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starlit-crossing · 2 days

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Lost in Foster (Working Title) Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - A Feeling of Dread

Welcome and enjoy! All characters are of course owned by their original intellectual properties and this story is in no way canon.

- - -

Danny wasn't sure what to think when his parents said they would be collaborating with the Guys in White for a contract. He knew nothing good would come from it. Jazz had even voiced her concerns, citing the times the GIW had tried to steal their work. His parents just brushed off their worries, stating the project was research-focused rather than weaponry. It relieved some of Danny's worries, but he couldn't shake this nagging feeling.

"If its focused-on research how much harm could it cause?" Sam reassured as the collection of herself, Danny and Tucker settled in for movie night in Sam's home theater. The theater was in the basement, red curtains hanging by the large movie screen. A few chairs and piles of pillows were strewn about for the group to chill on. There was even a popcorn and soda machine in the back of the room next to a few classic arcade games.

"Yeah, Danny, what if they finally find evidence to support your side? Y'know the fact ghosts are the same as people and there is good and bad." Tucker piped in as he plopped into the cushiony seat with a bounce, extra-large popcorn and soda in hand.

"I don't know, Tuck. They've found stuff like that before, and they always find a way to twist it to fit their view on ghosts." Danny rambled, running his hand through his hair. "I just hope they'll be careful around the GIW and maybe let some research spill at home so I can eavesdrop."

"You could always follow them." Sam suggested. She watched confused as the boys just stared at her.

"You think Danny should follow his parents into the base of a bunch of ghost hunters hired by the government to research and destroy anything undead?" Tucker asked. "Are you insane?"

"Sorry Sam I'm with Tucker on this one, I don't think I could get close without catching someone's attention, human or ghost." Danny sighed, "Let's just get the movie started, what's on the menu?"

"Femalien 2: Predator vs Prey, Terminatra 7: Back to the Present Again, or Nightmerica: Dreams of Terror." Sam listed off just as Danny felt a cold wisp of air leave his lips.

"FEAR ME! I AM THE BOX GHOST!" screamed the Box Ghost, the cry making its way in from outside.

"Raincheck you guys, boxy shouldn't take me too long." As a flash filled the room and Danny flew through the walls disappearing.

"Ten bucks says Skulker shows up before he can come back." Tucker bribed.

"You're on, we took out his suit last week. Meanwhile, Kitty and Johnny 13 have been fighting again." Sam accepted, starting up a movie knowing it would be done before he got back.

- - -

The following weeks were surprisingly uneventful, a sign Danny took to heart. His parents had been extra careful not to leave out any notes or research in the house, not even in the lab. Refusing to give any hints as to what they were working on. Ghosts had been scarce, nothing except ectopuses and blob ghosts. The GIW agents had been the complete opposite, they were at an all-time high. You couldn't go more than ten minutes without spotting a white van. He was glad he didn't need to save anyone from those agents, but he had a really bad feeling that something was going to happen. School was his only time away from the ghost hunters it felt like.

"Calm down, Danny. So, you have had a few good weeks, you've caught up on homework and Lancer isn't on your back nearly as much." Sam soothed as they took a seat outside in the courtyard for lunch. The hustle and bustle of students drowning out any chance of being overheard.

"Yea, dude even Dash has been picking on you less. Though that could be due to the championship coming up." Tucker added his mouth full of sloppy joe. The bully in question was across the court passing a football with his teammates, Paulina and her socialites sitting on the table watching them. Dash caught Danny's gaze and gave him a smirk dragging his finger across his neck.

"Don't remind me, I still remember last year when we lost. Dash was bully all nerds on sight that week." Danny grimaced as he ate. "But my parents have been really excited this week. Apparently, something big is coming." As if speaking it into the universe the Fenton GAV made its way barreling down the street, some white vans in tow.

"Spoke too soon, dude." Tucker whispered as they watched the GAV dodge and swerve to miss any pedestrians. The vehicle finally came to a stop on the grass with Drs. Fenton and the GIW rushing out to follow a gadget in Jack's hands.

"He's here somewhere, I just know it! Come out ghost scum!" Jack exclaimed barreling straight to Danny. The whole group of hunters stared at the young boy and his friends. "Aww. It didn't work, Maddie. It’s still stuck on Danny-boy." Now that they were closer Danny was able to see the Fenton Finder in his father's hands. It looked like it had been upgraded, it was bigger with handles on the sides and no voice stating where the ghost was. The screen showed simple faces on the screen next to the GPS. The current emoji was a shocked face as the map was pointing and beeping at him.

"That can't be possible, we tested it on other simple ghosts. The upgrade to the Fenton Finder was supposed to show and locate the emotions the ghosts project in order to fool and feed on the humans around them. Even that simple ghost with the boxes was able to show signs of disappointment as he failed to scare his victims." Maddie explained, grabbing the device. With it in hand she fiddled with the settings of the device, swapping it between ghosts till it landed back on the name Phantom. "We had tested this last week; Phantom's emotions reflected his actions time and time again in a hostile environment."

"Well, there's no ghost here, probably still has a few bugs, right?" Sam offered, trying to distract them and keep the focus off Danny. Danny's mind raced with the implications of what was happening. Of course, his parents would find out that ghosts tend to be more emotional than humans and would twist the fact to fit their biased theory that all ghosts were evil. It’s not like ghosts were moody on purpose, when your entire being is based on your mental state emotions tend to play an important part. Not only with obsessions but when interacting with each other, being able to read the emotions of the ghosts you interreacted with was as important as social cues and body language with humans. Sure, you could go without them and function as fine as anyone else, but they were still a great help with communicating if you were good at understanding them. With this they'd be able to tune into any ghost no matter the distance and translate it into coordinates. Not even the ghost zone would be completely safe as they could probably filter through the other emotions using the ectosignature of a previously known ghost. Danny's breath started to pick up, he could feel himself spiraling as he started to think about what that would mean for him in the hands of the GIW. They would never stop looking for him, they would be able to find him anywhere in the country.

"Look Mads, the ghost kid has to be near the emotion changed again." Jack exclaimed, jumping with excitement.

"I see that Jack and it would make sense with the transition of shock to confusion to panic. Though he's nowhere to be seen, Agent O do you have confirmation that Phantom isn't in the area?" Maddie turned, addressing the agents that had been standing by waiting for orders.

"Affirmative, there are no spectral entities in the viscidity on any energy spectrum. Could it be possible that the spectral entity is hiding among the student body? You said yourself that your device is focused on your son and that it’s a common occurrence. Could the ghost have caught wind of your contract with our organization and tried to find out more by hiding amongst your family?" Agent O suggested, eyeing Danny closely, the color draining from his face.

"That's preposterous, our family has ways of protecting ourselves!" Jack boasted, his voice carrying across the schoolyard. "Besides Danny knows not to trust any stinking ghost scum."

"Jack, honey..." Maddie called, eyes glued to the screen. "The emotion just turned to scared." Danny felt like all eyes were on him, going straight through him to his core. It felt like no one was looking at Fenton anymore, no matter where he looked, they all stared at him like they saw a ghost; like they only saw Phantom. Danny even had to look at himself to make sure he was still human. No gloved hands and red sneakers, he was definitely human still. Danny looked at Tucker and Sam, his best friends, looked at him with matching expressions. They both looked as shocked as he felt; they all knew they couldn't do anything, not with the GIW and student body all around them. With everyone's attention on him, he could only think of his sister who wasn't even at school. She was shadowing a therapist and had a college interview later that day. She probably wouldn't hear anything till late that night. It's not like they weren't prepared for it, for Danny to have to disappear without a trace or a goodbye. So long as they were unable to control the narrative, Danny would have to disappear. Danny knew they always thought it would be into the ghost zone, he had allies in there. People he knew would keep him hidden if anyone came looking; that Sam and Tucker would be able to sneak in if need be. They could still see him, bring him homework and food. This, however, meant goodbye and he didn't know for how long.

"Danny," his mom smiled at him with worry filled eyes. He searched them for something, anything that showed she wasn't about to drag him home and put the specter deflector on him just to make sure no ghost was using him as a meat puppet. Her arms reached out to him, as the GIW surrounded their table ready for action. "You have nothing to worry about, sweetie. We're just going to head home."

"Yea, Danny. We'll help ya out, run a few tests and make sure you don't have any evil spook haunting you." His dad tagged on, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulder. Of course they'd want to fix this, to fix the ghost within him. One test would reveal the truth, and everyone would know his secret. Then it would be more tests, biopsies, trying to cure him of his powers. That was if they still loved him after learning the truth. The thoughts surrounding the lab became darker in his mind, nightmares he dared not to tell anyone becoming fresh in his mind.

"I'm sorry, mom. Dad. Goodbye." Danny disappearing from everyone's sight as he turned invisible and flew off towards his house. His parents’ cries fading into the distance, a mix of worry and anger as the ghost boy stole their son. Tears stung his eyes as he flew across the sky, Sam and Tucker would know what to do. They would stall for him, as long as they could. The road raced past him, he went through cars and buildings not bothering to fly high in the sky. The less time he wasted the better. As he floated into his room, he had to take a moment. The reality of it all crashing into him, he felt another wave of stress come over him. Choking on sobs he fell to his bed, clinging to the sheets. He had to calm down, he didn't have time to cry or pity himself, his parents were probably still tracking him. Which meant the GIW were still following behind, his parents he could one day convince, could one day explain how it all happened. The GIW wouldn't stop though, so long as they were getting paid and had the government's support he would have to run. He ran to his closet wiping away snot as he phased his emergency supplies from the wall. Extra clothes, a burner phone, and couple hundred dollars thanks to Sam's allowance all stowed away in a backpack. An extra belt with a Fenton thermos, ghost rays, and a pair of Fenton phones for any specters along the way. Finally, five letters addressed to Sam, Tucker, Jazz, Valerie, and his parents.

