dodge it and shake your head at her while she sets down her fizzy drink on the edge of the polished coffee table. 

   “You think so?” you giggle, biting your lower lip. 

   “I know so! Ugh, you’re so lucky. Love this for you, though,” Brianna smiles, tipping the wine glass back to her pink lips.

   You sigh and shake your head as you listen to your two friends scream back and forth excitedly at each other. You just sit back and take another sip of wine and stare at Joel’s sweet message. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

   Saturday comes faster than a blink as you’re standing in front of the flashing sign of Club Inferno. You shift your weight in your sparkly heels and adjust the short pink dress that barely covers half your thighs. You don’t mind dressing up if it means Joel Miller can’t take his eyes off you for one second. That’s what you want. You want his attention, and you have it. You have all of it.

   When you walk through the dark doors, you’re shrouded in a mist of smoke. The stench of messy lipstick and alcohol surrounds you, and the spinning disco ball shimmers over your sparkly eyeshadow. It’s crowded tonight, bodies lined all on the dance floor, music coursing through your ears. It pumps the adrenaline that fills your shaky body because you know why you’re here. You’re here for Joel. 

   You spin in a circle, clicking your heels on the shiny floor as you look from the crowded bar to the sea of dancers. Joel, where is Joel? Maybe he’s…

   You hear a man clearing his throat from behind you and then a long Southern drawl fills your ears. “Lookin’ for Joel, sweetheart?”

   You abruptly turn, whipping your hair behind your shoulders as you eye the man who asked you about Joel. You blink once, twice as you take him in, a little surprised at how similar he seems to Joel. He’s tall, long slicked back almost black hair, the same chocolate eyes as Joel’s, even a similar smirk takes the stage.

   You shift your weight to your left, notice the expensive leather boots he’s wearing, a silky black button-up shirt tucked into pressed dress pants, and a handsome face to go with the outfit. He definitely reminds you a lot of Joel, and his accent, the same Southern accent as Joel’s. Was this his brother?

   “Huh, Joel?” you ask stunned, blinking up at the tall figure that now stands in front of you, hovering like he’s pressing for answers.

   “Yeah,” he chuckles, nodding to the hallway. “Saw you with Joel the past couple of weekends. Figured you were lookin’ for him tonight as well.”

   “How did you…”

   He interrupts, holding his hand out for you to take. “Apologies, I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Tommy. Tommy Miller, Joel’s younger brother, the other owner of this club.”

   You take his strong hand in yours and let him shake, giving him a curt smile and a nod. “It’s nice to meet you, Tommy. Nice to put a face to the name.” You tell him your name, and he smiles at you.

   He drops your hand and slides it in the pocket of his pants, giving you a quick once over to assess your outfit, an almost invisible smirk appearing over his dark mustache. “My brother treatin’ you good, I reckon? Takin’ care of ya?”

   Before you can respond back with flushed cheeks, a big hand comes down on Tommy’s shoulder and out steps Joel with a wide grin on his face, a deep chuckle dropping off his tongue as he looks you dead in the eye. 

   “Yeah, Tommy. Takin’ real good care of her, don’t you worry.” The response makes you blush and tingle all along your spine, creating a girlish giggle in your chest that you hold in once you meet the chocolate eyes of Joel Miller, the prettiest brown eyes you have ever seen in your life.

   “Don’t I know it, Joel,” Tommy says with a big grin, hitting his brother playfully in the chest before he steps back with the glow of his cell phone lighting up his palm. “Well, guess I’ll let you get to it. Take care, sweetheart.” He whispers something in Joel’s ear, something along the lines of “Beautiful girl. Lucky you, brother.”

   Joel claps his hand on the back of his shoulder and shakes his head. “Down, Tommy. Why don’t you go find one for yourself,” he chuckles, stepping out to hook his arm in yours. “Guess you’ve met my brother now.”

   “Yeah,” you smile, looking back to see Tommy give you a playful wink and then head towards the bar as he delves into talking with customers lined against the glossy black front doors. “Seems nice.”

   “Mmm. Nice. Sure, but he’s a flirt and a pain in my ass,” he chuckles, leading you through a loud group of females drinking cocktails and gossiping to each other. 

   He stops a second to turn towards you, eyes flicking up and down your body, a little shimmer of excitement reaching his honey eyes. And then he smiles. “You look real pretty tonight, sweetheart.”

   You blush, clear your throat and turn to look up at him. “Thank you,” you stammer. “And you. Well, you’re always handsome,” you blush again, biting your tongue when he smirks your way. 

   He does look handsome tonight. With his clean white button-up, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, always hugging his bulging biceps, and his dark jeans that cling to tight muscles. And his slicked back curls, and his salt-and-pepper scruff, and his gorgeous chocolate eyes and fuck. You like it all, you like everything about him. And deep down that scares you, like sharp teeth could wrap around your ankles and drag you down under the dark waves. Like this could end badly. So badly.

   He yanks you out of your murky thoughts and leads you under more sparkling lights, pink signs flashing every which way, more than the crimson reds you first saw here. 

   You glance at the sea of dancers, bodies swaying and circling every which way, the disco ball throwing glittering lights over pressed suits and skimpy dresses. The song is upbeat, loud, humming across the ray of bodies lined on the dance floor. And it pulls you in, like you want to join in the madness.

   “Do you ever dance?” The question leaves your mouth before you can even think of what you just asked. Of course he doesn’t. He’s the club owner, why would he do that?

   “Sometimes,” he replies, chocolate eyes flashing towards the sea of people dancing with each other. 

   He looks down at you, raises a brow, and a question slides over his flecks of chocolate desire. “Why do you ask?” He’s leaving the question open, like he wants you to be the brave one and ask. He’s trying to get you out of your closed up shell, wants you to take initiative for once. And maybe you should. Maybe you should just give in.

   His eyes bore into yours, eyebrow raising higher on his forehead, sharp lines cutting across tanned skin. “Umm no reason. I was just wondering what kind of dancer you were,” you say nervously, your free hand clinging to the fabric of your pink dress, glossy lips puckering with a fit of nerves. He wouldn’t, would he? 

   He chuckles, a sly smirk spreading across his mouth as he takes your hand and nods his head to the dance floor. “Guess we gotta go find out then, hmm?”

   He pulls you through the crowded dance floor, past sweaty bodies, the flashing lights blinding your senses as he pulls you into his broad chest in a small corner, his back hitting the glittery dark walls while he pulls you flush to his chest, his hands sliding slowly down to your hips.

   You gulp, completely breathless as he chuckles and starts to sway his hips to the rhythm, eyes locked tight on yours. Your fingers clutch around his cotton dress shirt, the air feeling thicker with every breath you take, a burning sensation starting between your thighs with every movement he makes.

   He slides one hand dangerously close to your ass, the other entwining with your fingers, your hips magically doing exactly what he tells you to, like he’s using mind powers on your body. And you’re in a trance, a magnetic trance, all forces of gravity pulling you towards him like this is where you belong, beneath his body.

   “So, how am I doin’, darlin’? My dancing up to par?” he smiles, teasing you in the best way.

   “I’d say you’re a better dancer than I took you for,” you laugh, feeling the heat collide between your fingers with each touch he leaves on your skin.

   “Haven’t even shown you the best part yet,” he smirks.

   He spins you around quickly, pulling your back flush against his beating chest, hands skating across your body as he takes it even further, moving your hair to the side and slowly gliding his lips against your collarbone, enough to where you can smell, almost taste that addictive whiskey smell that trademarks Joel. 

   You get lost in the way his hips grind into yours, thick fingers dancing over the fabric of your dress, his breath blowing down your neck, causing stars to form in the flecks of your eyes.

   He leans down and glides his plush lips across the shell of your ear, one large hand sliding up your thigh, thick fingers teasing your dress line, slowly inching it up until he teases the inside of your thigh, making slick run like a river against your lace.

   “You know, you look mighty pretty in that little pink dress, sweetheart, but I think you’d look even better out of it,” he whispers, making you jolt from the filthy words that come out of his mouth.

   “You think so?” you pant while he pulls you even closer, enough to feel the growing bulge in his pants as he grinds against you.

   “Mmm, I do. I do.” He sinks his mouth down on your neck, stifling a moan from your throat as he nips and sucks the sensitive area, right where you have that sweet spot.

   His hand brushes higher, pushing your dress dangerously high as his magnetizing lips set your skin ablaze. He knows what he’s doing, getting you all worked up so you’ll be more than ready for him. And you’re there, you’re already so fucking wet. He might as well just take you here in front of everyone. You think you’d let him, don’t even care who watches. You’re just so turned on that you can’t even register what song is buzzing against your eardrums, all you hear, all you feel is his hot breath and calloused fingers on your skin. And his lips melting like honey on your skin. It feels fucking incredible.

   “Know you must be so wet for me, sweetheart. The way your shallow breaths and body’s reactin’ to me. Oh, you’re right there, ain’t ya? So fuckin’ wet,” he growls, slipping his thumb against your soaked panties until another moan comes collapsing from your glossy lips.

   “Mmmm. Take me to the back, Joel. Need to… need to…” You lose your train of thought as his fingers drop from your thigh, snatching your wrist up and dragging you back to the room where he’ll have his way with you.

   “Don’t have to ask me twice, angel. Gonna take real good care of ya, pretty girl,” he purrs in your ear while his hand clasps around your wrist, pulling you through the sea of crowded bodies on the dance floor.

   You let the music thrum through your eardrums, let him drag you down the dark hallway, let your body buzz with the endless possibilities of you and him. All you see is him in the mirage of flashing and sparkling lights as he leads you down down down until he’s pulling you into the room that’ll be your dark awakening.

   The first thing you see when you enter the dim room is the little coffee table packed with two cold water bottles, a glass of whiskey on the rocks, a mixed fruity drink just for you, and a cloth towel just sitting in waiting for the two of you. 

   “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” you ask as he hands you your drink. You take a sip from the citrusy goodness and let the cherry, coconut flavor slide down the back of your throat blissfully. 

   He takes a gulp of his whiskey on ice and nods his head to you as he wets his bottom tongue. “Figured we’d skip the crowded bar, have a little alone time.” The way he says alone makes nerves run down your spine because you know what that’ll lead to. 

   “Your drink okay?” he asks, cocking his head to the right, honey eyes wading into yours.

   “It’s perfect. Thanks,” you mutter, trying not to get lost in the shimmer of his captivating smile.

   You take a few more sips and then set it down, letting your heels click across the polished floor, right to the edge of the large pool table. You let your fingertips run along the wooden sides, gently skate your hand across the red felt, let your eyes roam over every square inch of the table, wondering if Joel’s a good player.

   “You play pool?” he asks, his voice deep floating across the room behind you.

   “Not too much. You?”

   “Sometimes. I play with the boys on Thursdays.”

   “Sounds fun,” you muse, dragging your finger up and down the red velvet, analyzing the colorful pool balls in the middle of the table.

   “It can be.” His voice materializes next to you as he sets his whiskey glass down on the pool table. “You think you’re any good?” He leans against the pool table, eyes directly on you.

   You shrug. “I’m sure not as good as you,” you laugh, heels clicking against the floor as you turn towards him.

   “What makes you say that?” His head cocks to the side, eyes lingering over your soft dress.

   “Well, for one, this is your club, your pool table. And you’re good at everything, aren’t you?”

   “And what makes you think you aren’t, hmm?” He steps closer, a playful smirk on his lips as his silvery scruff reflects under the dim lights. Suddenly, you feel a little warmer than when he was across the room just seconds ago.

   “I don’t know. I’m not… I just…”

   “You’re not what?” he asks.

   “As experienced…” you say timidly, eyes flicking down towards the red trimming on the table.

   He cups your chin with his palm and lifts your eyes up to his, deep brown eyes staring into yours like crystal clear pools. Pools you want to jump in. “Then let me show you.”

   He slowly trails behind you, grabbing your hips and lining you up perpendicular to the table, your heart beating strongly inside your throat. “First, you gotta be in position. Eyes right on the target, exactly where you want the cue stick to move to.”

   He backs you against his hips, pushing you flush against the edge of the pool table while you stifle a groan at the sensation of him behind your body. 

   “Then, you gotta take a deep breath, imagine you’re the cue stick, feel exactly where you want to hit.” His lips line with the shell of your ear, enough to where he’s teasing your skin, one hand slowly dragging up your dress, one leg spreading yours wider as you brace your hands on the table. 

   “Then what?” you ask, almost panting.

   “Then,” he glides his calloused fingers up your inner thigh, right in the crease where his thumb drags along the edge of your lace. “You gotta brace your shoulders, open your legs jus’ enough so you can snap the ball right where you want it to go.”