Sam and Tucker didn't know about these, he didn't know if he would ever need them but knowing his friends would drop everything to follow him, he needed to make sure Amity would be safe. Sam and Tucker's letters were a warning to not follow him, to stay and protect Amity at all costs, even revealing him to Valerie to gain her help in necessary. He couldn't trust his parents or the GIW to not torture any ghost that came into their hands. For Jazz, it was a letter to not look for him and to keep an eye on his parents. If anything changed with his parents, she would be the first to know. He needed her to be the fly on the wall, to make sure he still had parents at the end of it all. If there was ever an end to the running, he thought another wave of sorrow hitting him. He swallowed the hurt and pushed himself to keep grabbing what he needed. Valerie and his parents were the only letters not mentioning his secret. Valerie's was from Phantom explaining he would be gone, and he didn't know for how long. She would probably be thrilled at the thought of Phantom going away, but if she saw anything that had happened today, she might try and follow him too. He knows she cares about Fenton and would probably want him safe but if anyone could protect Amity while he was gone it was her. If she needed any help handling the ghosts she could call the number provided. It went straight to Sam and Tucker's burner phone. Only one for the two of them in case either of them had to hide it for the other. For his parents, it simply stated that he was sorry and that could explain everything if they ever became open to the truth about ghosts. He did not explain what the truth was or how he would know that they were ready. That was for Jazz to tell him with a single message, she held the final burner phone the group of them had. They would be confused, not sure why phantom would kidnap their kid. Their hatred would grow much to his displeasure, but maybe one day they would give up on hate. They would find him and just ask why, and he could finally let them know the whole truth about him.

As Danny left the letter for his parents on the kitchen table he heard the stomping of feet, the whine of ecto-guns and slamming of doors as his father led the charge into the house. He was gone before they even reached his room. Leaving with what letters he had left to deliver and flying away as quickly as he could. He stopped at Tucker's house first, then Sam's, Valerie's and then flew as high as he could into the sky. He looked down at Amity Park, his home, his entire life, and afterlife. It always looked so peaceful from up above the clouds, he watched the GAV ram its way through the city. It was good to know there was a slight delay on the GPS, the emotions were able to update in real time but could only follow his trail not his exact location. They had moved on from Tucker's neighborhood and onto Sam's. He took one final breath and tried to steel his nerves. If they were searching for him with emotion, then he would just have to have no emotion. He wouldn't be able to think of home, his friends, his family, or he would start to miss them, an emotion. He couldn't think about how close the GIW were to him, or he'd become anxious, scared or even angry that they had forced him to flee. He had to stay calm and focused on running, to where he had no clue. If he headed west there was a chance of running into Vlad and he didn't need all the emotional baggage that would come with that. So that just left heading to the East coast and hopefully out of the country. He'd have to stop using his powers at some point to make sure he was untraceable.

"Goodbye, Amity. Hello worst road trip ever." he spoke softly flying off into the night.

- - -

Hello! Author here, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! It’s intended to be sort of a prologue and set up the rest of the story. This is a crossover, but I wanted to get some establishing chapters in focusing on Danny and why he is running. I am still very rusty when it comes to writing so feel free to recommend any fixes and critiques. Let me know if I miss any typos!

The goal is to try and update weekly on Fridays or Sundays, so if I don’t post on Friday that probably means it will go up the following Sunday. Thank you to those coming over from Tumblr, loved the hype for another Dannymay fanfic! I’ll be trying to get more stuff posted there!

Let me know what you think through the comments, even if it’s just a simple one-word so I can know you’re enjoying the story! See you next week, byee!

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#danny phantom #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #batfam #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic writing

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twst-drabbles · 2 hours

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Malleus 16

Summary: Class has ended and you’re ready to eat for lunch, but everyone has stopped at the door. Turns out Malleus was there, and he craves affection.

(Wanted to write about kisses. And then Malleus popped into my head. So here you go!)

“Um, hey, Prefect?” Oh, well would you look at that, it’s Deuce speaking up this time, “Can I… copy your notes again? Please?”

“Yeah, I really couldn’t pay attention,” Grim tapped his paws on your desk, like that’ll somehow endear you to him, “besides, the board is so far away.”

You and your group are two seats away from said board.

“Yeah, come on,” Ace laid an arm across the back of your seat, “do us a solid, yeah? You know you want to. Can’t resist the call of enlightening our tiny little brains.”

“What are you gonna give me?” You closed your notebook just so Ace and Deuce don’t have a chance to look at your notes. “I’ve been saving your asses for the past two weeks. You gotta give me something.”

“Hehe, that’s my minion! If you want a fast pass, you need to give us reparations in tuna!” He cheered, once more using ‘we’ as soon as he thinks he’s getting something.

“You have to pay too, Cat.”

There will be no ‘we’ this time.

“What?! Why?!”

You tried tutoring them in the past but having Ace, Deuce and Grim all in the same room for more than ten minutes always leads to either an argument breaking out, a bunch of whining, or just general chaos because one or more people tried to slip out of trouble.

Yeah, yeah it’s partially your fault for losing patience and just giving up on them, but you’d think they’d at least pay attention long enough to take notes.

They’re right there! On the board!

They have no excuse and they have to at least pay you back for this emotional trouble.

Was this petty? Yes, very. You don’t care right now. You want a treat. Or money. Or both!

“Huh, ah, well,” Deuce got sheepish and reached into his pockets, “I have gum.”

“No.” He has disappointed you. An unworthy treat for your notes.

“How about I only eat three-fourths of your food this time?” Suggested Grim.

“My treat is me giving you more of my food?” And you don’t even give it, he just steals it!

Grim hissed. He was probably hoping you didn’t know fractions. But, good on him for finally learning. Shame his first thought was to try and trick you with it.

“Okay guys, you all know that’s not what the Prefect really wants,” Ace leans in, acting chummy, “how about this?”

You were given one thaumark.

“…”

“Alright listen, I need the rest to buy other things, okay?”

You got up after calmly putting your notes away. “I’m going to get lunch.”

“No wait come back!”

But, as much as you wanted to walk out and sit at the regular table while your friends slowly fill in the seats, the exit to the classroom was blocked by a cluster of murmuring and rather nervous students.

“What’s he doing here?” You heard one whisper.

“Uh, did we do something? Were we too loud?”

“I’m really hungry but…”

You are not in the mood. You tried to excuse yourself as you bumped into shoulders but you had to settle for grumbled apologies instead as you shoved yourself through.

Finally, you popped out of the other side, a little more heated and more irritable.

“There you are, Child of Man,” so goes the voice of Malleus, who stood to the side of the door, waiting. The cause of this blockage, students frozen with only his green-eyed stare. “I was kept waiting quite a while. How bold of you to do this, after the slight you made this morning.”

What?

“Wha?” Your annoyance was momentarily replaced by bafflement, but that quickly went away when your brain caught up to his words. You grumbled, “Oh, come on…”

Yeah, you’re probably not even gonna eat at the cafeteria. You’re just gonna get your food and go hide away somewhere until you cooled down.

Malleus walked forward, the surge of students all taking a collective step back as though his very air could potentially kill them.

“Well? Don’t you remember?” He crossed his arms and you were ready for that high-brow glare that comes with all people of royalty, but instead, you found an exaggerated and childish pout. “You forgot to give me my morning greeting. I felt off the entire morning, unable to focus, because I didn’t have the memory of you kissing my brow fresh in my mind.”

A hush fell over the classroom.

And then a, “Huh?!” shot out of Ace’s mouth.

You snorted, then gave out a hearty chuckle. Once you calmed down, you waved Malleus over.

“Alright, alright, get over here. Let me correct that.”

A laugh rumbled low in his throat as he tilted his head into your hand. Playfully, you lightly pinched his ear, just because his pointy ears always caught your attention. He twitched, breath hitching just the slightest bit, and you couldn’t resist the urge anymore and kissed above his brow.

Malleus’s lashes fluttered open and the sigh that escaped him reminded you of a pure-hearted maiden with a fast-beating heart. And yet, there’s nothing delicate about the way he stood. If anything, the affection flowing through him made his pride more apparent. He practically glowed with that royal grace he was taught to have.

You couldn’t help yourself. You gave him an extra kiss on the corner of his lips. Malleus nearly hissed in a breath as he clamped his hand over your own, his body leaning in closer towards yours, as though he wanted to meld with you.

But, with a chuckle, you pulled away and he had no choice but to let go. Malleus was back to pouting, though this time, cheeks flushed and hair slightly messier than usual. The air around you was slightly charged with wayward magic, causing the hair on your body to stand on end. And his eyes…

Well, whoops.

“Good morning. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Better get out of here before Malleus jumps you right in this hallway.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #diasomnia #malleus #malleus draconia #reader insert

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the--rebel--fae · 3 days

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To Love a Fallen Angel

A/N: Finally I start this up, the fic I promised for the 50+ follower celebration! This is only ch. 1 of the fic--I promise there will be a lot more. I'm really excited about this. So! Without further ado, enjoy my loves! Oh and if you rather read it in Ao3 I'll provide the link for it in a separate post!

TW: Violence, a lot of swearing, Adam being sexist, but that's about it for this chapter.

The sun shone brilliantly against the terracotta walls of the villa you called your home since you were just a child. As you passed by a window you looked out at the expanse of land with rolling Spanish hills stretching as far as the eye can see.

You loved this time in the morning. It was like everything in España was just waking up. Letting out a contented hum, you leave the window and continue your usual morning walk only stopping when you neared a small alcove in the wall that held something very important to you.

Your late brother's memorial. Everyone in the family worked together to compile different items and pictures for Alejandro. It was a big blow when he got killed--he was the head of the family after all ever since your parents passed just a few years prior. Now, it was up to you and your cousin Mikhail to lead the family.

"I miss you hermano. How I wish I could tell you about all the new things that have happened."

You sighed as you ran a finger across the oak frame of his main picture on the table. It felt as if it was just yesterday that he turned that mischievous grin on you and teased you about god knows what. That's how it always was, you'd tease each other relentlessly, but at the end of the day, you were each other's rock.

"Missing him again eh?" A deep voice sounded out behind you.

Turning around you can't hold back the smirk that pulled at your lips. "I know it's been ten years Mikhail, but sometimes," you trail off.

Mikhail smiles sympathetically and puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. The sun glinted off of his honey-brown hair as he stepped closer.

"I know, but he wouldn't want you to be sad. If anything, he'd be proud of all the work you've done!"

You let a small smile flit across your face. "Hmm, true enough I guess."

The halls echoed back Mikhail's laugh. His bright green eyes danced with amusement. "You guess? Who's the one who just put a stop to those bastardos down in Madrid when they tried to take over half of the country with their sex trafficking ring? You were like an avenging angel."

You grinned at that. It was a rather proud moment for you. You despised abuse. Especially to young women. So you got a rather sick satisfaction when Interpol conveniently set off one of the group's wayward grenades that they just so happen to have lying around.

They got the women out and the leader of the gang was no more. Before you could respond to your cousin's comment though, the whole house shook and the air was suddenly filled with the sound of gunfire.

"Hijo de," you cursed. "What the Hell is going on?"

Mikhail shook his head and started running towards the front of the house. "I don't know, but whatever it is, they're going to pay."

Another blast shook the house making you slam into the wall. You cried out in pain.

"Cousin!"

You grit your teeth at the throbbing pain in your shoulder but push through the halls nonetheless. “I’m fine Mikhail, just caught off guard. Let’s keep moving. We need to find out who the hell is behind this attack.”

You round the corner just barely footsteps behind Mickail. “Agreed, and what makes them think they have the cajones to attack La Familia Moreno.”

Some of the pictures and fixtures have already fallen off with the forces of some of the shots that have gone through the entirety of the villa.

“Oh, I have plenty of balls thank you, Mikhail.” A familiar voice rang out, making your heart plummet straight to your stomach and ice felt like it was shot through your veins.

Crowley.

Both you and Mikhail ran out of the villa and were immediately face to face with a mass of paid missionaries with guns all cocked and pointed towards the two of you. After a beat, the sea parted and the man you hoped you’d never see again came walking out.

After all these years, Crowley still looked the same. His raven hair sharply contrasted with the blaze of the Spanish morning sun, and his grey eyes still held nothing but malice and violence. The military gear he was decked out in just added to his imposing form.

You never really killed anyone, but looking down at Crowley right now, you’d reconsider your morals.

“You should be dead you hijo de puta!” Mikhail snarled stepping slightly in front of you in an attempt to shield you from any possible tricks that bastard might pull.

Grinding your teeth, your gaze practically lethal towards the man who tried to stage a coup against your family more than a decade ago, you let out a sigh that almost sounded like a hiss. “Ale, showed mercy to him when he tracked him down.”

Mikhail scoffed. “Damn his soft heart.”

Crowley chuckled. “Yes, that disgusting kindness was a weakness. But now that he’s gone, there’s no one left to hold the secrets of the Familia Moreno, except you little mouse.”

If not for Mikhail's presence in front of you, you would have lunged and killed Crowley right then and there. “Don’t you ever say that nick name to me. Only Alejandro and my family can call me that. And I’d rather die than give you our secrets.”

Crowley merely shrugged as if it was a mere inconvenience. “Very well, then I guess you need a little enticement.” He gave a nod to one of his men and it felt like everything moved in slow motion from that moment.

You heard a gun cock and then fire–it was aimed right at Mikhail.

Your body moved before you could think, shoving yourself in front of Mikhail and suddenly everything started going at a normal speed again.

But why did your chest feel like it was being ripped open?

Why was Mikhail suddenly shouting? What was he saying? Why was he crying?

It hurt to breathe.

Maybe if you went to sleep this would be all a bad dream and you’d wake up and you could have breakfast with Mikhail as you planned.

Yea, a nap sounded good right now. It’ll take the pain away.

But when you closed your eyes…you didn’t wake up.

12 years later…

You let out an irritated puff of breath and fiddled with your half of the necklace you always wore. Even when you were alive. It had the Familia Moreno crest–a butterfly, on it. But it was only one-half. Your brother contained the other half. That was the only way you were ever going to identify him. Or any of your family for that matter. After all, everyone in the family wore some piece of jewelry with la Mariposa on it.

Which brings us to why you were getting very agitated with a certain First Man.

“Come on Adam! We talked about this! You know why I want to join you on this Extermination! Who knows what other chances I may get, with the way things have been going! I won’t even fight, I just want to have a look around to see if I can find any of my family.”

Adam rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “And I keep tellin’ you, Sera would have my ass if I let you down there. You already found your sister-in-law and your niece and nephew. What more do you need?”

You fixed him with a look that he was all too familiar with.

You didn’t have your brother. Or parents for that matter.

Lute took off her mask and looked up at Adam. “Maybe just this once she could come, sir. We’re only targeting that disgusting excuse of a hotel. At least for now. Besides I’ve been watching her improve her hand-to-hand combat skills. She’s pretty capable. She was able to pin some of my best girls in minutes.”

A feeling of hope danced in your eyes. Yes! Maybe for once, you could get your wish. And not have to be babysat by Azrael again. You loved that man like a brother, but if he bugged you one more time about using your amazing singing voice for his band... you were going to hit him with his guitar. You didn't know how many more times you could take being called “My little Melody.”

You curse the day you chose that as your alias. But you never felt comfortable sharing your real name unless you were truly close with someone. You had the firm belief that names carried weight. So to those in your extremely tiny circle, you were (Y/n). To everyone else–Melody.

Adam let out a resigned sigh. “Your gonna be up my ass about this even worse than before if I don’t let you go, aren’t you Mel?”

You smirked. “One. You know you can just use my real name, right? No one’s currently around. It’s just you, me, and Lute in the area. The other exorcists haven’t even arrived yet. And two. You bet your sexist ass I would.”

An overdramatical gasp fell from Adam’s lips. “Hey! I’m for equality and all that female shit.”

Lute and you just shared an amused look.

“But fine, you can come. Only if you promise to circle back and come right back to my side in fifteen minutes. Because we are so going to pone those losers. So the battle won’t even last long.”

“Yes!”

“--And I’m assigning you a bodyguard. Just to be safe.”

You pouted but nodded. “Fine. I guess that’s fair. Whatever gets me down there at least for a little. Who’s it gonna be?”

“How about Siph? You two seem to get along well and even though she’s new she’s capable.”

You smiled and nodded at Lute’s suggestion. “Yea, that sounds like a good idea. I mean how bad could it be?”

***

Turns out? It was not the right decision at all to assign Siph as your bodyguard. You realize asyou lay on your side, golden blood seeping out of your shoulder blades, your halo thrown several feet away from you. Your exorcist disguise was covered in dirt and muck as the red skies of hell looked down at you in almost a mocking manner. Almost as if to say: You wanted to be down in Hell so badly. Well here you are.

The whole incident kept playing in your head like a broken record.

Turns out she was jealous of you all this time, just pretending to be your friend.

It was barely five minutes in with your search paired with her that she suddenly attacked you sliced off your wings, and trashed your halo. Leaving you to die just mere feet behind the Princess of Hell’s hotel.

“You don’t deserve to be an angel you mafia filth.” She spat at you as she tore your wings off. “You don’t even deserve the way Adam treats you. He should be looking at me that way! Me! I’m one of his best girls. Not some pathetic excuse of an angel. You should be here in Hell where you belong.”

You honestly should have seen this coming with her, but for once, you wanted to try and see the good in someone instead of having that natural suspicion you grew up with.

“Lot of good that did me.” You muttered and coughed. “I can’t die here. Not without seeing Ale or Mama or Papa.”

You tried to move but had almost no strength. Before you passed out though, it seemed Lady Luck looked down on you because you heard footsteps coming towards you. Hopefully, it was to help and not finish you off.

“Oh shit. Those bastards did it again. Shit shit shit! Hey, are you still alive?”

You felt two cool fingers at your throat.

“Oh thank Lucifer. Charlie! Get your father over here! We have a fallen angel on our hands! Damn, bastardos.”

Did that person just speak Spanish?

You wish you could see them but your eyes felt heavy and it was a fight just to keep them open. The only thing you could make out was an outline of a woman and long white hair.

“You’re gonna be alright. Don’t worry.”

You held onto those words of comfort like a shining beacon in a storm as exhaustion won the fight and darkness surrounded you once more.

A/N Well! that wraps up this chapter! I hope y'all enjoyed it! Please do feel free to tell me your thoughts on it! I love reading y'alls comments. And don't worry, the best is yet to come. Our dear Melody is a fallen angel now, chaos will surely ensue...

#the rebel fae #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #vox x you #angel dust #hazbin hotel adam #alastor x you

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cherrysnip · 3 days

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You were supposed to go to your hometown for the weekends. Unfortunately, there was a storm coming in the area so your mother, being the worrywart that she is, strictly told you to just stay in your apartment because it'll be dangerous if you push through with your travel.

And you did.

However, as early as ten in the morning, you were already bored as hell. You've tried taking a nap since the weather was perfect for it but it wasn't working, so you just stayed up and decided to review for your exams even though they are still a month away.

Moments later, you were already so immersed in reading when your phone suddenly rang. You absentmindedly answered it without even bothering to check who it was.

"Hello?"

"Did you just woke up?" You heard a familiar voice on the other line. It only took you half a second for you to recognize that it was Seokmin.

"Nope. Been awake since four. What's up?"

"Nothing. Just checking up on you. Your mom said you didn't go home?"

"Yes, I didn't. Storm's a bitch," you automatically groaned when you remember how disappointed you were earlier. You leaned back on your chair, "Why would she tell you though?"

"Well, she said her daughter might be crying because she's alone in her apartment right now."

"Stop it, Seok. I know she didn't say that. And besides, I'm already an adult. I can handle myself," you confidently defended yourself which made him chuckle.

"I'm sure you can. Looks like I have nothing to worry about then. I'll hang up now."

"Okay," you waited for him to hang up before you could go back to what you were doing seconds have passed but he still didn't drop the call. "I thought you're hanging up."

"I can't."

"I knew it," It was now your turn to laugh. You know he'd be saying a cheesy line any minute now, like he always does. You already told him that it makes you cringe but he still says them for you anyway. Because he knows that no matter how much you deny it, it still makes your heart flutter like crazy. "I bet you'll say something like you love hearing my voice, won't you?"

"You got me. I can listen to your voice the whole day."

"Well, Mister. You can't just hear it for free, I'm sorry. Your trial period is over. I'll be hanging up right now," you opted to teasing him, because you were too shy to admit you also feel the same way for him.

"Then how does hamburger and pizza sound for a payment?"

Your mouth automatically went agape when you heard his offer. You haven't eaten any breakfast because you were so lazy to get out and buy something. Plus, it's also near lunch time now and your stomach is already growling in hunger. Talk about perfect timing!