   He spreads your legs even wider by putting his leg between yours and teases your wet slit with his thumb, his teeth dragging down your neck as he coos against the shell of your ear. “Jus’ as I suspected. Fuckin’ wet,” he chuckles, moving your panties to the side as he starts teasing up and down your folds. 

   “Mmmm, been wet since the dance floor because aaaah,” you moan as he starts slowly circling your puffy clit, making a wave of slick spill between your thighs.

   “Yeah, s’that right, angel?” he chuckles as he starts to unzip your dress, slowly working it off your body till it’s a pile around your ankles, and the only thing left on is your panties that are pushed to the side forcefully. 

   He tugs the lace free, stripping you bare and leaving you in a wave of arousal as he pushes you harder into the side of the pool table, your mind spinning in a blur as he starts circling your aching clit.

   “Joel,” you breathe, hot gasps leaving your lips as two thick fingers curl up inside your dripping hole. You tip your head back into his broad chest and feel the way he lights a fire in your core with his experienced fingers.

   “Yeah? You like that, don’t ya? Think you’re ready for more,” he chuckles, sliding his hand from your hip and then undoing the zipper of his jeans. 

   Your eyes grow wider when you hear the clank of his belt and feel the denim material being pushed to the ground, along with his boxers as you feel the hardening of his cock digging into the small of your back. You groan as he takes his tip and slides it along your wet folds, coating himself in your slick as you moan against the glorious feel of him.

   He spreads your legs wider, bending your hips slightly over the firm table as he slowly pushes the tip inside your waiting hole. You squeak, silently begging him to continue. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

   As if he can hear your screams inside your mind, he bends over and runs his tongue along the shell of your ear. “Now, for your next lesson, you’re gonna take all of me,” he growls, stifling a moan from you as he inches in a little more, his large head spreading you wide as you anticipate the full length of him inside you.

   “All of you?” you whisper, curling your fingers against the red carpet of the giant pool table, imagining how good it’ll feel for him to pound his thick cock deep inside you.

   “All of me,” he confirms with the snap of his teeth. 

   He gives you no time to think until he’s plunging deep inside you, hard. You gasp as he splits you in two, the stretch has you moaning his name, has more slick running down the bulging veins that surround his massive cock. And then he’s thrusting harder, deeper inside you, and you swear he’s kissing your cervix.

   “Oh, fuck me,” you moan against the table, the side of your face kissing the red felt while your fingers dig into the soft material.

   “Fuck you, huh? Ain’t that what I’m doin’, pretty girl? Or do you want it harder?” he growls, his thick fingers pulling you by the hips until he’s absolutely drilling you against the pool table.

   You can’t think straight, can’t even comprehend how you got here, all you can think about are those smoldering dark eyes and his tower of a cock that’s throwing bolts of intense pleasure inside your entire body. And it feels so fucking good. 

   “Harder,” you plead, almost to the point of tears from how much he’s splitting you in two right now, but you don’t want it to stop, you never want him to stop. 

   “Fuck. C’mere then,” he snaps as he pulls his cock free from you and spins you around to where you’re sitting on the edge of the pool table, your legs straddling his hips until he’s pulling you to the very edge and lining up with your dripping core again.

   “You want it harder? Then take it.” He smirks devilishly your way and then thrusts hard into you, so deep that you’re arching your back and calling out his name.

   “Good girl, angel. Say my name. Jus’ like that,” he demands, and then his mouth latches to one of your breasts, his tongue flat against your pebbling nipple as you scream with a wave of pleasure that rides through your core. He does the same to the other one, lapping against it until your hands are laced through his tousled curls, making a groan slip from his own lips at the feel of your soft fingers latched around his messy hair.

   “Yes, yes,” you moan as you feel his cock relentlessly driving up inside you, at an angle that kisses your spongy spot that makes you see entire galaxies, and his coarse hair ruts against your needy clit that screams his name with each stroke he gives you.

   You’re right on the edge of breaking, and he knows. He knows. “Attagirl, angel. Takin’ my cock so well.” You try to pant out a response, but none comes. You’re so gone in the stroke of his cock, in the sensational bliss that Joel is giving you that you can only croak out another tired moan.

   “Know you’re close, sweetheart. Let it out. Let me see you come on this cock,” he growls.

   He cups your chin and lifts your head to where your eyes are level with his. You gasp, seeing just how beautiful those flecks of onyx and dark shades of chocolate are that coat his eyes, making them almost sparkle around the room. 

   You suddenly feel vulnerable like you need to avert your gaze, but you can’t. You just… can’t. 

   The way he’s looking at you like a starving lion makes you squeeze around his cock. He wants to devour you on the spot, but there’s also something else entirely in his gaze that softens just the slightest. And it makes you desperate to run, hide in the shadows so he won’t bring out these growing feelings that you’re feeling right now. 

   Do not fall for him, he’s not yours to fall for. You don’t need another repeat of before, you don’t need him. But you’re afraid you do need him, and that scares the hell out of you.

   His eyes bore into yours so intensely that you swear you can see fireworks flashing off inside those gorgeous irises, numerous vibrant colors blinding you with shades of dark browns and flecks of gold that you swear you feel them colliding straight into your heart. 

   He smells of whiskey and forest cologne that have pine cones and chopped wood mixed into the very fabric of his being that you almost drown in the scent. It’s so overly consuming that it threatens to knock you off this table and onto the floor where you’d drag Joel down with you.

   His lips are so close to yours, his forehead nearly collides with yours as you feel the sweat from his tousled curls drip down onto your forehead. And he’s staring directly at your mouth.

   Oh, fuck. 

   You want to know what he tastes like, want to feel that beautiful mouth on yours, want to collide your tongue with the taste of his sweet cinnamon flavor, but you just can’t. Kissing is intimate, kissing means this is more. But you want it to be more, don’t you? And that thought alone drags you out of the intense trance you’re under.

   Just when he’s about to go for your lips, you quickly turn your head, and his mouth lands directly on your flushed neck. His eyebrows furrow a little like he’s confused, a little hurt even that you moved your face, and the guilt takes a hold and wraps tightly around your insides, but you push it aside as Joel instead starts kissing down the side of your neck.

   He tangles his thick fingers in your mess of locks, his hot breath breathing down your body as he starts to suck ravenously at your collarbone. His hips thrust hard up inside you, continually kissing that sweet spongy part that has your body begging for more. You’re so far gone that your head feels foggy and heavy as you start to combust.

   You feel the blinding orgasm wash over his relentless cock, hear your own ragged breaths and loud moans surround the shiny black walls of this massive back room, and what sends you over the edge again is Joel’s crooked smirk and deep, gravelly voice as he calls you a good girl while you squeeze around his large cock.

   You’re exhausted, body spent, but he’s not done with you yet. He hasn’t come, and you know he’s about to make you lose control again.

   “Christ, you feel jus’ like velvet comin’ around my cock, angel. Wanna feel you do it again. Wanna take you over the edge,” he pants out, and then he starts to climb your body.

   He pushes you back to where you’re sprawled against the middle of the pool table, your legs spread apart, the colorful pool table balls flying every which way as you topple over them, and then he crawls on top of you like he’s dominating your very being. You gasp when he folds your knees into your chest, your body being twisted like a pretzel.

   He takes his thumb and starts spreading your slick over your soft folds, and he moans at the sensation of your wetness beneath him. “So fuckin’ soft for me, your pussy is like pure satin beneath my touch. Jesus Christ,” he groans as he brings his thumb up to his mouth and sucks the arousal off his calloused skin. 

   Your eyes grow wide at the mere vision of him above you delving into your taste, watching him moan against you as precum drips onto your messy pussy. You moan at the sight of him, the tousled hair, the expansive muscles that make up the shape of him, the dark eyes that penetrate you into place, the silver threads that lace his beard. He’s so fucking beautiful that you could lay here and stare at him for hours. He’s just that electric, and you’re afraid you’re falling hard for him, and maybe you can’t stop yourself from slipping into the darkness, but he’d catch you. At least you’d like to think he would.

   “Joel,” you mutter, your voice almost a whisper, and you’re sure you look completely wrecked beneath him. 

   “What is it, angel?” he asks, almost softly as he brushes a strand of hair delicately behind your ear. 

   Intimate, that’s fucking intimate. But you’re not sure you have the strength to give a shit at the moment, you just need him to touch you again.

   “Touch me, please,” you beg, eyes teary as you look up at him, clinging to his broad shoulders.

   He chuckles and leans in, his warm breath blowing over your face. “That’s all you had to say, sweetheart.”

   He quickly pins your arms above your head, his hands lacing around your wrists and then he’s plunging deep inside you like the hilt of a sword, his cock splitting you in two all over again as his dark eyes stare directly into yours.

   It’s like an entirely different world in here than out there in the overly loud crowd, but in here it’s just the two of you, ragged breaths and tumbling bodies that seem to magnetize to each other. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced in your life, the insane pleasure coursing down every single nerve ending in your body, and Joel just makes it burn that much hotter.

   He clenches his teeth the deeper he ruts into you. Your high-pitched moans collide with Joel’s, and the room is filled with a symphony of ecstasy. His hands go everywhere on your body, and you swear you’re about to ignite into flames in this very spot. You might just burn the entire club down.

   His forehead falls down on yours, his lips so close, practically screaming for you to let him fall into the kiss. You almost want to, almost break as the cinnamon smell lingers against your nose, and you just know he tastes absolutely delicious.

   “Joel, I’m not gonna - fuck - last much longer,” you grit through your teeth as he thrusts hard into that perfect spongy spot as his wiry hairs catch the edge of your puffy clit.

   “Then let go,” he growls, digging his fingernails into your captured wrists as he thrusts faster and deeper inside you. 

   You happily oblige for him, arching your back off the red felt as you slip into oblivion and let the white hot heat slowly drip down your entire spine. It feels like warm honey sliding down his cock as your mind turns to mush, your lips moaning his name as you release everything for him. 

   “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises, keeping his steady pace of sliding his cock in and out of your pussy that vibrates for him. You indulge in his praise, your body convulsing from the intense orgasm, and then you’re just waiting for him to release his own pleasure.

   His body hangs over yours like a sturdy tower, his flexed jaw clenching as he groans to himself, angling your hips higher as he dives inside you, deep strokes that blend into pure need that consumes you whole. 

   He doesn’t take much longer, uncontrollably thrusting deep inside you as his thick eyebrows knit together, his breathing erratic from the intense fucking. You almost swear the pool table is about to collapse from the two of you igniting like flames together.

   You thread your fingers through his dripping curls, and that’s exactly when he falls apart. He thrusts deep inside and throws his beautiful head back. You feel hot ropes of cum douse your insides, and you moan the way it feels like he’s dominating you and claiming you as his own.

   He stays inside you for a few seconds after, his hot breath slipping down against your drenched skin like an ocean tide about to take you to your knees. He pulls out from your core, his hips leaving yours, and it feels like loss as his tanned skin leaves yours.

   He collapses on his back next to you, trying to catch his breath as the two of you lay splayed on the pool table, indulging in the pleasure the last half hour has been spent between the both of you. 

   He looks over at you and smiles brightly, a low chuckle leaving his chest. “Jesus Christ, that was amazing,” he beams, his chocolate eyes absolutely sparkling as he gazes at you. It makes your heart clench.

   “Yeah, that was… incredible,” you pant, still breathless from the unbelievable sex Joel had given you. 

   You feel your heart skip a beat as you look at the beautiful man that sits next to you, relishing in all the dark desires Joel keeps giving you. And you’re so scared that you won’t be able to stop before you’re thrown over the edge. Afraid that he will be the death of you. But you let those thoughts flit away from you, only focusing on his next movements.

   He pulls himself up off the pool table, sliding his boxers and jeans back on, and then he does something that surprises you. He dips down and hugs you into his strong chest, cradling you against him as he carries you over to the leather couch. He lies back on the soft cushions and pulls you into his body, and then he starts softly stroking your hair, your back, giving you aftercare.

   You’ll never get used to this, never get tired of this. This man. He’s so dominate, yet he’s so fucking soft. How can he be both? How can he be so… perfect?

   As if he can read your mind, he interrupts your thoughts that tear through your mind wildly. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout there, angel?”

   His caramel eyes are so soft that you stutter as words tumble off your lips. “Just… ummm… just how amazing that was,” you breathe uncontrollably.

   He chuckles and smiles down at you. “There’s plenty more I can show you, angel. Much more I can give you.”

   Your throat closes up at that sentence. He wants to give you more? Suddenly, it feels like he’s offering more, but you don’t ask him. You just stare up at him with wide eyes. 

   He doesn’t say more on the subject, but you get the feeling this will come up at a later time. Right now you just want to focus on how warm his body is, how good it feels to be wrapped in his strong arms.

   You rest your head on his chest and sink lower into him, letting the crackle of the fire send your eyelids fluttering shut, only focusing on Joel’s quiet breaths and his big hands that cradle the back of your head. 

   You swallow away anymore self doubt for the night, only thinking of Joel Miller, the hottest club owner, the most dominant yet gentle man you’ve ever met. You’re afraid you’re falling hard for him. And that’s exactly what you’re doing, what you’ve been doing ever since you met him.

   Shit. You’re so fucked. 

[lovebugism]

Spoooooky request, what if the gang went to a haunted house and everyone made fun of reader for being scared, but Steve holds her hand and walks with her 👻

thanks for requesting angel! i switched it up a bit and did a sort of second part to this fic! you def don't have to read it but it'll give some context :D — you're still getting used to the world post-vecna, but it's easier with steve holding your hand

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

The haunted house off Fifth Street looks strangely familiar. Two stories, faded cornflower paint job, boarded up windows. It looks like a dollhouse from hell. It looks like the goddamn Creel House. It’s like some kind of sick joke.

It didn’t take Hawkins very long to recover from last spring. Mostly because it was just an earthquake to everyone else. No one died, nothing was ruined beyond repair. To the rest of the town, it was just a minor natural disaster — an inconvenience more than anything.

No one knows that a thirteen-year-old girl killed the monster trying to end the world. No one knows that the local freak nearly died saving a bunch of teenagers. No one knows that one song, one heavy metal guitar, and one good memory just narrowly saved your life. 

It’s secrets all of you are gonna have to keep for the rest of your lives. It weighs you down accordingly.

“Am I crazy, or is that…?” Robin trails off, freckled chin tilted towards the velvet blue sky as she gapes at the artificially rotted house. It glows a sickly green color on the outside. The windows light up red every now and then, in time with the screams echoing from the upper story.

“Yeah,” Nancy answers, breathless and equally dumbfounded. “I think it is.”

A beat of silence falls over the group of you. It doesn’t feel so heavy with the surrounding chatter. The crowd continues to bustle around you on the street, falling over themselves with laughter and lingering fright. They have no idea the ghost story they grew up with nearly destroyed the world.

The bitter realization makes your chest ache. Steve seemingly understands this and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You wonder if he can feel the way you tremble.

Eddie scoffs a cynical laugh from the other side of you. A pink, sadistic grin tugs at his lips, almost as wild as his curls billowing in the autumn breeze. “It’s basically kismet then, huh?”

Steve shoots the boy a half-hearted glare, then deflates because he realizes he can’t really be mad about it. Those damn demobats might’ve taken a pound of flesh from his stomach, but it’s nowhere near the feast they made out of Munson.

“C’mon on, dude,” he murmurs quietly with a subtle nod down at you.

“What?” Eddie snorts. “If I don’t laugh bout it, I’ll start crying, so… Take your pick, man.”

Steve wants to tell him that there’s no shame in crying. That he’s done it plenty of times since the fall of ’84. He’s cried for you, for himself, for the kids who will never get to be kids again. He figures it’s better than letting it all build up until you damn near explode. 

But now’s probably not the best time for that talk. Or any time, really. He’ll get you to get all serious and sappy with Eddie about that another time, just like you did for him.

“I’m gonna, uh— I’m gonna go get the tickets,” Jonathan murmurs with his usual Byers mumblings. 

He wasn’t around for the whole Vecna ordeal — just the weird shit in California and the secret lair thing in Nevada. He feels like he can be a bit braver about the whole thing for the four of you.

Nancy brushes a kiss to the boy’s cheek before he leaves. She does that a lot now, with Jonathan and all the rest of you. She always feels like she needs to say a proper goodbye and I love you whenever someone leaves. Just in case the world decides to end again.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve mutters to you, gaze twinkling with sincerity but stern still. “You know that, right?”

He knows that you know, but he feels the need to say it anyway. Mostly because he knows you were already scared of most things before everything went to shit. You’ve always been delicate, tender, like an open wound. Now, you can’t step outside without shaking. You’re always shuddering with the distant fear that the curse might return and no one will be there to save you.

Steve knows this, too. That’s why he holds so ardently to your trembling hand. It’s a silent reminder that he’s there, that he won’t let anything happen to you again, that he’ll always be around to save you when you need him.

“Oh, my god,” Robin groans, eyes wide and head tilted back. “Leave her alone, Steve! She’s fine!”

You know she’s just trying to be supportive. She thinks Steve’s coddling you because you’re quiet — that he’s sticking up for you because he thinks you can’t stick up for yourself. 

He is. And you can’t. But still, she’s only trying to help.

Steve looks to his left to glare at her. They seem to communicate telepathically for a moment. His eyes soften again when he turns back to you. His deep cinnamon gaze swims with a honeyed concern, a silent “Are you fine?”

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, mustering a soft smile that wavers at the edges.

He doesn’t believe you, not completely, but he doesn’t press it any further.

Jonathan returns with the ticket stubs. They’re black and blood red. You take the one he gives you with hesitant, clammy hands. He seems to notice how terrified you are without you having to say a single goddamn word.

“I’m not a huge fan of these things either,” he confesses with a thin-lipped smile. A light-hearted way of telling you that you’re not alone in the fear you keep hidden (very poorly hidden, you figure).

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. 

Your fingers fidget with the paper stub — maybe a distraction for yourself or maybe to hide how you’re too anxious to stay still. Steve figures it’s a bit of both. ‘Cause he knows you too well and not a thing gets by him. There’s nothing about you that he doesn’t notice.

He turns to face you completely while everyone else gets their ticket. He keeps his wedged between his middle and forefinger as his hands curl around the outsides of your elbows. He’s serious, but still soft — gentle, but still firm. 

“Babe—”

“Stevie,” you interject with a similar tone. “I’m okay.”

“You heard her, Stevie. She’s fine!” Robin retorts, curling her maroon-tinted lips into a smirk. She scoffs out a laugh and gestures up to the fake haunt across the street. “This shit is basically for kids. No one’s dying here, alright?”

You know what she’s doing. She’s sticking up for you and taking the piss out of her best friend at the same time. It’s nothing new — hell, it’s her favorite hobby. She’s got your back now the same way she had it in that house last spring. 

But still, her words sting a little.

Because she’s right. This place is for kids. And you still feel a bit like you’re dying.

Steve knows this, too. He knows everything about you. Even the stuff you wish he didn’t.

His sneakers scuff against the pavement when he turns to Robin. His eyes narrow in a challenging squint as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look quite as intimidating as usual in his fluffy, cable-knit sweater. 

“Well, you know what? I’m scared, actually. I don’t wanna do it, okay? You got me, Rob.”

The girl grins something cynical. She shakes her head all slow, like she’s just caught him in some kind of lie. “I knew it. You little baby.”

Steve lets her tease him. It’s not like he isn’t used to it by now. He just rolls his eyes and bears it, lets her laugh about it with the rest of the group as they head towards the haunted house. 

You watch with an attentive gaze while they head inside, flinching softly when you hear a thunderous boom and the sound of their screaming a second later. It leaves you secretly grateful that you hadn’t gone in behind them. 

A wavering sigh tumbles from your lips, a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Steve exhales a gentle laugh from beside you. He smooths a wide palm up your spine and down again. He leans over to press the side of his hip against yours.

You cross your arms over your chest to make yourself as small as possible while you glance over at the boy beside you. You look at him so far beneath your lashes you’re basically peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” is all you say. It’s all you need to say.

Steve shrugs with a plush, crooked grin. “’S okay. I know you’re too sweet to say no, so…”

“I wanted to do it,” you confess, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.

“I know.”

“I guess I’m not… as used to everything as I thought.”

“I know,” Steve repeats. His hand curls around your waist and makes a home in the very center of it. He pulls you closer with the urge to melt into you. His brows raise, eyes sparkling when his smile widens. “But that’s why I’m here, though, right? We’re gonna get better together.”

You nod up at him, smiling more sincerely now. 

Arms still crossed, your hands ball into fists to fight the urge to smooth a hand through his hair — to push back the rogue chestnut strands hanging over his forehead.

You hesitate, so he beats you to the draw. He swipes a golden hand over his head right before he leans down to kiss you. 

He smacks a sweet peck to your smile. A bright light flashes with another thunderous boom a moment later. You flinch and pull back. You swear you hear Eddie screaming, “jesus fucking christ!” from the upper story. You forget to be scared.

You didn’t think it was possible. The whole getting better thing.

Steve makes you feel like could be.

[cieloclercs]

grace , send me a trope + a character and i’ll write a short drabble from it

hii, can i please request best friends to lovers with ollie?

congrats on 1k btwww 🫶🫶

call me cupid — ollie bearman

pairing. ollie bearman x best friend!reader

word count. 2.7k (i swear i tried to make it short lmao)

warnings. kind of a weird fusion of fluff and angst ??? unrequited love vibes (that’s not actually unrequited but u get what i mean), pining ollie, pining reader, arthur lowkey is the mastermind, and is also sick of said pining, abrupt ending i’m sorry 😭

author’s note. hello anon! thank you so much for your request ☺️ i hope this is ok ! i know it cuts off quite abruptly, but i’d be open to writing a part 2 with the confession if you want one <3

read below the cut

He’s staring again.

It’s becoming a problem, but can anyone really blame him? You look nothing short of angelic under the strobe lights, your shimmering dress catching his eye every time you move. You’re dancing with a girl he doesn’t recognise, that beautiful smile he adores stretched across your crimson-painted lips. It makes him wonder what she’s saying to you to make you seem so content.

Best friends shouldn’t look at each other the way he’s looking at you now. Ollie knows that. Yet on days like today, he really can’t help it. This is your party, celebrating your third Formula 2 victory in a row. He’d watched from way back in P5 as you stormed through the field, fighting off every challenge your opponents tried to throw your way. There’s a reason the fans call you the Queen of Formula 2, after all. You’re practically untouchable. All it does is heighten his awareness of his own pounding heart whenever you’re around; turn his insides to velvet when you so much as smile his way. Yes, it’s becoming a problem — and Ollie isn’t sure there’s anything he can do to stop it.

“You know, I’ve just thought of something you should try.” A voice speaks up to his left, breaking him out of whatever trance you’ve unwittingly put him under. He turns. Arthur Leclerc stands like the devil on his shoulder, arms folded, expression unimpressed. When Ollie says nothing, he goes on, “It’s called talking to her. Works wonders, really, I’d highly recommend. It’s how I met Carla.”

The younger of the two rolls his eyes. Arthur is the only other living soul on earth who knows about his infatuation with you — officially, at least. In reality, almost everyone in the Ferrari Academy has long since figured it out. Everyone except you, ironically. But Ollie supposes it makes sense; why would someone like you ever even consider him as something more than just a friend?

“Can we not do this tonight?” Ollie sighs, exasperated, “I’m just trying to forget about…all of that for a moment.”

This time it’s Arthur who rolls his eyes. Ever since he first caught on to his friend’s crush on you a little over eight months ago, he’s been trying every method under the sun to try and make him see that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be so pessimistic about his chances. But the answer is always the same. Ollie remains convinced, like some poor, naïve, completely oblivious child, that you’d never so much as give him a second glance if he told you how he felt. It’s complete bullshit, of course. Arthur has seen the way your eyes search immediately for his after a race, be it a good result or even a bad one. He’s watched you brush off close friends (including him, many a time) even family members, to get to Ollie. But of course, Ollie himself doesn’t notice. No fool in love ever does.

“You’re not going to forget though, are you?” Arthur muses, glancing at his friend out of the corner of his eye, “I know you, and I know you can’t stay away from her for that long. You’ll cave eventually.” he smirks. At the sight of Ollie’s pink cheeks, he knows he’s caught him out.

“Why don’t you go annoy someone else for a change?” the Brit grumbles. There’s the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Arthur could pick it out even in the pitch dark.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love me.” he teases.

Within moments he’s cowered behind Carla on the other side of the room, chased away by Ollie’s (half joking) threats to crash him out of the next race on purpose if he doesn’t shut his mouth. But Arthur’s words stick with him throughout the entire night. Somehow, they always do.

In truth, Ollie's been grappling with the idea of telling you for quite a while; to put him out of his own misery more than anything else. He's sick and tired of the 'best friends' label. It seems so trivial, so reductive to say that it hurts him, when in fact, every time you refer to him as such, he’s sure you must be ripping his heart out of his chest. But then he can’t help but feel melodramatic — at least he has you, even if only as a friend. Even if you don’t love him in the way he loves you, you’re still there. Close, though perhaps not quite close enough. Ollie has decided not to take that for granted. He knows how easily it can be snatched away from him.