"Okay! Deal! I'll wait for it!"

"You're so quick when it comes to food, aren't you?"

"You know I live for it."

"Then is it me or hamburgers?"

"Don't be cruel. I never once made you choose between ramyeon and me."

"Okay," he chuckled. "Fair point."

"Did you already order it?"

"It's already on its way, Madam."

"I'm sorry. You know how impatient am I when I'm starving--" you weren't able to finish what you were saying when you were interrupted by a sudden knocking . "Wait, someone's at my door. I'll just check who it is."

You hurriedly went out of your room and it wasn't long before you arrived at your front door. When you finally opened it, there he was...

A guy wearing a black hoodie, holding two boxes of pizza and hamburgers in his left hand with his phone on his right hand, smiling shyly at you.

"Hi, love."

You let out a chortle and pulled him into a hug. It obviously surprised him but he still hugged you back eventually and then kissed the top of your head.

It was definitely Seokmin, your cheesy sweet boyfriend.

—♡—

#lee seokmin #seokmin x reader #svt seokmin #seokmin x you #seokmin x y/n #seokmin fluff #svt #seventeen #svt scenarios #svt au #seventeen filo au #svt imagines

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yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt · 15 hours

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Ok I don't talk nearly enough about Nimona angst or headcanons, but like. Can you imagine how quickly time passes for her? Like people (and even animals) experience time in relation to the length of their life. To a two year old a week is much longer than to a 65 year old.

Nimona is more than a thousand years old. She probably existed long before Gloreth, possibly before humans even existed. She could be tens of thousands of years old for all anyone knows. She could have been born with the creation of life itself millions of years ago.

Imagine how quickly time passes for her. Every day a millisecond, every year the blink of an eye, every lifetime or generation just a blip in her endless existence. It's no wonder she's always trying to get Ballister to act quickly, do things now, take down the institute, release the video, take her on as a sidekick, now now now. Because to her, he is on a very very tight timeline.

I don't think it would make her distant. I imagine her time with Ballister would be experienced more slowly because she'd be more present for it, rather than her thousand+ years alone. She would want to savor every moment of the short, short time she'd get to have with her friends and family. And it's so fucking sad, because she's still just a kid. She needs family and guidance and to be loved, and she'll lose anyone who provides that in an instant.

So, when she met Ballister, she didn't ask to be his sidekick for the rest of his life. She said "forever and ever, no take-backsies" so she'll still be his sidekick, and still feel loved, long after he's gone.

#im crying im crying #she doesn't deserve to outlive anyone she loves she doesn't deserve it HELP #nimona #ballister boldheart #nimona 2023

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xxfaggatronxx · 4 hours

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Inspired by @yakowo ‘s drawing

Daddy Dom Price x Baby Gay Gaz

Part 2: Gaz

Gaz never thought he was gay. Or bisexual. Or whatever it was called. Sure, he had taken a few peeks in the communal showers on base, but who hadn’t? And as a kid his mom had let him try her makeup, but she was always sweet and kind. The one thing that changed everything was his Captain, John Price.

Maybe it was the way he was so kind and fatherly, a presence Gaz had missed in his life when his father passed at the age of eight. Or it could have been the time Price had given him praise, was patient when he had adjusted to the task force. But, it was probably the time he saved his life.

A mission going sideways, Price flinging himself on top of Gaz to keep him covered from enemy fire, the feeling of the warm weight pressing on his body, the thick thighs straddling his hips, so similar to…. Other experiences his hands had flown up with muscle memory, resting on his Captain’s hips while Prince yelled for backup.

Needless to say, Gaz left that mission with every excuse to keep his lap covered.

But going to a gay bar? That felt like a monumental step. One he felt like should be taken with a couple shots and… maybe a few more for good measure. ‘Liquid Courage’, as Soap called it anyways.

Stepping into the bar…. It felt like any other bar. Gaz hadn’t known what he was expecting; maybe a strip club with skinny, pale men shaking their asses on poles with lots of makeup? Because that certainly wasn’t it. The lights were dim, colors flashing with the smell of sweat, booze, and too many body sprays. Just like the barracks.

He was greeted with the sight of most people… simply relaxing. Some were dancing, sure, but some were curled up on each other’s laps, odd dog-like masks obscured some people’s faces, and there was even a small group of people in dresses, and he had to do a double take when he saw a man with a beard and belly in a skintight dress.

He saw a man with his back towards him, and an odd green cloth in his left pocket. Lots of people had little bandanas in their pockets, actually. He approached the man, and saw people touching him, so it was probably okay, he figured. Gaz hesitantly laid his palm on the man’s lower back, tracing down until he reached their ass, giving it a firm squeeze before stuffing a ten into the back pocket. “…Care for a dance?”

The guy even leaned back into the touch, humming deeply until Gaz felt the leather of his jacket tickle his nose slightly, the rough feel of a beard rubbing against his jaw as the man backed up, pressing his round ass against Gaz’s crotch. Good god, this was *fun*, why hadn’t he done this before?

His hands rested on the strangers hips, pulling him back to grind on him slowly, resting his chin over the man’s shoulder with a soft, shaky sigh. He ran his hands over the man’s front, thumbs dipping between their belt and hips as he heard a familiar chuckle, and a husky, low voice whisper in his ear. “You’re new to the scene, aren’t you?”

Gaz froze, swallowing thickly. “….Captain?” By the way his ‘dance’ partner froze, he realized that he had been recognized too. Price stepped off to the side, eyes wide as he stared at Gaz, as if shocked to be seen like that: leather jacket, leather cap, tight gray jeans and with money stuffed into his pants like… like a stripper.

His boss… his captain was frozen in front of him, and took another step back. Gaz took a step towards Price, reaching out to place a hand on his waist, pulling him closer until their hips were pressed flush. “Wait…. I… can I have my dance still… sir?” Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he felt rough leather under his chin, lifting slightly as he gasped.

That damn crop. Price leaned in, his beard scratching Gaz’s neck, making the younger shudder and his eyes flutter closed. “Please… Sir,” Price returned a smile, pressing a kiss to his neck, and Gaz’s hands slipped to his boss’s waist, holding him with shaky hands. Price chuckled, smelling like leather, tabbaco, and rum. “…You asked so nicely, Kyle… I think you deserve a reward…”

#john price #cod price #captain price #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz cod #price x gaz

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happilysmythe · 10 hours

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❥ 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣

trent frederic.

word count: 4.0k

warning: explicit content

"let it happen (it's gonna feel so good)" — tame impala

A/N: this fic was inspired by the locker room raw of trent from december of 2022, gifed above. if you’d like to watch it, you can here. enjoy, and as always, happy reading!

- - -

Being a reporter isn’t all it’s made out to be when you’re harboring something that could put your career at risk.

Yet that’s exactly what you were doing, working as a journalist for the Boston Bruins.

Being in the presence of sweaty, large hockey players was something you’d inevitably have to get used to when working the field that you did. However, you never seemed to struggle with it. When people asked, you always told them that you’d simply set any minor attractions aside and focus on your work, rather than your desires. It was easy.

Until Trent Frederic came into the picture.

Something about him caught your attention the first time you stood in his proximity amongst the other reporters. He wasn’t attractive in the conventional way you knew the other players were. Most people would say he was “cute”, or “good-looking”, but that was the extent. So maybe that was it. Maybe it was his eyes, or his freckles, or the curls that poked out from under his hats.

Or maybe it was simply how fucking gorgeous he was to you, regardless of anyone else’s opinion.

That being said, you were frustrated; frustrated with yourself for letting his appearance get to you, even though you fought yourself daily for years to make sure it never happened. You knew that, at some point, someone would get the best of you, and unfortunately, he just happened to be that someone. You wanted to blame him. To take some of the pressure off of yourself for once. You wanted him and his goddamned charm to be at fault instead of you.

It’s the way he looks at you, you’d tell yourself. He’s trying to get a rise. He has to be. After all this time, you can’t be that weak.

Right?

But you knew that you were. You were weak for him. And it was just about the most unprofessional thing you could do in your position.

“What do you think it’s going to be like—to be in this type of environment?” the first reporter’s voice sounded, blinking you out of your already nervous state as you stood beside Trent.

“Uh, it kinda reminds me of a Penn State,” he replied, hand coming up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Or kinda like the, uh…What is it, Yost Arena in Michigan?”

The reporter nodded to confirm his statement. “I like those two rinks, so…hopefully, uh—thought we always,” he paused to breathe, “always played well there, so…hopefully it’s similar.”

Then it was your turn to speak up, and when you cleared your throat, his head pivoted in your direction. His eyes followed your voice and landed on you, his chest rising and falling as he awaited your question.

“Are there any adjustments you had to make where you’re playing in a,” you hesitated as you watched his tongue slip past his parted lips, tracing a line from the center of his bottom lip to the corner of his mouth. Your mind did all but ignore this and his audible, heavy breaths. You quickly blinked out of the state.

“In a smaller arena?” you finally continued in a humiliating attempt to sound put-together. “Or—”

“I don’t think so, I think when you’re playing you really only see the first,” he gestured his hand, “ten rows and up, so I think it’ll be fine. About the same.”

His gaze lingered on you for a split second longer than it should’ve before he turned the other way to face Sophia as she asked the next question. And it was then that you were certain he’d picked up on you.

Not to mention him abruptly cutting you off.

A few minutes passed before the cameras cut and the small crowd dispersed, leaving only him and you standing alone in front of his stall. But his voice stopped you before you could even manage a step in the other direction.

“Hey,” he called out calmly, and when you turned back around you were met with the sight of him standing nonchalantly, arms folded in front of him. “I don’t think we’re done yet.”

“…Yeah, we are. We already finished the media, no?”

“The media’s done,” he spoke, straightening himself out and taking a step toward you. “But we’re not done.”

“Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, Trent, but I have places to be. So if you’ll kindly excuse me—”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

You were taken aback, no doubt, but knew that you had to oblige him whether you wanted to or not. So you let out a sigh and shook your head.

He slipped off his padding, then silently jerked his head to the side, motioning for you to come with him as he walked down the outside hallway and into the nearest empty room. He promptly shut the door behind him, then walked toward you.

“What is it?” you finally piped up.

“Do you have a thing for me?”

“Wow, okay,” you scoffed, irritation lacing your defensive tone. “Do you have some sort of ego issue, or?”

“Do not play dumb right now,” he rasped, leaning closer. “You don’t think I’ve noticed the looks? The staring? The stuttering?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you rebutted, nostrils flared as you swallowed thickly.

“Oh, so you mean to tell me that I wasn’t just saving your ass back there?”

You sighed, finally letting your guard down as you lowered your voice. “Fine,” you admitted through clenched teeth. “I have a thing for you.”

And just like that, the corner of his lips twitched just slightly, as if he were suppressing a smirk. He finally leaned back and gave you room to breathe, so you seized the opportunity and took a long breath. He remained silent, waiting for you to elaborate.

“No matter how bad I want to act on it, I can’t, because I’m already in deep enough shit for wanting you in the first place,” you flatly explained. “But if we ever got caught for something like that…I’d lose my damn job, Trent. The job that I worked my ass off trying to get, and the one that’s already at enough of a fucking risk because of you.”

You shook your head disappointedly. “So sorry if I’m not getting my words right the first time.”

You brushed past him, trying to make your way toward the door but were quickly brought to a standstill when he spoke up.

“You think you’re the only one in that situation?”

You turned back around to face him, brows knit together in confusion as he stepped closer.

“And before you up and leave, I need to make something clear to you,” he spoke.

“Trent—”

“If I wasn’t attracted to you, I wouldn’t be enabling you like I do. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be trying to help you,” he told you promptly. “So think about that next time you want to think you’re the only one with problems.”

“God, Trent, that’s—this whole thing is beyond unprofessional. On both ends,” you scoffed in disbelief. “And you know that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t do anything with you because it would put me at risk.”

Of course, you wanted to. You were lying straight through your teeth. It was clear as day to Trent, too, because the subtleties told him otherwise—the hint of hesitation lacing your tone and the unease in your expression. But, to be fair, it was difficult to mask. You were already struggling with how inappropriate the whole conversation was.

And after all, nobody said it was easy to stop imagining what someone would taste like.

He stepped closer and your feet carried you backward until you came into contact with the wall behind you. Your head tilted back as you looked up at him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Not to mention it’s a,” you hesitated, “—a conflict of interest.”

“Write whatever the hell you want about me, because it won’t change how drawn to you I am.” A large hand gently placed itself on your hip, “And it won’t change that I’d take that chance with you.”

The tension in your face softened, sincerity bleeding through his voice as he spoke to you. You took a long, deep breath and—against any remaining shred of logic in your conflicted mind—lifted your hand to his chest, slowly trailing upward until it reached the curls on the back of his neck.

“If we got caught,” you reiterated, “you’d be the player who hooked up with some reporter…And I’d be the slut who couldn’t keep it professional.”

You softened your voice, “I’ve worked too hard to let it all go to waste, Trent.”

“Sounds more like a societal issue than an us issue,” he shrugged, “and last I checked…two adults deciding to get a little physical isn’t exactly illegal.” His voice shifted to a low rasp, “But I can’t wrap my head around why you’re still here, because someone else in your current position wouldn’t still be here unless they’d started to change their mind.”

“God, you’re frustrating,” you muttered. Warm breath hit your lips, forcing you to realize how close he’d become. Your eyes watched as the remaining beads of sweat dripped slowly down his face. “I haven’t considered anything,” you lied.

“Then tell me to stop.”

Your conscience told you to say it; that stupid guilty conscience that you were admittedly fucking tired of. Normally, it would’ve forced you to rattle off all of the reasons you could’ve said it—why you should’ve—but it didn’t. Because every other part of you wanted the complete opposite. Every consequence seemed to evacuate your thoughts, with Trent conveniently replacing each one.

So you finally turned your mind off and let your body take control.

His lips roughly connected with yours and you didn’t protest. You were quickly pinned to the wall by his hips as his fingers untucked your shirt, hooking under the fabric and slipping it up and over your head, allowing it to hit the floor, and his lips hungrily returned to yours. He was too intoxicating to deny, and the feeling of his tongue as it rolled slowly over yours only solidified that fact.

You reached up and pried the baseball cap off his head, tossing it aside and running your hand through his hair, transferring the moisture from his curls to your fingers, beginning to dampen them. Your other hand slipped under the fabric of his shirt, peeling it from his upper body to reveal his toned physique underneath, which you’d only ever caught small glances of. And boy, did it not disappoint.

When his lips left yours, you whimpered at the loss of contact, but they soon returned to your skin, peppering it with kisses as he trailed a path from your shoulder up to your neck, spending extra time there. Your hands traveled to his bare back, palms resting on his shoulder blades as your head tilted to the side, granting him more access.

“We’re—fuck,” you panted, eyes screwed shut, “we’re screwed if someone hears us.”

“That’s why we’re not near the door,” he muttered, kissing up to your jawline. “And also why we’re going to have to be quiet. Sound good?”

You nodded softly, then felt his lips move to your throat, eyes fixated on him as he reached your collarbones. At his movement, your hands lifted and moved to the wall beside you, palms flattened against it. He continued the path downward and lowered himself to his knees. Soft lips could now be felt on your stomach, burning the skin in their path.

Fingers curled into the waistband of the leather skirt hugging your hips and swiftly removed it, with it the lacy material beneath. The cool air of the empty room hit your exposed skin, but you didn’t pay it any mind.

It was all too much when his hands pried your thighs open so he could slip between them.

His warm breath grazed the sensitive skin between your legs. You knew how close he was. Then you were proved right as he gently pressed a trail of kisses from the inside of your thigh up to the flesh between them. His tongue parted your folds, dragging itself up and down slowly, gathering your taste on it.

He let out a groan of approval when your hand darted out, fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed him closer. You wanted—no, needed more, especially when his mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking it gently as his calloused hands wrapped around your thighs, pulling you into him.

He lapped at you hungrily, building you up and forcing you to chase your release. He was no stranger to being between a girl’s legs. He could’ve gone hours with someone’s thighs wrapped around his head. But he never needed to.

And you were going to face the same fate.

“Shit,” you sighed weakly, running your fingers through his damp hair. Heavy breaths filled his ears, your voice breaking through and turning them into soft whimpers.

“Mm,” he hummed against your skin, and your hips slowly, painfully rolled, the grip on your thighs making it near impossible for you to move them enough to give yourself the relief you craved.

But he took this as a sign, holding you tighter as he delved his tongue into you, steadily moving it in and out as he brought you to your breaking point. The thrill of being at such a risk only fueled his fire. Trent always refused to pull away until a girl was properly satisfied. The payoff was as rewarding as ever to him. So why deny someone the pleasure that you were giving them? He never understood it.

Besides, he always got off on seeing a girl come undone so fast.

His name fell from your parted lips in a moan as he flattened his tongue against your clit, that being the final push over the edge. Expert flicks of his tongue worked your body through your release, prolonging the process, and he began to taste you on the tip of it. He collected every last bit, moaning softly in satisfaction as he swallowed.

Finally, he pulled away, pressing a final kiss to your skin before releasing his grip on your thighs and standing up slowly. The grin he donned as he straightened out burned a hole through any remainder of the facade that masked your weakness; the one that made you give in to him unwillingly, without as much as an afterthought. It was too late for regrets. And you didn’t particularly seem to have any.

He watched as your chest rose and fell with each heavy breath as your eyes seemingly fixated on his lips. His thumb came up and wiped the corner of his mouth, then moved in front of his lips for him to lick it clean.

“Keep staring, why don’t ya,” he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“You’ve got some nerve saying that when I could just walk right out,” you quipped.

“Then do it,” he laughed, confidence lacing his expression. “Nobody’s stopping you,” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “But you’d be running quite the risk walking out of here with practically no clothes on, hm?”

“Yeah, as if that’s the only reason I’m not going anywhere,” you rolled your eyes, knowing full well what would happen if you were to waltz out of the room in the state you were in.

Luckily for you and him, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you’d be moving from your spot.

Weakened legs encircled his waist as he hoisted you up, and your arms wrapped around his neck. His hand reached between you and slid the thin fabric of his pants down just far enough to adjust himself. The other gripped the underside of your thigh, that and the wall supporting your weight as he held you up.

“You think anyone’s looking for us?” you muttered, the pads of your fingers dancing along the skin of his back.

“Probably,” he answered quietly as he lined himself up, and you started to feel the pressure between your legs. “But I don’t care.”

Then, he loosened his hold on you, sliding your body down the wall as he forcefully lowered you onto him. Your lips parted in momentary shock as he stretched your walls. The all-new sensation promptly clouded your vision. Crescent-shaped marks appeared on his skin when your nails dug into it. The size of his wide cock challenged that of any other man you had the unfortunate pleasure of fucking. They made you feel empty. But Trent filled you just right. He was almost too big.

Almost.

When you finally came to, your eyes darted toward his face, quickly meeting his in a forceful gaze. You tried to steady your breaths, but your body refused to allow it until you were fully adjusted to him. Instead, you elicited what sounded like whimpers. And of course, that only drove him more wild.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, brows knitting together as he pulled you up, adjusting you to be more firm in his grasp. “All that professionalism turn you into a prune or something?”

“Shut up,” you retorted, having a sharp intake of breath as he sunk you back down.

He laughed in response. “Mad that I’m right?”

“No,” you were quick to deny. “You’re just,” you hesitated, then cut yourself off sharply, “—just shut up.”

“Sure thing, Miss Reporter.”

That was enough verbal volleying for him and he pulled back, waiting a moment before pushing himself back in. The movement stifled you dead, practically severing your vocal cords as your head fell forward and your forehead promptly connected with his bare shoulder. He groaned in approval as your sensitive walls constricted around his length, his thrusts moving at a slow pace to allow your body to adjust.

Your previous release worked to lubricate the place you were joined, giving him leeway to pick up speed as he smoothly slid in and out, hitting places your mind couldn’t have possibly imagined he—or anyone—could. And Trent, on the flip side, was relishing in how perfectly you enveloped him; how fucking good the acute pressure felt each time he pumped his hips and buried himself to the hilt.