In the end (just as he always seems to be) Arthur is right — it’s not even an hour before he finds himself gravitating towards you; unwittingly being pulled into your orbit from which he fears, if he’s not careful, he’ll never be able to escape. You’re hovering on the edge of a group of engineers now, sipping on a glass of sparkling water out of a straw. How you can appear drop dead gorgeous yet so damn adorable at the same time, he has no idea. Ollie feels he’ll be spending the rest of his life trying to figure you and your many layers out.

“Hi, Ol.” you greet him with a smile like the sun when he finally plucks up the courage to approach. He mutters something in reply, though as soon as the words have left his mouth he’s already forgotten them — he could have said something completely unintelligible for all he knows. That’s the effect you have on him.

“Having fun?” you prompt again, your soft smile spreading into a full-blown grin. Ollie glances briefly around the room. It’s absolutely packed full of Ferrari Academy members, both drivers and personnel. Normally, this kind of event would be his worst nightmare. Even if he’s known these people for years, the idea of having to socialise and look like he’s having fun makes him feel sick. But then he remembers all this is for you. It’s to celebrate your achievements in a male dominated field, which no woman has ever managed to do before. When he reminds himself of that, all his anxiety suddenly seems to melt away.

“Of course.” Ollie grins back. His heart soars to see you light up at his words, to see you giggle behind the rim of your glass and look at him as if he’s the only person in the world. At times like this he can truly believe that maybe Arthur is right — maybe, if he confesses, his world won’t come crashing down. Maybe you’ll light it up for the better.

“What happened to you at turn one? Nic told me you dropped out of the points." you go on, eyebrows furrowing with the remnants of confusion. Ollie had begun the feature race in P2 behind you, yet you'd find that the competition you'd so anticipated disappeared not even before the first lap had ended. The Brit sighs, shaking his head.

"I collided with Jack trying to defend." he tells you with a wince, "Damaged my sidepods."

Your expression twists into one of sympathy. There's almost no coming back from that, even for a driver as talented as Ollie. Still, you think, to climb back up to P5 after sustaining damage like that is no mean feat. You don't miss the way he flushes bashfully when you tell him as such.

"It was my own fault." he mumbles, trying desperately to cool the flames in his cheeks as you watch him, eyebrows raised. He always feels like he's been put under a microscope when you look at him like this. There's no escaping the calculation in your stare, the curious scrutiny. "I took too much of a risk."

You shake your head. There's the tiniest of knowing smiles on your lips. Ollie is always so hard on himself. It's something you both admire him for, and find yourself exasperated with; he never seems to be able to see how brilliant he really is -- or at least, how brilliant he is in your eyes.

"Well, whoever was at fault, it's a real shame." you dismiss with a wave of your hand, "I miss sharing the podium with you."

Ollie is sure he must be melting. He can't figure out if it's from your words alone, or from the tiny pout that's fallen on your lips, or even the soft glint in your eyes as you gaze up at him. Suddenly the proximity between the two of you seems to have all but diminished. He chuckles nervously.

"Next race will be ours." the Brit murmurs. Little by little you inch closer to him, your hand resting on the ledge you're leaning on, just ghosting over where his own lays flat. He breathes in sharply.

"Promise?" you whisper. The point of your heel bumps against his foot. Ollie glances down at it in a panic, before his head snaps up to meet your piercing gaze. He fears that if he rocks forwards only the slightest bit on the balls of his feet, he'll be close enough for his nose to bump yours. He's never felt so consumed, so intoxicated by another person in all his life. He can smell the honey scent of your hair, feel your warm breath tickling his cheek. His gaze flickers down for the briefest of moments to your lips - soft and pink, parted as if there's something else you want to say, but the words have gotten trapped in your throat.

"I promise." Ollie croaks.

Just one more step, you think. One more step, and he'll kiss you. He's so close, closer than he's ever been before, and suddenly you can see everything falling into place: all the nights spent crying on Arthur's shoulder, wondering whether Ollie is truly just scared as your friend says he is, or whether he simply doesn't feel the same. It will all fade into a distant, long-abandoned memory. Finally, you'll be able to call him something more than just your best friend.

But then he steps away.

You flinch, taken aback at his sudden movement. Ollie stares at you, wide-eyed, breathing heavily as if he's just run a marathon. He can't believe what's just happened — can't believe he was about to kiss you. How could he be so stupid?

"I —" he stammers. The look on your face is hard to decipher: shocked, confused, hurt. If Ollie looked a bit closer, he'd be able to see the last of those emotions, or the way your shock is mixed with a horrible sinking feeling of disappointment. But, of course, he doesn't see it that way. He's stuck on the same, poisonous idea that's been plaguing his mind ever since he first figured out his feelings — you don't feel the same way.

"I'm sorry." Ollie gasps. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and runs, leaving you stood alone, arms half outstretched as if to try and stop him. You're too late, of course. Within moments he's out of sight. Gone, just like your hope.

"Well that was a train wreck." a familiar voice speaks up from somewhere on your left. You spin around, groaning as you spot Arthur, arms folded, eyebrows furrowed in what you can only imagine is frustration.

"You don't say." you drawl bitterly, glaring down into your empty glass. Wordlessly, your friend passes you his own half-full one. You lean down to sniff at its contents, and pull away, nose scrunched in distaste — definitely not water. But you think, at this point, you're owed some kind of distraction.

"Why does he keep running away from me?" you grumble. It's been months of this cat and mouse game now. Tonight is the closest you've ever got; the first time you've seen with your own eyes that Ollie does reciprocate your feelings. Yet it feels like for that step forward, all you've gone and done is taken another two back.

"Because he's an idiot." Arthur answers plainly. The Monégasque watches as you take a gulp of his drink, pulling a face at the burn in your throat, and wordlessly reaches forwards to take the glass back from your hands. He's grateful that you don't complain.

"Well I wish he'd stop." you mutter. As much as you're willing to wait for Ollie for as long as he needs, it's painful, having to go on loving him from a distance like this. Every time you lock eyes, the longing grows more intense. You're not sure how much longer you can take it.

"You know, you're just as bad as he is." Arthur speaks up. Once again, your head snaps towards him, eyes narrowing.

"What?"

"You heard me." the Monégasque says with a sigh, "Look, I want to help you, I really do, but you could make all of this so much easier for yourself if you just tell him how you feel."

And there it is. You can’t help but let out a bitter chuckle. It sounds so simple coming from Arthur’s mouth — so easy. God knows you’ve tried, time and time again, to be honest with Ollie about your feelings, to rip off the plaster in the hopes the pain of it won’t be too great; that he might just tell you he’s been trying to say the same thing all this time. But whenever you feel as if you might be ready, the words catch in your throat. You just can’t stomach them. It’s a kind of vulnerability you’ve never shown to anyone before, let alone someone who already means so much to you. At the end of the day, you’re still young. No matter how much you love Ollie now, the chances of him being the one are low.

At least, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself. But a part of you knows already — there’s no one else on earth you’ll ever feel this way about. Young or not, it’s always going to be Ollie.

“I don’t know if I can take that risk, Arth.” you say quietly, “If Ollie and I — if we’re not meant to be together…isn’t it better just to have him, even as a friend, than risk losing him entirely?”

You’re honestly not sure which is the most painful: having to pretend that you don’t love him, or the idea of one day not having him at all. Yet, you still know which one you’d choose — even if it hurts like ripping your own heart out of your chest.

“Huh.” Arthur says, eyebrows furrowing again. There’s something different in his expression this time, though. It’s less frustration, more a spark. As if he’s realised something you and Ollie may not have just yet.

“What?” you ask. Suddenly, Arthur begins to smile. You watch him disbelievingly, none the wiser as to what on earth he has to be so happy about at the present moment. Then he’s laughing, shaking his head as if in mirthful despair.

“You really are soulmates.” the Monégasque snickers, watching almost gleefully as you grow even more confused.

“What?” you ask again. Part of you begins to wonder if Arthur has lost his mind — you wouldn’t blame him after the game he’s been playing: acting as some sort of secret go-between in the middle and your and Ollie’s back and forth self-doubts. But Arthur hasn’t lost the will to live with it all just yet. In fact, he thinks he’s finally figured out how to make the both of you see sense.

“He said the exact same thing to me.”

And with that, Arthur turns on his heel, leaving you stood alone, your mind racing. All this time you’ve been trying to play the long game; trying to anticipate what Ollie is thinking, when in reality, your thoughts are practically shared. You’re both afraid. More than you ever have been in your life. But for the first time you begin to think, perhaps fear doesn’t have to be the dividing factor.

“Why do you look so pleased with yourself?” Carla Brocker asks her boyfriend as he retakes his familiar position at her side, still grinning like a child who’s just been told Christmas is coming early. Arthur says nothing, merely tilting his head in the direction of where you stand motionless. It only takes a few moments for Carla to catch on. She turns to face her boyfriend again, mouth hanging open.

“You think you’ve got through to her?” she whispers urgently.

Once again, Arthur Leclerc grins proudly.

“Just call me Cupid.”

[ihavethedreamies]

Peach | Juicy Fruit | Jaemin

Na Jaemin - NCT Dream

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~2.5k

Pairing: Jaemin x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Established Relationship, Porn without Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (M! & F! Receiving/Anal), Anal Play, Sex Toys (Butt Plug, Butterfly Vibrator), Deepthroating/Face-Fucking, Rough Sex, Squirting, Daddy Kink (he calls himself that once), Unprotected Sex (Don’t!!)

Summary: Jaemin isn't too happy his girlfriend doesn't like peaches…

Author's Note: This series was supposed to be of drabbles, at least this is the longest.

This is only vaguely based off of Smoothie…I say this because I got the idea for a fruit theme, but past that its unrelated.

-> Series Hub <-

🍉 Mark 🍉

🍇 Renjun 🍇

🍌 Jeno 🍌

🍒 Haechan 🍒

🍓 Chenle 🍓

🍍 Jisung 🍍

I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

"You really don't like peaches?" Your boyfriend looked at you, looked utterly dejected at this new information. You sighed, flapping the produce bag so it would open, holding it to him. He dumped the five peaches into the bag he had carefully cradled in his arms and then added two more for good measure. As you put the bag in the cart you shrugged.

"I will eat them sometimes. They just are...weird."

"Weird how?" Jaemin took the cart from your grasp so he could push it for you.

"Why are they fuzzy?" You were a bit ashamed to admit why you disliked them so much. The texture was just so odd, it was like velvet. And you hated velvet too, it was unnatural. You much preferred nectarines, of a similar vein but NOT fuzzy.

"But they are so sweet and juicy..." He stopped to send you a mischievous look, "like you." He booped your nose with his finger then continued on, leaving you staring after him in disgust.

"Why do I love you?" You mumbled, trudging after him.

"Because I'm sweet and juicy too." He replied way too casually. You rolled your eyes and you two continued to shop, eventually getting the canned food. You grabbed a couple of different things, and you watched him put a can of pre-cut peaches in.

"We're buying fresh ones." You took it back out so he would put it back.

"These aren't fuzzy, maybe you'll like these." Jaemin tipped the can back and forth in your face, putting it in the cart once again. They weren't expensive, so you just let it happen. In the candy isle, you looked for your favorite kind and he came over with some Japanese brand of chewy candies, and they were peach flavored.

"Seriously?"

"I will convince you to like something peach. Don't make me get the Crush soda!" He pointed at you, finger close but not touching your forehead. Sighing you dropped the issue, finishing shopping then going back home. You sat at the counter eating some chips as he put the rest of the groceries away, he wouldn't let you help. He said it was because you were too short to reach everything, but he really just liked spoiling you. When he was done, he brought over the bag of peaches, setting each one on the counter in a row, smallest to largest.

"What the hell are you doing?" You asked, not sure you wanted to know the answer. He didn't answer, taking the can of peaches, opening it, and placing seven of the slices on a paper plate. In front of each peach, he put one of the candies.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" You reiterated and he held up his hand, telling you to wait.

"If you eat a certain number of each one, I will do different things for you."

"Like what?"

"What do you think, baby girl?" He leaned on the counter, smirking and you shuffled in your seat under his intense gaze. Clearing your throat, you closed the chip bag and shoved them to the side.

"Alright. What are they?"

"One candy equals one minute of making out." He pointed at each one. Jaemin moved to the slices on the plate.

"One is I'll let you ride my thigh." You nodded for him to continue.

"Two, I'll get you off with my fingers. Three, your vibrator. Four I'll let you suck me off at the same time. Six, I'll cum in your mouth, and all seven I'll fuck your face." He listed off, recognizing the look on your face with each level. He knew you too well. You swallowed hard and he flashed a devilish grin.

"Okay, what about those." You nodded toward the full fruits. He held one up.

"If you only eat one of these, I'll have you sit on my face. If you do all the other ones, plus one of these..." He drifted off, trying to keep his face flat, but he was still smirking. Your eyes followed his hand as he put the fruit down and pulled a bottle out of his pocket you had no idea was there. He set it down, the fluid inside was a peachy color...