Desperately you clung to him, using some of the strength left in you to keep yourself stable, while the rest went toward forcing yourself into silence. But soon, there wasn’t enough to do both, and his shoulder wasn’t enough to prevent your moans from bouncing off the walls of the small space you inhabited. And if they weren’t taken care of soon, they’d bleed through the walls, and the exact fear that almost drove you out of the room in the first place would have become a reality.

So he whispered your name—piquing your attention enough to lift your head—and pushed his lips to yours, enveloping your mouth in a deep kiss that was enough to keep your noises at bay. At least, for the time being.

Rough palms pressed firmly into your thighs, a grip so firm that the fingers were likely to leave marks. But you didn’t seem to care, nor did you make an effort to stop it from happening. You’d be angry at it later. It wasn’t exactly a prominent worry in your mind while he sharply fucked into you, giving you as much as you could take.

And take him, you could.

His tongue slipped into your mouth and grazed your teeth as your hand snaked into his wet curls and fisted them, hard. He quickly removed his hands from your thighs and pressed them into the small of your back, arms pulling you impossibly closer as your legs tightened around his waist. The movement altered your position and shifted him inside of you, which forced him to hit your sweet spot, prying a moan from deep within your stomach.

It wasn’t often that a guy was rough with you, but he was. And whether you’d admit it or not, you liked it.

“Right—right there,” was all you could manage.

At your word, he sped up, cock burying itself as far into you as your bodies would allow, soft grunts leaving his mouth as he exhaled. With each thrust, his name fell from your lips in soft whimpers as if it were a prayer. And then, the culmination of his hands on you, the noises he made, and the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you as it craved its release brought you to yours.

The pleasure that washed over you as you came apart around him elicited a long, breathy moan from your throat. Once again, your vision was blackened, mind lost in a repeating loop of the only palpable thought it was able to conjure up, which was how incredible he felt from this angle, fucking you through it. And even when he brought his hand to your mouth to silence you, you allowed it without forethought.

Soon after, the pressure of you contracting around his length, paired with the sound of his name ringing in the form of your voice brought him to his breaking point. He shot into you, thoroughly coating your inner walls in a layer of hot, white liquid. You moaned weakly into his palm, taking him with a strength you would’ve been sure you didn’t have left in you. You maintained it for a few moments longer until his movements finally halted. He stilled inside and gently removed his hand from your mouth, a loud gasp filling his ears as you breathed air into your lungs.

The only sound occupying the small, dark room was that of heavy breaths, the walls absorbing the noise and preventing it from reaching the outside. Finally, Trent carefully pulled out and lowered you back to the ground, and you were grateful that his hands kept a loose hold on you for the support you knew you required.

His hands roamed your sides before finally removing themselves from your body. He pulled his pants back up to his waist and promptly adjusted himself, then bent down and picked up your discarded clothes, giving them back to you as he came back up. You thanked him quietly before stepping into the thin fabric, slipping it up your legs in unison with the leather skirt before returning the blouse to your body. Meanwhile, Trent grabbed his shirt and tugged it on, the taut fabric hugging his upper half as he moved back into your field of view.

“Hey,” he finally spoke up, prompting your head to tilt up in his direction. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed in response, arms folded as your hands rubbed them. “This…this was a one-time thing, Trent. To get it out of our systems.”

“I know,” he nodded, “but I don’t think it’s gonna stay that way.”

“Trent, if anyone ever—”

“I know,” he cut you off, lowering his voice to a near whisper as he stepped closer. “I know. But you can’t deny that it felt good to give in.”

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip in contemplation as you considered his words, then exhaled deeply through your nose. “Yeah,” you dejectedly sighed.

His finger tilted your chin up. “Just think about it, ‘mk?”

You silently nodded and turned to the door, silently making your way over as he followed closely behind you. The air was tense. It had undoubtedly thickened since your bodies parted. You stopped in front of the door, the soft noise of his breathing distracting you. Knowing his proximity to you prevented you from opening the door just yet.

And before your head could catch up with your body, you turned around swiftly and kissed him.

“There’s not much to think about, anyway,” you muttered softly, bringing a hand to his chest and trailing it up to the back of his neck. Your fingers gently brushed the tips of his curls, thumb pressing lightly against his skin just below them. “I’ve already made my decision,” you quietly added.

“Yeah?”

To compartmentalize. Let your body decide what it wanted, regardless of the consequences.

And it wanted him.

#boston bruins #trent frederic #fanfic #trent frederic fic #boston bruins imagine #hockey #trent frederic imagine #hockey fic #trent frederic smut #trent frederic x reader

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ruushes · 2 months

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assorted bat practice... on top of everything he has the audacity to be hard for me to draw

#astarion #bg3 #my art #eventually want to do this for everyone #polish/collect/post a bunch random drawings ive got lying around from figuring out how i want to draw them #he just has more complete ones bc unfortunately. i do like him.#i just always have to take like ten passes at his likeness #my findings are that you can always make his face narrower and the eye bags are load-bearing

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saetoru · 7 months

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RATE MY PROFESSOR! — GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU.

kinktober day one — threesomes ; find masterlist here

synopsis. you’re professor gojo’s TA—the catch? you both are romantically involved. what do you do when professor geto happens to accidentally walk in on you giving a blowjob? let him fuck you so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t tell a soul, of course

length. 5.1k words (deep, big, heavy sigh)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, college au, teacher-student relationships, prof! satoru + suguru, TA! reader, power imbalance, age gaps (reader is early twenties and satoru + suguru are early thirties), semi public sex (at campus in satoru’s office), suguru walking in on you and satoru, threesomes, fingering + blowjobs + hair pulling + throat fucking + cum swallowing (satoru), male masturbation + edging (suguru), unprotected sex + (one) clit slap + creampie (suguru), pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel, princess, pretty girl, good girl), not proof read—i am a raw dog kinda gal

notes. i would highly discourage having intimate relations with a professor—but….if your professor looks like gojo or geto, i’m blind babe. i ain’t see nothing. i won’t tell a soul

“you guys wanna get lunch?” nobara hums, “we’re all here.”

megumi, as always, looks like he’s about to say no—he probably wants to go home as quickly as possible. but that’s not an option because before he can, yuji has already piped up with an enthusiastic, “yeah! i’m down.”

you fiddle your fingers nervously—how are you supposed to get out of this one? you’d just used the excuse of grading assignments for satoru yesterday, and surely you couldn’t possibly have a fresh pile of them to grade again within twenty-four hours, right? it’d be a suspicious excuse, especially one for nobara, who seems to sniff out a lie a little too easily.

it’s not that you don’t want to hang out with your friends, you love them. really. but you promised you’d be in satoru’s office in fifteen minutes—and you’re not about to keep him waiting, so lunch will have to wait for another time.

you’re still thinking of a usable excuse when she turns to you herself, unimpressed as she dryly says, “i assume you have some midterm review to help him polish or something,” she grumbles, “gojo is so lazy,” she scoffs.

oh—well, that wasn’t very hard. she’s just made it ten times easier for you. nobara has handed you the perfect excuse right in the palm of your hand, and before you can even play it off casually, yuji cuts in and distracts her. bless yuji, you think to yourself.

“hey, professor gojo is a great guy! we all passed with an A! isn’t that great?”

“everyone gets an A in his class, dumbass,” megumi grunts, rolling his eyes, “not getting an A in his class practically means you’re deliberately trying to do poorly.”

on campus, professor gojo is a fan favorite—his rate my professor score is a perfect five stars, and most of the students around campus rave about him. why? because he gives out the letter grade A+ like it’s candy. anyone would love a professor like that.

he doesn’t ever take attendance or knock your grade down when you skip class, his assignments are always easy to google answers to, and the quizzes have unlimited time and attempts. his tests are straightforward enough that even if you never pay attention, doing the review he uploads is sure to help you cram enough to pass. and what’s better? he always adds a generous curve. not only that, but professor gojo is a friendly guy—he loves talking to his students, loves to ramble away if you stop him in the halls or visit during office hours, loves to listen to your stories and nod along in interest, loves to crack jokes and have a good laugh.

everyone loves professor gojo. and when they leave his class with an A+, they love him even more.

you had an A+ in physics yourself when you took his class—and you hate physics. you hated it in high school, and you hate it now. but for gojo satoru? you’re almost a physics enthusiast. professor gojo—or rather, satoru, as you call him now, takes a liking to you. a very…strong liking, if you will.

it all starts on a fateful monday afternoon two semesters ago—it’s one thirty pm, the busiest hour on campus. sometimes, it feels like everyone takes classes at one pm—and as such, getting a table in the university coffee shop is almost impossible. you’re just about to give up and leave with your coffee and sandwich after scanning the place when a wave of a hand catches your attention.

it’s professor gojo.

need a seat? he asks you, gesturing at the chair in front of him at his table—it’s a smooth, amused little drawl, the way he talks. it’s almost always a borderline teasing tone, and his voice is low enough that it sounds oddly enticing. you’ve heard enough girls lust over his voice in class to know you’re not the only one who sometimes appreciates the sound.

you try to insist that you wouldn’t want to intrude, but professor gojo is a nice guy; always looks out for his students and helps them out. so, when he insists that he doesn’t mind you taking the spare seat as he grades a few assignments, well…you decide to sheepishly thank him and sit across from him, finally having somewhere to sit and eat before you’re off to your next class.

and then it begins.

every now and then, you sit across from your physics professor in the crowded coffee shop on campus as you enjoy a cold brew and a sandwich before your next class. somehow, he always manages to snatch a table, and somehow, you always manage to find him. you like to ramble to him sometimes—how professor nanami is a bit too strict for your liking (he giggles at that), how professor ieri always seems too tired and miserable to be here (he nods and agrees), and how professor geto is nice, but he takes literature pretty seriously (he gives you an amused look at that as he hums.)

somewhere along the line, he asks you to be his TA for the following semester—and somewhere further along that line…well, perhaps the one-on-one talks as you sit together at a table for two felt a little too close to something of a romantic setting because you and professor gojo kiss in his office while he calls you in to explain your TA responsibilities.

that was never supposed to happen.

you don’t even remember who leaned in first, or whose arms were the first to wrap around the other, or who tugged who closer, but you both kiss. and then some. and then it happens again, and again, and again—and, well…you’re professor gojo’s, or better yet, satoru’s best kept secret.