"I'll use this." Jaemin leaned back against the counter opposite the island as you looked at the bottle.

"Real original. Peach flavored butt lube..." You sighed, but your cunt clenched at the thought. You had been talking about experimenting...

"Okay, deal." You agreed, holding your hand out to shake and he grinned.

"You sure, baby?"

"We'll see." You shrugged, trying to stay nonchalant. You were a little nervous, the last time you had canned peaches, you gagged at the slimy texture. The candies weren't too worrying, the artificial flavor was probably quite different from real peaches. He took your hand and shook it, leaning back again, nodding for you to start. Unwrapping the first gummy, you slid it into your mouth, the sugar decorating the outside rough on your tongue as your teeth sank in. It really wasn't too bad, though you wouldn't go out of your way to buy any.

"One minute." You started, unwrapping the next gummy. After you had chewed and eaten all seven, Jaemin smirked, coming around the island, and pulling you off the stool to him. As he brought you to and settled on the couch, he set a timer for seven minutes, cracking some joke about seven minutes in heaven, then hauled you down onto his lap. He groaned exaggeratedly as he pulled you down to seal your lips with his, tongue already snaking its way into your mouth. Your head swam as Jaemin kissed you, he really was too good at it. You felt a bit of saliva drip down your chin, he was rough and noisy. You both were sucking air in harshly through your noses since you couldn't use you mouths, but not wanting to cut short the seven minutes in any way. When his phone alarm went off, his hand buried in your hair and forced you to pull back from the kiss. You were both panting, but you were way more than him, with that stupid cocky grin on his ridiculously attractive face. With ease, he stood, you still on his lap. This forced you to wrap your legs and arms around him with a yipe and he went back to the kitchen, setting you on the island counter. He slid the plate over to you, grabbing a spare plastic fork and handing it over. This was more nerve wracking for you. You pondered if literally swallowing the slices whole would be less skeevy than chewing them since they got kind of rubbery in the can. Taking the first piece, you brought it to you lips, cringing at the taste of the syrup they put in the can to keep them the right texture. Sliding it in, the slippery texture made you gag slightly, so you just bit it in half, then swallowed both pieces. Thinking of it like a medication pill made it go down easier, since those weren't supposed to be appetizing.

"Thigh." He recited, stepping forward even further, standing between your legs where you sat on the counter. You swallowed again, making sure the pieces were done and then proceeded to do it again. The flavor wasn't too bad, but the texture was still unpleasant.

"Fingers." Another, swallowing both halves.

"Vibe."

"My cock." He placed his thumb over your lip, swiping a bit of the syrup away.

"My cum." You licked your lips that time, swallowing hard to get the rest of the sixth piece down. When you finally ate the last slice, he smiled deviously, running his index finger down your throat, as if following the fruit as you swallowed it. Before you could do anything yourself, he pulled away, dashing to the bedroom, coming back out with your butterfly vibrator. He came back over, pulling your butt to the edge, running his hand up your thigh and under your skirt. You shifted so he could flip it up, smiling at your pink panties. He pulled them to the side, your slick letting the silicone head of the small vibrator slide in easily. You shivered a bit as he got it all in and let your underwear settle back in place, the wings of the bottom of the toy cupping your whole cunt. He helped you off the counter, and you got on your knees in front of him. As you pulled his hard cock out of his sweat pants, you whined, lapping up the drop of precum beaded at his head. Jaemin smirked, holding the remote for you to see, then turning it on. Your breath hitched as he increased the intensity, you squatted further so the base of the toy hit the floor, allowing you to press it into your more. Opening your mouth wide, you sat like a good girl as he took his cock in his hand, leading it in. Listening to you breathe roughly through your nose, he kept going, filling your throat with his cock. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation, loving the feeling of your throat trying to accommodate but not gag. Jaemin just held his cock there, your nose pressed to his groin, your hips rutting against your toy. When he could tell you needed to breathe, he pulled his hips back enough to allow you respite, then started to thrust his hips. Every fifth thrust, he shoved his cock as deep as he could, his palm laying over your throat feeling it stretch with his girth. He groaned loudly, he always did.

"Fuck, baby girl~" Your eyes were watering, tears flowing over your cheeks, breaths harsh through your nose and he knew you were close like him. His thumb hit the button the remote again and at the new intensity, you hit your climax, your moan around his cock helping him finish as well. You nearly sobbed as hot, thick spurts of his cum went straight down your throat. It seemed to never end, and your vision blurred from lack of air. Jaemin noticed and pulled halfway out, a few small spurts of cum still leaving his cock, then pulled out completely so you could suck in oxygen. His cock was a mess of saliva and release. Panting from where you squatted on the floor, you watched him shut the toy off, sighing in relief, and he picked up the full peach that time.

"Undress and get on the bed." He ordered and you scrambled to do so, sliding the toy out and throwing it in the bathroom sink. You slid your clothes off and sat at the end of the bed like a good girl, he came in not even a minute later, only in his pants and holding the peeled and cut fruit on a plate in his hand. Setting it down next to you, he went to the nightstand and got the plug you had bought last week.

"Start." You hadn't made good on the deal yet, but he knew you would. When you picked up the first piece, you were relieved it wasn't nearly as slimy or sticky as the canned stuff, but you were kind of full from the previous parts, as well as what you swallowed of Jaemin's release. You were feeling impatient, so you scarfed it down, shocking him a bit, but you were licking the last of the juice off your fingers when he came to stand in front of you. He had given you the smaller one luckily, so you didn't have much to eat.

"Roll over, get on your knees." He smacked your ass lightly and you crawled up the bed, doing so, face on the sheets, butt in the air. He grinned, your slick folds had dripped down over your pucker. He opened the cap of the bottle, you shivered when the slightly cold fluid hit your rim. You had expected the tip of his finger, or even the end of the plug, but you gasped when instead, his tongue ran around your back entrance. It was peach flavored not just scented.

"Fuck, 'Min." It was an odd sensation, but not totally unwelcome. He noted that the lube had a very artificial taste, he much preferred the real thing, but if it was you he eating instead, that was fine. After a few minutes, he pulled his face away, licking his lips, then picked up the plug.

The toy was pretty small, but he still slathered it in lube, as well as your rim. He watched the muscle flutter around the silicone, and you whined a bit.

"Breathe." He coached and slid the plug into your ass. Your breath hitched, then you sighed and relaxed once it was in.

"How's that, baby girl?" Jaemin stroked the skin of your ass cheek with his thumb, your cunt visibly fluttering.

"W-weird." You admitted, and he hummed.

"Jaemin~" You practically squealed when the head of his dick ran through your slick folds, but he was taking his time actually starting to press in.

"Please!" You wanted to cry, needing him and so he relented, sliding home. You let out a slight choking noise, the burn of his cock stretching you so fast and hard, along with the plug in your ass, was overwhelming. He was nice enough to let you adjust to the new sensation of having something in both holes, but it always took a while for you to get used to his cock. From behind he reached the deepest part of your cunt, and your tight gummy walls gripped to every ridge and vein of him. There was no verbal warning for him starting, but you saw his hands rest on and grip the head board, prompting you to do the same with the sheets.

"Fuck, princess!" He laughed in glee, not trying to be gentle in any sense, bullying his cock into your pussy as hard as he could, like he was rearranging your insides. Each thrust took your breath away, making you nearly hyperventilate. He was spewing the sweetest filth, praising you and your cute little cunt. How well you took his fat cock, and how much he loved fucking you stupid. You could barely babble in reply, tiny orgasms washing over you over and over.

"J-J-Jaemin-!" You dug your teeth into the pillow, the next wave coming was much stronger.

"Okay, baby girl, cum for daddy~" He chuckled as you whimpered, another hand thrust, and he was even taken away by your orgasm. Your cunt clenched even tighter around his cock than he thought possibly, spurts of slick spilling from your cunt, dripping and puddling onto the sheets. It was too much, too hot, that he made a few more shallow thrusts, then spilled inside you. You milked him dry, it felt like, and it made an even bigger mess. He sat inside you till he had nearly softened all the way, letting you calm down some and slowly pulling out. His finger circled the base of the plug, the end of it had a little emoji peach on it.

"You like peaches now, princess?"

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[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 20 all chapters

gif credit to dilfgifs

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You try to go as long as you can, but later that night you decide you just can’t stand it anymore. You’re pretty sure it’s been days, and you feel gross.

“Can I…use your shower?”

He turns to you with a small smile. “You mean, our shower? Yes.”

Hoping that’s the end of it, and this exchange won’t get weird, you slip out from under his arm to go into the bathroom. You check your prospects, finding expensive shampoo, conditioner, bodywash, shaving gel…but no razor. You guess you get it, kind of, but really. Then again, maybe you'd better not ask. Why send mixed signals by shaving off your body hair? It’s just an aesthetic mostly catering to the male gaze anyway…

But it bugs you.

You pop your head back out of the door. “Razor?”

He doesn’t even look up from his book.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

This annoys you for some reason. “Just so you know, I am not going to try to kill myself.” Brave words for someone in your situation, but at least at the moment, you mean them.

“I was more worried you might try to kill me.”

You open your mouth again, until he fixes you with that laser-like stare. “Just take your shower, y/n, or do I have to come in there to help you?”

The thought of his large hands on your body slick with soap sends an inconvenient spear of desire straight to your center.

“No.”

You disappear fast as a groundhog into its burrow, closing the door behind you.

“Door open!” he yells in that particular tone, and sensing the shift in his mood, you comply rather than pull his tail some more.

Well done, you, you chide yourself as you strip out of your dirty dress and your ACE bandage in the cavernous shower. He was actually in a good mood, somehow, after you tried to knock his head off with a book. And now you…what? You did something to piss him off, at least a little bit.

Learning his moods was going to take some doing.

It was the only way you were getting out of here alive.

You keep looking over your shoulder, half expecting to see him looming behind you. That man moves silent as a ghost when he feels like it.

It’s creepy. And…kind of hot, if you’re being honest, but that is not a helpful thought.

You feel a thousand times better with all the grime washed from your hair and your body. You wrap yourself in a big fluffy towel that feels like a cloud on your skin, and put off going into the bedroom by drying your hair.

There are products on the sink that you use, face lotions and hair creams, and more expensive versions of the same type that you could never afford. How did he know?

Then again, he has fucking gorgeous hair, he probably knows more about styling product than you do.   

You turn to look at his handiwork upon your bum. The bruise is a red and purple swirl nearly the size of your fist. You can actually see the neat lines of his teeth marks. “Jesus Christ.”

His eye was going to heal way before that was.

When you can’t really dawdle in the bathroom anymore, you war with the next conundrum.

Fresh clothes.

Fuck it. You march out, heading for the closet without making eye contact with the reclining leopard on the bed. You can feel his eyes on you, and fuck if it doesn’t turn you on to be watched like that. Like you are some kind of prize to be desired.

It feels utterly insane to you, to say the least. You’re not that beautiful, but he looks at you like you’re Helen of Troy.  

With your hand on the closet door John clears his throat pointedly.

You know you can’t ignore him. Risking his wrath while you’re wrapped in nothing but a bath towel is so not a good idea.

You turn to find he’s laid something out at the foot of the bed for you already.

“Wear this,” he says. It’s an order clothed in velvet. Polite, but…you sense the unyielding directive underneath.

You pad on bare feet to the foot of the bed. It’s a silky lavender nightie with lace at the bodice. Nothing too wacky. No embarrassing peep holes or extraneous straps. You are somewhat relieved.

Until you see the underwear he’s paired with them.

Your underwear, as a matter of fact.   

Those went missing a long time ago.

Speechless, you look to him, knowing you look like a fish out of water but unsure what to say.

This has been going on for way longer than you even knew, and you didn’t have a clue.

“You took these from my apartment.” You manage not to yell it.

“I didn’t want you to wear them for anyone but me.” He has the cheek to sound grouchy about it, like you did something wrong.

You feel your temper rising like the mercury in a thermometer. You know you’re going to say something stupid, but you just don’t know how to keep it in.

“How. Fucking. Dare you?”

He just sighs, like he already knows how this is going to go. “Don’t play this game with me, baby.”

You bite down on the impulse to demand he not call you baby.

“You could have just…asked me out. I would have said yes, you know?”

He actually looks away as you tell him this.

“Maybe you would have. Until you realized I’m just a bitter old man, and you would have left me.”

You blink at that. How can he be so smart, and yet so blind?

“I knew you were a bitter old man all along! But you know what? I liked you anyway. I thought you were interesting, and funny, and so fucking handsome, and I wanted to fuck you. But now…” You clench your fists, shaking with all the vitriol you know you can’t unleash on this unpredictable man.

This unpredictable killer.