you go to his office to grade assignments for him—in between if he steals a few kisses, who’s to know? sometimes, he’s a bit riskier, likes to spread his legs and free his cock and have your hand stroke him as he eyes the door. it’s always a nice view to watch him unbutton a few buttons of his shirt and bite back moans. other days, he likes to slip his hand past your waistband and toy with your clit—the amused glint in his eyes, as he tells you not to get distracted and keep grading when you gasp always, earns him a sharp glare.

it’s like that for the semester, just you and him in his little office where you can break the rules in the safety of secrecy.

that is, until now.

admittedly, this isn’t the best time to be doing this—professor geto likes to have lunch with satoru around this time, and you know you’re cutting it close…but he just looks so pretty like this, head fallen back against his chair as his lips part with a soft gasp.

you’re on your knees, looking up as you suck on the tip of his stiff cock before taking him down your throat, bobbing your head up and down. it’s a rewarding position to be in—to have the hot, loved, campus favorite professor that everyone thirsts over falling apart in your mouth, hands gripping the arms of his chair as he pants harshly above you.

he looks pretty—always does, always looks good enough that you can feel the ache between your legs get worse. the messy strands of his hair stick to his damp forehead, and his lips are always so pink and plump when he bites them like that, and who can forget the way his eyes turn just a shade darker of that bright blue?

you hum around him, making him groan as he mumbles, “f-fuck, you’re so good, sweetheart—always know how to make me feel good.”

you press a kiss to his tip, smearing the bead of pre cum leaking from his slit along your lips before licking them clean—he closes his eyes and groans at that. you can’t help but giggle, can’t help but press more kisses along his hardened length until you’re at the base of his cock.

“pretty little lips,” he hums, reaching to rub his thumb over your bottom lip as you open your mouth, letting him slip into your mouth—he hums approvingly as your tongue swirls around the digit, sucking slowly. “‘s like you were made for taking me, huh?”

“‘course i was,” you grin cheekily—and then you’re back to sucking on his cock, tongue rubbing over that thick vein you love to trace and reaching a hand to play with his balls. he moans—it’s low but still whiny enough that you can’t help but feel so proud at how needy he is, how desperately he always wants you. no matter the risk.

except the risk is probably not the wisest one to test today because just as satoru lets out a particularly loud whine when you swallow around him, the door clicks open and…

oh.

oh no.

this…this isn’t good—this is terrible, in fact. this is the worst possible outcome to the worst possible thing you’ve done, and now you’re screwed. entirely destroyed, in fact—the both of you. here goes your admission and your progress on your degree, and here goes satoru’s entire career and everything he’s worked for, and all because you couldn’t help but give him a blowjob in the middle of his office with the door unlocked where his best friend can walk right in and get a full view.

and worse? this best friend of his happens to be another professor on campus who you happen to have had just last semester. you’re sure he knows you; you’re his former student, after all, and he must certainly know his best friend’s TA.

professor geto blinks—his eyes go back and forth between you and satoru and the still-hard cock between his legs that’s glistening with your spit as you sit on your knees. yeah—there’s no explaining this one.

“well,” he says blankly, “i guess that’s on me for not knocking, huh?”

“suguru,” satoru grumbles, “some of us are busy y’know? can’t you come back later?”

you turn to satoru in shock—how can he be so normal about this? how can he just casually act like this is some random hook-up his friend walked in on instead of a (very illegal and very unprofessional) teacher-student relationship that could get the two of you in more trouble than you can comprehend?

but professor geto doesn’t seem even the slightest bit concerned. there’s no look of disgust or panic or even anger at you and satoru for your unprofessional habits. there’s no alarm at the distasteful activities you’re doing in the middle of a university office where anyone could potentially walk in on. and then there’s satoru—he doesn’t even bother making himself decent or pulling you from your knees.

no, instead, he looks at professor geto in slight irritation as the latter stands there.

“so this is what you’re always busy doing in your office, huh?” professor geto hums, chuckling in amusement, “i have to say, you at least have good taste, satoru. she’s excellent in and outside the classroom, it seems.”

“yeah, she’s a keeper,” satoru hums, cupping your cheek as he grins down at you, “now if you don’t mind, suguru, we’re in the middle of something.”

“and what do you plan on doing if this gets around?” professor geto raises a brow, unimpressed.

you look at him in panic at that—surely…surely he can’t mean that he would be the one to spread this around, right? surely he wouldn’t throw his best friend under the bus, correct? if not for you, then for satoru’s sake, he’d never let this information find another soul. otherwise…otherwise you’ll both lose everything. all the hard work and progress you’ve made, all of satoru’s experience and years building his career, and all the future opportunities you had coming up—all of it will be for nothing if professor geto says one word.

people wouldn’t have a hard time believing it either, you think. sometimes your own friends like to poke fun at you themselves.

you’re always with him, are you sure you’re not in love with the guy at this point? nobara always likes to snort at you.

why does professor gojo even keep you around? you’re too lazy—you must give good head, megumi tends to tease as he raises a brow with amused eyes.

with how often you’re in professor gojo’s room, you might as well have a crush on him, yuji sometimes giggles.

surely, with how often you’re seen in the coffee shop with him as he grades papers and how often he likes to tease you when you show up to his classroom sometimes to drop off papers, students would certainly take the rumors and spread them like wildfire if professor geto says even the littlest thing.

you look at him with wobbly lips as you whisper, “please don’t tell anyone,” you sniffle, “i…maybe there’s something we can do…to keep you from…”

the two of them look at you in shock—they stare at you for a moment, stare at the crystalline tears welling up in your eyes, at the soft little tremor in your lips, at the sweet little sniffles you try to hide. then, as if in sync, their eyes meet each other’s before finding you once more.

“oh, that’s precious,” professor geto chuckles, “she really is a keeper, satoru—she even looks pretty when she cries. i’m almost jealous.”

“don’t look for too long, suguru,” satoru grumbles—and then, “listen, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry. suguru’s not gonna—”

“well, if there is something you’d wanna do for me,” professor geto cuts satoru off, his voice a low drawl as he walks closer, hand cupping your jaw as he tilts your face up, “i suppose i can keep my mouth shut.”

“anything,” you nod quickly.

you’re so eager to please, he thinks—so perfect and sweet and pliant, that suguru thinks he might actually really be jealous that somehow, it was satoru who caught your attention. how did this all start? when did it start? how long has it been going on? do you have real feelings for each other? or is it just a pleasurable business kind of deal? do you meet up outside of campus? does he take you to the next town over to freely walk around with you on dates? do you kiss sweetly sometimes instead of with hunger? have you ever spent a night in his bed? do you sleep better beside each other, wrapped in the other’s arms?

there are so many, many questions suguru wants to ask. the potential answers to all of them make him a bit more unhappy than he cares to admit. something in him wonders how things might’ve had to play out in order to land you in his office instead—but…but if you’re offering anything, why not take advantage of the offer?

“anything?” he asks, looking at you amused, “you know, princess, anything is a dangerous offer. what if i asked to join? what if i asked to fuck you here in this office so your secret is safe?”

you blink up at him for a moment at his words—they’re a bit shocking. professor geto…doesn’t think this is wrong? clearly, he doesn’t if he’s willing to take part. but that doesn’t sound half bad. not even in the slightest.

they’re a popular pair: professor gojo and geto are all people on campus ever talk about. those two professors who happen to be best friends. they’re not much older than you either—can’t be past their early thirties, even if they don’t look a day over twenty.

did you know they used to go to college together? i heard they’ve known each other since high school. apparently, they applied to work here together and only took the offer up once the other agreed. it’s all people ever gossip about when they mention them both. it’s always about how close they are, how deep their bond is, how there is never one without the other. and then, of course, there are those…the less than appropriate comments you occasionally hear the other girls make. i bet professor gojo gives the best head—he’s always sucking on some lollipop. i’d let professor geto do nasty things to me while i read his literature books out loud to him—he’s too fine. i can take both of them—and i don’t mean their classes.

it’s…not exactly a bad offer that he gives you, you think to yourself. it’s an enticing one, in fact. you get to have them both—professor geto isn’t any less attractive than satoru and…and well, you’d really like for him to keep this a secret, so it’s a bit of a win-win. plus, you’re sure he wouldn’t risk spilling such delicate information when it would put his career at risk, too—it seems like the perfect leverage.

you look at your old literature professor with a nod as you murmur, “then i’d say you should make sure to lock the door this time—we don’t want to make the same mistake twice, do we?”

his eyes sparkle in amusement at that, a low chuckle falling from his pretty lips as he shakes his head at you—you’re even better than he expected. satoru is so, so lucky he’s got to have you to himself all this time. it’s criminally unfair.

“hey,” satoru pouts from behind, still sitting in his chair and still painfully hard as his throbbing cock sits between his legs unattended. “you both are forgetting about me,” he whines.

professor geto—or rather, suguru, you suppose, only looks at his best friend in amusement. “now, satoru—what have i always told you about sharing? here—” he walks over and pulls satoru to stand before taking the seat himself and patting his thigh as he looks at you with a sly grin, “why don’t i get to feel your pussy, and satoru can have your mouth like before? then we both get what we want.”

“bossy as ever, suguru,” satoru chuckles, but there’s something in his eyes—something darker and more excited than you’ve ever seen them.

“get her ready for me,” suguru hums, fingers making quick work to unbuckle his belt and free his hardened cock. you can’t help but stare, can’t help but watch as he wraps his fist around his hardened length and runs his thumb through his slit with a low moan.

he’s not as long, but he’s thicker than satoru—you can easily tell he won’t be any easier to take. you watch attentively as he traces the thick vein along the side of his cock with this thumb as he strokes upward, rolling around his tip before stroking down and squeezing at the base. you watch his lips tug between his teeth, a soft moan ripping from his throat as he touches himself in the way he likes best.

you’ll remember what he likes, you think—you can sense this might not be your first and last opportunity to see suguru like this. and next time? well, next time, it’ll be your hand touching his cock and pulling those pretty little sighs and groans from him instead of his own.

“eyes on me, sweetheart,” satoru hums, pulling you to stand before gently guiding your back to fall against his desk, fingers looping into your waistband and pulling your pants down your legs. you can hear the sharp inhale suguru takes as soon as the wetness of your folds is on display, as soon as your puffy clit and dripping pussy are there for him to see so clearly. “watch carefully, suguru,” satoru grins, “she’s pretty when she cums.”