He takes your fury, seemingly nonplussed. You’re not sure any of it registers at all, and it takes some of the wind out of your sails. “This isn’t love, John,” you say quietly, your throat tightening with every syllable. “Love is…having the courage to bare your heart to the sword, and take what comes. You can’t control it like this.”

He tilts his head at this, a wave of that lovely dark hair covering his face. You get the feeling like he’s hiding from you, when he does that.

Finally he asks, “Have you ever been stabbed, y/n?”

Your heart skips a beat, as you wonder if he’s threatening you. “No.”

“Well let me tell you. It fucking hurts.”

Then he reaches down the bed to pluck up the panties, sticking them in his pocket. “I guess I’ll just keep these. You’re not going to need them anyway.”

You glare daggers at him.

He offers you the slightest, smuggest, smile.

“You sonofabitch.”

“Watch that mouth, kitten. Unless you want me to fill it up with something else.”

You bare your teeth with the thought. “I fucking dare you,” you spit, snatching up the nightie to take it to the bathroom to change.

“Nuh uh,” he interjects. “Change here.”

You freeze in your tracks, understanding exactly what he’s demanding of you.

This is how it’s going to be, you tell yourself. He’s going to be sweet, and then he’s going to be insufferable, and if you’re not careful, he’ll get downright mean. Don’t be fooled by the sweet moods, because all the rest is just beneath the surface waiting.

It was so hard to remind yourself of that, when he was being good to you.

You don’t turn around. You moonlighted as a drawing model after college. You can handle this, right? He’s already seen parts of you anyway…

It’s soooooooooo much different than being in that classroom, when you undo your towel and let it fall to the floor. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your bare form. In the end, knowing it’s just your backside, that he’s already gotten way more than an eyeful of…doesn’t really help. With shaking hands you quickly you pull the nightie over your head.

You hope he feels guilty about the size of that fucking bruise, but you have a feeling he probably likes seeing his marks on you.

“Come here.” He practically purrs, and your flesh aches for the sound. Fuck.

You turn to face him, but do not move. Once again, that glorious boner is making an appearance. It’s almost flattering, how often this man has a hard-on when he’s around you. If this had been a normal relationship, you would have made it your mission to oblige him at every opportunity, just to see what the old man could take.

As it is…all you want to do is fight him, and you know you are destined to lose.

He pats his thigh, as though he expects you to sit on his lap. Without underwear. Or a bra. Or a sense of self-preservation.

You shake your head no with the glitter of moisture in the corners of your eyes. You’ve never felt so helpless in your life, and you hate it.

 He frowns at your defiance. My god, no one can do a forbidding frown, like Mr. John Wick. It lodges your heart in your throat, even while you find him magnificent.

“Are you going to make me make you?”

And there it is.

You sigh, and you feel like a piece of your soul exits your body. Good. Good, be empty. He can’t hurt an empty husk.

“I guess so.”

You close your eyes, and you wait. You wait for his rough hands, for the violence that is surely coming to you. You shake like a leaf, unable to stop. You don't know why you'd allowed yourself to hold out some hope, that maybe he really wasn't going to hurt you.

Yet, it does not come.

You open your eyes to find him still frowning at you. He hasn’t moved a muscle.

The longest three seconds of your life tick by. You count them in your thundering heartbeats, and then he scoots over on the bed. “Fine. Come lay by me then.”

You are shocked to your toes. You forget how to move. 

“Now.” He snaps his fingers, pointing to the bed beside him, and you scurry over before he loses his patience with this kinder offer. Cautiously you crawl up beside him, and when he holds up his arm you understand the cue, snuggling into his side with your head on his shoulder. 

Alright, this, you can do. 

This feels almost…normal. The way your head fits into the divot of his shoulder is just…divine, if you’re being honest, and your body shudders as you suppress a sob, hiding your face against his chest. It’s not fair, that you still want him so much, and you mourn for the promise of sweetness that was snatched from your table before you ever really got a chance to taste it.

“Shh,” he soothes, touching your hair, his big hand dwarfing the crown of your head. “I’ll try to remember to be patient with you.”

You nod against him, wanting to believe him, knowing that makes you a sad little fool.

“But my patience has its limits. Remember that, kitten.”

Oh. You weren’t going to forget.

He continues to hold you, and eventually your heart slows, the tension in your body finally relaxing.

It’s incredible, really, how you just can’t leave well enough alone.

Now that you’ve both calmed, you feel bold enough to ask, “John?”

“Yeah, baby?” His lips on the top of your head make your eyelids flutter, it’s so sweet.

“Do you…at least know that it was wrong, to break into my apartment?” You feel like the answer to this one question will help you gauge everything about his state of mind.

He is silent for a long time. Long enough to let your imagination run rampant with the things he might do to punish you for this impertinence, after he was so generous as to just let you lay down with him and snuggle.

Yet there’s no anger in his voice when he answers, “Yeah. But I’ve been breaking the law my whole life, sweetheart, and no one’s stopped me yet.”

It’s the truth, and a nice neat little warning, all wrapped up in one.

You should be scared again, but you just sigh against his chest. Maybe you’ve used up whatever hormone is responsible for adequate fear responses for the day. Or maybe…his games are working on you already, claiming your sanity inch by inch.

You lay there in his arms, and eventually you start to doze. He strokes your hair, a sweet and lulling touch that makes you curl your toes. When those featherlight fingertips find their way to the back of your neck, and the tops of your shoulders, you cannot help but squirm. In your half-asleep state, this is your kryptonite, and your leg tangles with his, your pelvis pressing against his hip. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, to crane your head towards him.

Only when you feel him shift to lean towards you for a kiss, do you realize what you are doing.

You turn your head at the last second, and his grip on you tightens from comforting to bruising in a nanosecond. “Wait—”

He has you on your back before you can blink.

 “Are we still pretending you don’t want me, kitten?”

“I…”

Suddenly his hand is between your legs, manhandling you like he owns you, raking up your thigh to swipe at your folds. He finds you soaking wet with slick, of course, and he makes a point to press your clit with his thick fingers as he withdraws. It sends an agonizing jolt of desire spreading through the cradle of your hips, the ache in your stupid little cunt nigh unbearable. You hardly recognize the keening sound that escapes your mouth.

Was that you?

It worsens ten-fold as you watch him bring his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. “Tastes like lies to me.”

Goddammit.

“John…”

You can hardly believe it, when he slides off of the bed, leaving you cold and alone, confused and filled with desire. The pulsing ache between your legs drowns out any rational thoughts you might have had a moment ago.

“Little liars don’t get to cum. I’ll let you think about that tonight.”

You feel like you did that night in Italy, watching him walk out the door when all you really want is to feel his thick, insatiable cock teeming inside you.

Which is fucking insane, of course.

And you were thinking he might be the crazy one?

 “Same rules, sweetheart. Don’t you dare touch yourself tonight. I’ll fucking know.”

With one last baleful look over of his shoulder he touches his hand to the lock, and sweeps out of the room. He leaves you stunned on the bed, disheveled and unsure, once again, of what the fuck just happened?

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!reader

Chapter 1

After a series of misfortunes you've found yourself in debt to Arno, a human trafficker operating in London. You work at his club, dancing and escorting, only to find yourself deeper and deeper in debt. One night you arrive at Nikolai's. He's handsome, abrasive, gross, tender at times and he might be the most dangerous man you've ever met.

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind in his own weird way

Masterpost

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must have seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. The degradation and humiliation of stripping for strange men, being used like a toy and forced to pack yourself back up into your box till next time.  It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in the car to a client's.

Marcus, your ex, now trafficker, hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse. Large, stretching for almost an entire block. Nondescript from the outside beyond the vault like door and fancy keypad, one you were given a code to on the way there. 

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The room you were locked in was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. One leading outside and the other leading further inside. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box that sat on the floor. 

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. There was a loud buzzer and the door unlocked.

Inside was nice. Made to look like a palace. Wood floors covered in large red patterned rugs. The walls had large paintings you recognized from an art history class years ago. You couldn’t tell if they were real or not. The details were obscured by the darkness. There was only one light on in the hallway, a door was opened down the way. It was a maw that beckoned you toward it. 

You stood at the threshold. The living room was equally extravagant. The walls were painted a wine red lacquer, almost mirror like. The ceiling had complex molding, painted the same color as the walls. The windows were all blacked out with heavy velvet curtains. It felt cold in this room. To the left was a large bar with more bottles than you'd ever seen in your life. To the right was a large couch and projector screen. Soviet era antiques were scattered about. It felt more like a palace than a home. A palace for some dark god, one that ruled pain and death. 

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. He had a layer of fat that only worked to increase his intimidating stature. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes. Dark eyes that hid any emotion from you.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand. The smell filled the room. 

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ashtray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. Give anything and they’ll take until there’s nothing left. Even your bones could be used to pick teeth. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago. 

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one.  He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones. Docile thing, something to be eaten to the core. You were always good. Arno controlled his girls with an iron hand. You’d heard the beatings other girls got when they disappointed. There were clients who had girls sent to them yet never returned them. Disappointing girls got sent there. Sacrifices to the gods of gold. Arno always wore gold.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you till morning. Make it worth it."

He leaned back with a sigh, grabbing a remote and turning on the projector. A hockey game flicked onto the screen, the noise from the stadium coming from speakers you never saw. 

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?" Men liked all sorts of names. Daddy, Master, Sir. Rarely creative, often repeated. Some used their real name but not many, no one wants the risk of their whore becoming too mouthy. 

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair. "Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off. 

You glanced up at him when you took him to the hilt. Hoping for some sign of approval, not for your ego but the sake of your security. Men in pleasure were less likely to be agitated. 

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek, gold rings cooling your skin. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. A hand holding your head steady against his thigh. He chuckled when you gagged. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine. A step below you and still a head taller. This is what a deer feels when the wolf stalks it. 

His bedroom was dark, a single lamp sat on the side table. The walls were a lime washed white. The bed was antique, made of carved dark wood. The sheets were white silk with a matching comforter. It was unmade. More paintings lined the walls haphazardly. When you were younger you used to cut pictures from magazines and tape them up to your own bedroom walls. He had seemingly done the same. 

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you back to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember  what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scraping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." He dragged a hand down your back, knuckles bumping every ridge of your spine. You tried your best not to fidget under his touch, not to let the chill of the air or tickle of his fingers get to you. You heard clothing hit the floor behind you. You stared ahead, picking out one of the paintings to focus on. 

A young woman stared back at you, perched in a carriage and dressed in black, a feathered hat on her head. She looked upset, like you were unworthy of looking at her and you should avoid your gaze. 

Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain. 

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

There was the snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. He was almost tender, rubbing your hip with slow circles. His fingers curved to press against that soft spot inside you, pulling soft whines from you. "There we go, Kotenok."

You were pulled back again till your pelvis was hanging off the edge of the bed, toes curling around the plush of the rug. He ran the head of his cock between your folds, nudging at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your cervix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting. Your face dragged against the sheets as he rocked your entire body. His thrusts were hard and deep, like he wanted to mark the inside of you. 

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name or face anymore. 

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out. His chin tucked against your shoulder, pushing his full weight against you. His body was hot and the thick hair on his chest scratched at your skin. 

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned and shuddered. He hissed, "Cum on my cock or be quiet."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and hauled you back up with him. Your back still pressed against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling. He smirked at you in the reflection. You dug your nails into your thighs, tears springing up in your eyes. It was horrific and erotic and disgusting and ugly and it made you wet. Some last threads of dignity snapping under the image of him fucking you. 

"Say my name," He panted.

"Kolya...please...Kolya."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it." He licked your ear.

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to support you any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles. You would have thrashed about if he hadn’t had such a tight grip on you. 

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the brim, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm that leaked out around his cock and down your leg. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth." He patted the back of your thigh. You hiccuped softly as you regained sense. Limbs feeling heavy, your whole body stretched to its limit. 

You turned your head as he sat down a carafe of water and two glasses on the side table. 

“Need any?” He asked, filling his own glass. You nodded shyly. It was the first time you really saw him naked. He had a litany of tattoos across his chest and arms, too dark to make out details but you could see angels, skulls, cyrillic writing, a fighter jet, the virgin mary and a star on each of his knee caps. Near his groin was a pentagon with letters you couldn’t make out. A gold chain with an Orthodox cross hung around his neck. A layer of black body hair covered him, darkening everything even further. 

“Thank you.” You gulped down your glass, water dribbling down your chin. He wiped it away as he took your glass.

“On your hands and knees now,” He said, pushing back his hair. You faced the woman again, glaring back at her as you presented yourself to him. The mattress dipped behind you. He said something in Russian before pushing back inside you. 

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected. More gentle than you anticipated with a grossness you expected. The next time you asked for water he spit his glass into your mouth. He pinched and pulled but never bent you so hard you broke. Gagging, crying and cumming but never sobbing or screaming. 

You woke up sore. Dried cum and bite marks covering your body. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, watching you sleep. He was already showered and dressed in a silk robe. 

"You’ll shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the bathroom door and locking it from the outside. 

Another extravagant room. Oxblood tiles and heated floors. A large marble counter and a mirror taking up most of the wall behind it.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kinds of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place. 

There was a towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table. There were painkillers too. You took it all in one scalding gulp. 

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. You found him through the one open door in the hall.  He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of espresso cooling next to him. 

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again. Need to make sure you cleaned up well."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls. He pulled it out and stared at his finger for a moment before sticking in his mouth. 

"Good girl." He nodded and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll see you again in a week."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at King Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much. You would have to hide it. You didn’t know where but you had to. If he kept tipping you like this it could make a dent in your debt to Marcus and Arno. 

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya." An offering of affection, appease the god and receive bountiful gifts. 

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. An actual smile. 

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off, afraid to go back to Marcus and Arno but also too scared of what Kolya would do if you delayed. 

Here is the rewritten part 1! Part 2 will go up in the next few days. If you have any questions, comments, thirst messages about this fic please send them. I love talking about Nikolai and his Kotenok.

[cranberrymoons]

that old black magic

prompt: magic au (@steddieholidaydrabbles) word count: 1,000 rated: t tags: fortune telling, witch/appalachian eddie, post-season 2

welcome to Day 20 (!!!) of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

The cards don’t actually do anything.

See, he waves his hand around and says some fancy words over some very old looking cards with very old looking art on them, and people assume that’s where the magic is – and the cards are old! And so is the art! But they just don’t actually do anything.

No, the magic sits in him. It always has. That’s always been the secret.

His mother had it, and his grandmother before her and her father before that and on and on, all the way back as far as the eye can see, right up the family tree to that one person at the top who made a deal with something in the woods one night, something as old as the hills themselves, that lurks behind trees and makes offers to desperate passing travelers.

But all that was hundreds of years before Eddie’s time. 

These days, there are psychics on TV and people who do tarot readings in over-perfumed salons while they sit on a throne made of cheap velvet and clatter around with their bracelets and bangles and shawls. There are people who read palms and sell incense and run little bookshops that sell mass-produced spellbooks. Crystals and incense and moon charts, the whole world awash in fake magic. All of it, all of it, noise.

But Eddie’s one of the rare real ones. He doesn’t exactly go around advertising it, but give him a set of cards and enough money? Sure, he’ll do a little fake fortune telling for you, maybe even give you a real answer or two, nudge something in the right direction so you feel like you got your money’s worth.

All that to say, the first time Steve Harrington finds him after class, one day right before winter break, and takes a furtive look over his shoulder, Eddie’s fully prepared to do the usual song and dance.

“Um, hey man,” Steve says in a low voice. “I heard you uh –” He clears his throat, shuts his eyes like he can’t actually look at Eddie as he says it. “That you can sort of see the future? Or tell people what’s going to happen or whatever.”

He opens his eyes, and Eddie studies him for a moment, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “And?”

Steve makes a face, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder. “There’s some really weird shit going on,” he says, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “It’s kind of hard to explain but basically… there’s something that I really hope is over, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to ask or whatever but –” He lets out a breath. “Is it actually over?”

“Harrington, that’s –” Eddie shakes his head, running a hand back through his hair. “So fucking vague. How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

“Okay, just –” Steve lets out a breath. “If you could like… I don’t know, just give it a general look, see if I’m…”

As he continues rambling, Eddie tunes him out in favor of flipping through his timeline like a mental rolodex, just to see what he’s working with. Just to see what he can spin out of King Steve’s future, but –

“What the hell did you do?” he asks abruptly, cutting across Steve halfway through blabbering about something to do with someone named Justin or Dustin or – “There shouldn’t be blank spots, Harrington. Why do you have blank spots?”

Steve blinks at him. “I –” He frowns. “Blank spots?”

“Past and future, you’ve got these weird –” Eddie flaps a hand around in the air, lost for words, because – “Blank spots. I’ve never seen that before.”

Steve’s face goes blank with surprise. “Wait, like… you can actually see my future?” he asks. “Like right now, you’re seeing it? What are you seeing?”

“I’m… just –” 

Eddie shakes his head, shuts his eyes to block out the feedback loop his brain seems to be caught in, because alongside the blank spots – and there are blank spots; what the fuck – he keeps seeing himself standing with Steve, which must be his brain trying to fill in the weird gaps? 

Maybe? 

How the fuck is he supposed to know? He’s never seen anything like this before.

“Did something happen around Halloween?” he asks finally, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath. “That’s where the first gap is, and then the next one is in like… a year or two from now? It’s kind of hard to tell.”

Steve’s expression drops, and his shoulders slump. 

“The tunnels,” he says. “That’s – Halloween. I was in the tunnels at Halloween.” He says this as if it explains anything, but Eddie honestly feels twice as lost as he was thirty seconds ago. “So it’s going to happen again, then.”

Eddie makes a face, sort of aiming for – sympathetic? That seems like what Steve needs right now, probably.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re going to survive.” He shrugs. “There’s stuff after, a long life. I keep –” He takes a breath, considering not saying the rest, but Steve is going to ask for more details if he doesn’t. “I can’t really see a ton of it, because I think the blank spots are messing with me. I keep seeing myself there in your future stuff, but I’m sure my brain’s just filling in the gaps. It’s not like –”

“Like you’re part of my future.”

“Right,” Eddie says. He laughs. “Yeah, that would be –”

“Yeah.” Steve lets out a relieved little breath, and – sure. Fair enough. “Anyway, um – thanks, man. This is… not exactly good news, but I feel a little better, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eddie echoes. “Uh– anytime.”

Steve starts like he’s just remembered, and he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. “How much do I–”

“No, just–” Eddie shakes his head. “No charge. Just get home safe, okay?”

Steve nods, smiling a little. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

[also on ao3]

[freaky-wasatch-range]

hey, tumblrstake! I've seen several posts on here about how we wished mormons had more cultural traditions/holidays, so I want to share with y'all my family's memorial day tradition.

every year, about 300+ of my extended family gather in the podunk town of oak city, utah to take over the town hall for the weekend and then serve free breakfast to the town on monday morning. it's called the "edward partridge memorial day breakfast" or 'MDB" for short.

edward partridge immigrated to the U.S. from great britain and was the first ordained bishop of the church. he is my great-great-great-great-great grandfather. edward partridge's grandson, aesel lyman, started the breakfast, declaring that the tradition would continue until edward partridge came and got breakfast himself. today marked the 52nd annual MDB, and this year, we fed 1069 people.

the customary breakfast is: sourdough pancakes (they're really freaking good and the batter is hand-stirred by an army of little kids), fried eggs, fried ham, oak city milk, and an orange juice called Tang. that same army of little kids get the honor of "running" food from the griddles in the town hall's back courtyard to the gym where we serve the breakfast, and of course most of the adults are given a job to do as well (cooking, serving, hospitality, utensil rolling, the most recent newlyweds get to rinse the empty batter buckets with a hose... you get the gist). members of the fam bring their plates straight to the griddles when we want to eat. we all wear special aprons. the atmosphere is always kind of electric :)

the night before, we have a thing called "the program" where we watch the same grandparent-originated skits and sing the same favorites-of-our-grandparents songs that we've been performing for decades.

some other traditions that have endured at the mdb: games of P-I-G (kind of like H-O-R-S-E), a couple hundred people playing bunco at the same time, blasting louis armstrong during the breakfast, a baseball game for the kids, red velvet cake, older kids teaching younger kids to throw mountains of playground-gravel down the slides (I was little when that started and it's been going on for over a decade now lol), and, of course, visiting the oak city cemetery and telling stories about our grandparents.

I'm really blessed that on memorial day I get to spiritually honor my five generations of grandparents buried in oak city instead of just making vague allusions of thanks to the military industrial complex. most white americans have been completely isolated from any kind of ancestral culture/specific traditions (because that's what racist assimilationism demands), so I find our weird and sometimes difficult annual reunion to be really special. whatever this is is mormon culture to me.

so, idk, hopefully this was inspiring and gave you a new way to think about memorial day. I hope that wherever I am in the world, I can continue this tradition with the friends and family I have around, serve a community with free food, and do it in honor of some modern pioneers and martyrs.

here's some photos of my dinosaur, jared, wearing my keffiyeh and hanging out in oak city over the weekend:

[daisybianca]

pairing: lewis hamilton x femalereader

summary: once a week, you and your boyfriend organize a boarding-games-tournament. today, however, things have changed. because you don't compete in a funny strategy activity, but a sex game.

warnings: mentions of sexual activities

(a/n): I didn't have time to write a longer chapter due to exams, so please leave a comment if you liked this one shot and want a second part (because you will surely realize it is needed if you proceed on reading) <3

SATURDAYS WERE UNDOUBTEDLY your favorite part of the week because of the fact that you got to spend it solely with your boyfriend, spending your time together while devouring delicious pastries, laughing your buts off, and enjoying your limited but precious time together.

Lewis took a sip of the orange juice that he made for the two of. Then, he gestured you to do the same, as well.

Bringing the glass an inch away from your nose, you turned to the man standing beside you on the velvet carpet. "Is drink poisoning a thing? Google it just in case you have to mention it to the doctors later."

Lewis flashed on of those wide, astonishing smiles and emptied the liquid out of the glass in a matter of seconds. "I guess that I'll have to koin you as well," He placed the empty glass on his side, a little further just in case he does a fast moment and drips it over. "If something happens to you, it happens to me too." He grabbed the glass and pressed it to your lips. "Drink it, (y/n)." He instructed, and you did as you were told, but the liquid failed to pass to your stomach as his brown, intense eyes were fixed on your. "Shallow, my love. Shallow." Lewis whispered, making me shiver for some kind of reason.

He loved to tease you more than anything else.

You weren't sure if you hated or adored it.

You swollen the tiny sip, realizing that it's more tasty than anything you could've imagined.

"Hmm...?"

"It's good. I like it," you placed the glass down and a small Christmas bag appeared out of nowhere in Lewis' hands.

"What's that?"

You leaned in to grab it, but your boyfriend clicked his tongue unapprovingly. "No, not so fast." He growled and looked at you.

"You're going to make me beg for it or...?" You joked and laughed to yourself, but for the very first time, Lewis didn't join you.

And that freaking terrified you.

"Not yet, my love." He opened the red and white bag widely and pulled a wide box out of it.

With a very first glance, it looked like a boarding game. However, the moment Lewis placed it on the carpet in front of you, you realized it was more than just that.

It was a game. Not exactly a boarding one, but still.

It was a game for couples.

And the cover read 18+ in red letters, making your heart roar in your chest.

"Every Saturday, we have our boarding games tournament, right, my love?"

"Yes." You replied, forcing the air that couldn't escape from your lungs.

"Tonight, it's going to be a little different." He smiled and scratched his neck. "I saw this online, and the first thing that came in my mind was you."

"The weird thing would be not to think of me..." You exclaimed and you both laughed for a brief moment.

"So, we have a few challenges that we may or may not accept. Some of them are tricky, others are quite ordinary..." He struggled to find the correct words for a second. "... and there are also some spicy ones. Okay?"

Locking eyes with him, you nodded positively.

This is going to be interesting...

Lewis unwrapped the thin layer of protection that guarded the box and opened it, revealing a few cards. Some of them were red, others were hued white, while other were a deep shade of green with white letters.

They all had a similarity, however. On the one side of them, they were all black so that we could not detect a special category of them.

Setting the box away, Lewis set the cards and mixed them up a little. Afterward, he turned them around in order to not be able to read the questions on them, even though you tried glancing over them for a moment.

"So... who's first?" You questioned, despite the fact that yoy already knew Lewis was going to let you upon it first.

"All yours, baby." His thick accent echoed like a temptation calling your name, as he montioned to the cards.

Closing tour eyes tight, you placed your hand on the pile of cards and picked the second one.

The paper was hued green, therefore it was a tricky one.

You read it aloud, and you could feel Lewis' eyes fixed on you the entire time. "Reveal the first two people you last called."

Lewis smiled. "Damn, that's a tricky one? Baby, you don't have to do that if you don't want to."

"No, it's okay." Bringing your phone from the kitchen's table, you opened the phone app and hand the mobile to Lewis.

The first two were him and your father.

You had nothing to hide. He trusted you and you trusted him, too.

A freaking game wasn't going to change that, for God's shake.

Lewis picked a second card, which was also green.

"Explain the two favorite things of your partner's body and face." He laughed and groaned. "That's too easy, my love. The guy who made these didn't even try."

Laughing, you crawled to him, embracing his massive body. He glanced at you and placed you in his lap.

"I need an answer, Mr. Hamilton."

"Well," He touched tour cheeks and moved to your lips. "I like yours lips. I have told you that before, haven't I, my love?" He muttered, and his eyes lit up.

"Yes, many times, baby."

"Apart from that, your eyes were always my favorite, though." He placed a small peck on your lips, and you went in for more. "You know how much I adore eye contact." He added, and you instantly knew what he meant.

That was why he said he needed eye contact while having sex. It was one of his favorite parts of the whole thing. He had admitted to it before.

"Shall I continue, Sir?" You asked and he seemed to bite his lips for a second as his strong hands cupped your whole body.

God knew how much he loved it when you used the word sir while talking to him.

It could be funny when other people called him that way, but with you...

It was very, very different.

He got hard just at the thought of your tongue pronouncing this exact word.

After his nodding, you went for the next card.

You pulled slightly away from him so that he couldn't read it.

The color of the card made your heart stop in your chest for a moment.

It was red. Just like the blood turning ice in your veins at that moment.

You read that. But not out loud.

Lewis' expression grew concerned. "What is it, my love?" He tried to take a look at your card, but you pulled away from his lap. "(y/n), read it out loud. You are freaking scaring me. It's just a game, and--"

He didn't get to finish as you interrupted him. "Have your partner seated and make them watch you pleasure yourself in front of them. They must not touch or do anything else that includes physical touch between the two of you. If they give in, you get to choose a punishment for them and apply it on them anytime."

Lewis' face remains frozen while you read, but as soon as your gaze rose and fell upon him, his eyes widened.

He knew that the next minutes were going to be the very death of him.

[nekumiho]

persona 3 reload came out yesterday so Naturally i was obligated to finally do a finished piece with my silly velvet room attendants submas au. alt versions, lore info, and misc doodles under the cut o__o (attendant related p5 spoilers mentioned). also sorry for the eyestrain.

protags they attend to are Fellow Twins hilda and hilbert who always just get referred to as 'passenger(s)'. velvet room manifestation is the inside of a subway car, no i havent worked out what that symbolizes to hilda and hilbert, dont worry about it. but i think whether its visibly in motion or not wld depend on the protags' mental state, one side of the windows for hilda and one for hilbert. mostly dark empty with no visual movement outside the windows w/ maybe a flickering station light somewhere or a visibly blocked tunnel for when theyre feeling stuck in life, default would be like a well lit platform outside of the window with faceless shadow people walking around, how crowded it is depends on their progress with social links. high speed through the tunnels with their half of the car rocking violently when there's high stress super dire stuff going on, steady movement when theyre making progress with something, etc etc

their brassards HOPEFULLY translate to 'down' (χάμω) and 'up' (πάνω) in greek??? i wanted smth like caroline and justine's hats but also not The Same and uhhh yknow. persona 3 and greek mythology are pretty :handshake:.

i dont wanna steal margaret's eldest sibling clout so i think physically ingo and emmet would be younger than her but only barely. margaret is literally the only attendant i can see being physically over like 35 and i need sbms to be mid thirties at like the bare minimum. theyre highkey disturbed whenever lavenza willingly splits herself back into caroline and justine. weirded out by the other 'twins' in general bc they're not even Real twins. they gatekeep being twins. if anyone asks "so are you guys also just two halves of one person" it will be the most offensive thing you could ever say to them. elizabeth and emmet bully theodore together. ingo doesnt dislike theodore but just kind of forgets he exists because the twins are always being like "my brother, [name] (pauses and remembers theodore), i mean, ONE of my brothers,"

emmet is very :handshake: with elizabeth while ingo is very :handshake: with margaret. they both have their own fave sisters whoops. (sorry lavenza). in any sort of 'dancing game' scenario theyre both awkward as hell. very theodore core in general with emmet having some of the elizabeth vibes of just 'i am just never going to stop making random jerky body movements' ingo is a BIT more stiff. but like in general i think theo's way of life and elizabeth's aria of the soul have pretty good ingo and emmet vibes respectively. if i ever learn model editing beyond texture replacement its so over for my mmds.

i love igor dearly but i think since there are Two of them they can kinda handle stuff on their own while igor helps with Other persona protags in their respective rooms? emmet says shit like "YEAH FUCK IGOR THIS IS OUR LINE!!!!!!!!!!!!" and ingos like "emmet be nice thats still our boss and the only reason he let us be in charge is because hes busy".

ingo handles all persona fusion stuff and emmet does storage/organization/other misc stuff and gives you p3 elizabeth styled quests. they can both be social linked because i say so. emmet is justice arcana and ingo is judgement. emmets quests are the only way or at least the main way to increase your social link with him and if you dont finish one of his Special Request ones you lose your link with him. one of the special requests is to take him and ingo to see a real subway station 100% because theyve never seen one.

of all the other velvet rooms, they like the p4 one the most because the inside of the limo is the closest to the subway car they're familiar with but i think theyd like the p3 one too for the possible rocking motion of the elevator eternally going up

thats all i can think of right now i THINK thats everything??? so heres an original concept sketch,

and also a funny emmet quest moments doodle

oh yeah emmet really fucking loves jack frost because they have similar vibes. ingo, on the other hand, is a big pyro jack fan.

[chaifootsteps]

i saw an interview this morning where valentinos voice actor is asked about his characters relationship to the other vees and he briefly explains that vox and val in this weird gay relationship where they make out and do stuff but then straight up says "uhhhh i dont know what valentinos relationship is with velvet lol!"

the bar is in hell for women characters (pun intended) because a velvet USED to have a relationship with vox and val during the instagram days. i like that she was more like a daughter to him and that they bonded over violence! shit like that was what actually made valentino feel like a complex character who can be good and bad. because i literally cannot think of a single relationship hes on good terms with. voxvals whole appeal is that theyre toxic gay bitches! so having just ONE good relationship in his life, even if its just with his weird 30 year old coworker daughter, could actually make him feel like a person with layers like valentino fans desperately insist he is in the show.

since rn velvet just kind of. exists! she barely speaks to the other vees, doesn't seem to enjoy spending time with them unless she can film them dancing and making out, shes mostly frowning in the finale whenever vox opens his mouth, and never directly even speaks to val. why would val not speak to someone he lives (i think) and considers his equal?

like she very much has the ability to become a compelling fun character/villian when shes separated from the other vees. which sucks! because it just makes me wonder "would valentino or vox tangibly lose anything if velvet didnt work with them? and would anything change about their dynamic if she wasnt there?" and i know the answer is "probably not!"

the fact that no ones mentioned her despite s2 having a "heavier focus on the vees" is so fucking telling. she really doesnt feel like the backbone of the vees! she feels like the third wheel vox and val hired and she just stays with them for power despite her not speaking/having a relationship with them at all. its not even like the idea of "30 year old woman stops caring so much about her gay dads she created and slowly begins to resent them, working with them anyway for power" is a terrible idea, but i absolutely know thats not what viv intended. vel is absolutely an afterthought in the writing when shes with the other vees and its apart of what makes me dislike them now more then ever. if s1 couldnt even have velvet speak to the other vees about ANYTHING other then important business stuff (like, idk, fashion, technology, love potions, the few fucking things these characters have in common) then i doubt s2 is gonna be much better.

anyway velvet should leave the vees and get some granny gyatt from carmilla thank u 4 reading <3

Calling it now, season 2's going to contain as little Velvette as Viv can get away with. Because you said it best yourself -- she's not so much a character as a third wheel Vox and Val hired. If they're not around then she's sometimes allowed to shine, but if they are, forget it. It's all about them.

[melancholicstation]

BOSS!BOBBY KENNEDY AND SECRETARY!READER HEADCANONS

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

warnings: 18+, smut, sleazy yet pathetic boss!bobby you can't help but love, bobby being a service top, and workplace s*x.

words: 1159

i imagine your meet cute to be that he saw you around the department of justice and advertised a secretarial position in the hopes that you’d apply 😭

would try to act normal at first as your boss but would increasingly get more and more desperate for you

abandons the pile of work he has on his desk to bring tea and cakes to your desk ( much like a momma bird brings home food for her babies cause he’s WEIRD like that )

has a problem with not meeting your eye for a solid couple of weeks because he doesn’t want to look like a pervert preying on his younger secretary

but your kind of into it so you tell him that…

his other employees are so confused at how many raises/christmas bonuses you keep getting when you literally spend your work week sitting on the edge of bobby’s desk chatting to him and watercoloring paintings of ballerina’s at your desk

and then turning the paintings into bobby for his praise (bobby would have a praise-giving kink let’s talk about it!) to which he would proudly display them in his office like this:

secretary!readers would be such a bad influence on his work ethic like he’s such a lover boy/wannabe house husband

you have to make the first move because lord knows bobby is respectful enough to not initiate anything

is REALLY into spanking. like a freak amount.

you take him into a s*x shop with paddles and handcuffs just to watch him blush with 0 intent to buy anything

you leave the shop together but bobby makes some excuse to cut your impromptu date short claiming that he got an important call

you find out the true reason when you arrive the next morning to find a very inconspicuous box lying at the foot of your desk wrapped in a green velvet ribbon. you open the box to find paddles, whips, and cuffs ( in sterling TIFFANY silver no less )

likes to make love to you with your knees pressed to your chest on the rug of his office

is totally turned on by the voyeurism added factor of having a workplace relationship and makes a game out of how much he can piss of the old curmudgeon’s that he works for in the justice department

when bobby can’t be with you for whatever reason ( like having an aspiring president for a brother ), you watch the jimmy hoofa hearing on your personal sony television set with your hands inside your jersey boy shorts and once bobby knows he teases you ALL DAY about it (authors note: HE LOOKED GOOD AS HELL IN THOSE MEETINGS WHY LIE?)

you ♥️ to hang onto bobby’s tie when he’s f*cking you cause why not

loves to quote anais nïn erotic passages and pass him notes over his desk… acting like it’s serious business. specifically these ones:

you offhandedly try to baby trap bobby (LIKE THE PERVERTED WOMEN YOU ARE) and think your being so sneaky about it but in reality he caught on immediately and is equally into it

bobby just ADORES to crudely touch and play with fruits that look like a certain female anatomy and give them to you with a look like this

you get mad when Bobby leaves you to do LIFE-SUSTAINING things without you like going to the bathroom, eating etc.

your both so obsessed with each other and feel the need to consume every single thing the other has as a means of fostering a deeper connection

is often thought of as the weaker brother so over compensates in the bedroom by adopting a more dominant lean

punishes you for managerial mistakes like using the wrong stamps, or accidentally sending a letter to the wrong person by waiting till everyone in the office has left and spanks your mound, making you count each and every one

but then makes it up to you by assuring you that’s he’s not mad just disappointed while giving your hair many many scratches upon the head

you fake a fever and call in sick to get bobby’s attention, and you make a miraculous recovery after Bobby’s frustrated voice travels through the landline stating ‘that he’ll be coming over to “sort you out before the day’s done”’

when bobby comes down with the occasional fever he turns into the cutest boy in all of massachusetts! ( as if he wasn’t already ) and sucks on your thumb to go to sleep ( you think it’s weird but your also dedicated to whatever makes him feel better )

you and him decide to visit his sister’s house pat to see her and peter’s new baby while your ovulating… big mistake huge

bobby’s cuddling and holding the new beau and suddenly you’re telling him to give it to you raw the same night

he loves to use your shampoo since he’s hasn’t bought haircare items since never and then people start to say that he smells exactly as you do… way to be discreet

you’re such a messy eater with all your foods and without regard to anyone around you/or the vibe of the event you always demand that bobby likes the remnants off your hand. originally it was a purely utilitarian act as you hate the feeling of sticky hands but you quickly realise that it turns both of you on…

bobby would love to cook, clean and manage the household despite holding down a stereotypically masculine job. he regards you in such high (pseudo-religious) devotion that he wouldn’t dream of making you perform traditional tasks unless you explicitly expressed an interest in it

a huge gossiper and VERY interested in whatever morsels you have on the socialites of massachusetts elite class ( which you only have contact through bobby )

would always take the chance to walk you to and from the office

once he takes you to his favourite church that’s when you know your both in it for the long haul and he is well and truly committed

c*ms from eating your out ( he a munch )

he cries while he c*ms occasionally

he loves to walk around naked ( like please have some decorum )

constantly rips your tights and condescendingly tells you that he’ll buy you some more

you buy lots of little rfk pins from the local pop-up and COVER your bralette in them to the point where the bra is barely showing and then splay yourself out on his bed sheets waiting for him to come home…

you don’t answer his calls cause you fell asleep early and he nearly throws up in worry because he’s a true yearner boy unlike some...