“i can imagine,” suguru muses, “alright then. show me.”

instantly, satoru’s fingers are intruding into your cunt—it’s familiar, the sensation of his digits bullying past your folds and curling against your sweet spot. he’s already knuckles deep, already pressing the tips of his fingers into the back of your walls as far as they’ll go, spreading you open and scissoring you apart. it feels good—it always does, and when his palm rolls across your clit? you can’t help but let out a whiny moan that earns a groan from suguru as he fists his cock tighter.

“god, she even sounds so pretty,” he pants, watching as satoru’s fingers slip in and out of your pretty cunt, at the way it all but sucks them in itself as it flutters around him. everything about you is perfect—but your face is by far suguru’s favorite. the way it twists with pleasure as satoru slams his fingers against your spot mercilessly with every thrust of his wrist has him fighting off his orgasm—his fist slowing down to a teasing edge as he grunts at the way he lets his pleasure die down for the sake of really feeling you.

“that feel good, angel?” satoru asks, grinning down at you.

you nod quickly, head thrown back against the wooden desk as you stutter, “y-yes…s-so good, toru.”

“toru?” suguru asks, “do i get a nickname too? make sure you come up with one for me, yeah?”

it’s almost like you don’t hear him, too busy on the way satoru drags along your walls with every time his fingers sink into you. “toru, toru—s-slow down, ‘m g-gonna…”

“slow down?” satoru gasps—his pace only quickens at that as he gives you a mocking pout, “you want me to slow down, sweetheart? you never ask me to slow down, it’s always faster, toru. faster, please! from you. you don’t wanna give suguru the wrong idea, do you? he’ll think i haven’t taught you how to take it like a good girl.”

suguru snorts at that, slowly dragging his hand up and down his sensitive cock—it’s red at the tip, flushed, and leaky enough that it’s easy to tell he’s aching for release.

“hurry up, satoru,” he grits, biting his lip as he fights back another orgasm and stills his hand, keeping it tightened around the base of his length, “we haven’t got all day.”

“can’t rush making my pretty girl cum, suguru,” satoru gasps, “she deserves the best. look at this pussy—” he gives pulls his fingers out to give your clit attention, rubbing your slick over the sensitive bud as you gasp, writhing over his desk, “—see how perfect it is? you gotta treat it like that too.”

as if from his words alone, as if you get off on the way satoru praises your cunt to his best friend who watches you get stuffed to the brim with his fingers, you whimper before cumming—your pussy fluttering around nothing, walls spasming and dripping with slick as he toys with your clit.

“toru—toru, ‘m cumming…cumming—oh,” you babble, thighs quivering as his thumb doesn’t let up from your abused clit, watching as your hand reaches for his wrist weakly to halt his movements. “‘s too much,” you sniffle.

“too much?” suguru gasps, “how will you take me, then, princess? don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?”

“nah,” satoru grins, chuckling, “she’s got plenty left in her. she can take it.” with that, he hooks an arm under your waist and helps you sit up, leaning down to kiss you softly as you let out a muffled whine against his lips. “you’re ready for suguru, aren’t you, baby? prepped you nice and good to take him, didn’t i?”

you nod, mumbling a soft, “uh huh,” in agreement.

“that’s my good girl,” he coos, grinning as he presses a wet kiss to your forehead.

suguru, patient as ever with a stiff, aching cock standing between his muscled thighs, holds an arm out for you as he murmurs, “c’mere then, princess. can’t back out of our deal yet, can you?” you walk over to him on wobbly legs, letting him pull you to sit on his lap, back flush against his chest as his hands guide your hips. he taps the head of his cock against your clit as he lines your entrance up with his length before pulling you to sit, slowly inching you down on him bit by bit as he gasps at the way you squeeze around him instantly. “h-holy—fuck, such a tight fuckin’ pussy. ‘s like i can barely even move,” he grunts, chin resting on your shoulder as he pants.

satoru walks over, staring down at you as you’re seated on suguru’s lap before cupping your cheek and rubbing over the soft skin with his thumb. “you can take both of us, right sweetheart? you’re just too good not to, aren’t ya?”

you nod eagerly, letting the tip of his cock tap against your lip, tongue moving to lick across his slit and make him groan. he’s painfully hard—cock swollen and neglected for so long, you almost forgot that he’s been waiting for your mouth to take him again after being interrupted. your jaw slacks as you let him thrust his hips and fuck his length into you, tip hitting the back of your throat as you choke around him.

“fuck,” satoru hisses lowly, biting his lip as his hands grab your hair and keep you in place while he ruts into your mouth, “fuck, baby. never get tired of how good this mouth feels—takes me so fuckin’ well. jus’ love feelin’ me down your throat, huh?”

you can’t do anything but let out a muffled cry, feeling the fat tip of suguru’s cock nudge against your sweet spot—it’s just as effortless: the way he finds your most sensitive part. just as effortless as satoru. maybe that’s why they get along so well, maybe they’re connected in that way.

“oh, princess,” suguru moans, panting against your ear as he lets out a breathy moan, “fuck, that’s good—so, good. can hardly move with the way you’re squeezing me. greedy little pussy, isn’t it?”

you whine as you feel his arm wrap around you, finger rolling over your puffy clit as his hips snap upwards and fuck into you, cock dragging along your walls and stretching you enough that you can hardly think straight. he’s big—it feels like he’s almost splitting you open with his girth as his hips roll up and sink him deeper into your cunt.

“she’s…she’s perfect,” suguru pants, “keepin’ this all to yourself? how selfish of you, satoru.”

“she’s mine,” satoru whines, cock pushing past your lips as he speaks, the way your tongue glides along his vein making his cheeks flush as his eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open with a breathless moan. “she’s too good to share with you. you d-don’t deserve her.”

“yeah? and you do?” suguru chuckles—it sounds more like a labored pant, his breath harsh as he groans into your neck when you flutter particularly tightly around him, forehead falling to dig into your shoulder, “she’s suckin’ me in. think she wants me. don’t you, pretty girl? you want me to cum inside you, right? make you mine too?”

“y-yes,” you mewl, popping off satoru’s length as you whimper when suguru chuckles and gives your clit a light slap, back arching against him as he pushes his cock past your folds again, “yes, wan’ it. wan’ it so, so bad—need it.”

“see,” he raises a brow towards satoru, “knew it.”

you can see the way satoru’s cock twitches at that—at the way you fall apart on suguru’s lap as the latter digs his head into your shoulder as he breathes harshly, chasing his release desperately as he ruts into your slick pussy. you can see the way satoru’s tip is flushed a harsh red, leaking with pre cum as he aches to spill cum down your throat, so you let him push past your lips once more—but not before giving his tip a delicate kiss.

“she’s my girl,” satoru grunts, “mine, mine, mine—knows how to make me cum. kn-knows how to take me so good, right baby?”

and as if to answer him, you suck around his tip, swallowing around his length and making him groan as his hips stutter and cum paints your throat white as it fills your mouth. you try to swallow every drop, try to take what he gives you as he fucks into you desperately and chases the pleasure of his high. thick, hot ropes of cum spill from the corners of your lips as satoru fucks his load into you, panting as his hips sloppily roll and work himself through his orgasm.

“that’s right, sweetheart,” he groans lowly, “take it, yeah? god—fuck, feels so good, baby. ‘m c-cumming.”

you make a sound between a choked whine and sharp gasp as suguru’s thumb rubs harshly against your swollen clit, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he groans, hips just as sloppy as satoru’s in his pace that it tells you he’s close too—and then he twitches into your pussy, cock burying into you once, twice, three more times before he groans too.

“gonna cum, princess? ‘cause ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum—fill you up and make you mine. you want that right? want me to—f-fuck, fuck ‘m close, so close,” he cuts himself off with a gasp, letting out a needy whine into your skin before spilling into you. you can feel hot, thick ropes of cum paint your walls as his tip nudges back into you and pushes his load as deep as he can.

and you fall apart too, coming undone a second time as your walls hug around him tightly, head falling back as you mewl a high pitched, “s-sugu—c-can’t…’s too much—”

“you can take it, pretty,” he hums, “know you can. you’re too precious not to, right?”

it’s messy—it’s downright filthy, in fact, the way his cum and your slick mix and drip along your inner thighs, making a mess on satoru’s chair. you pant as your pussy pulses around him before coming down from your high, falling slack in his arms against his chest as he chuckles and presses a kiss to your jaw.

“fuck,” he breathes, “you’re something else. who’d have thought my favorite little student from a previous semester could do all that?”

“isn’t she a dime?” satoru chuckles proudly, reaching for the corner of your mouth with his thumb, collecting a stray drop of cum and pushing it back past your lips and onto your tongue, humming approvingly as you swallow. “precious, isn’t she?”

“of course,” suguru nods, with a grin, leaning to peck your shoulder, “so, tell me. which professor would you take again?”

satoru purses his lips as he glares. “this isn’t rate my professor, suguru. and don’t get used to thi—”

“well,” you hum, interrupting as you bat your lashes sweetly at both of them, “why i can’t just take both of you again?”

guess who’s posting their october first kinktober fic literally 40 mins before it’s october second ?? if it’s not procrastinated, it’s not reached its full potential

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luv4fushi · 3 months

Text

thinking about arguing with husband!gojo. it’s funny because he’s the strongest sorcerer alive with several other, more wicked enemies harboring one sided hate for him, yet he’s anxiously glancing at you every now and then as you hiss at him. you’re the only one who can make him doubt his strength.

he usually finds you cute when you’re mad, but right now he doesn’t really appreciate the way your face is scrunched up and how you’re yelling at him.

it’s not his fault. he thinks you’re being so dramatic.

“you’re laughing at me,” you deadpan. “why do you never take things i say seriously?”

“because i honestly don’t think it’s that serious,” he fires back, and your eyes narrow. oh, fuck.

arguing with your husband is never fun. it’s probably because the both of you are stubborn; you’re stubborn because you’re simply right all the time, and satoru’s stubborn because if you’re not right, then he is.

you pause for just a second, but it’s enough to sprout a moment of extreme tension between you and your husband.

“right,” you scoff after you inhale sharply. “you just don’t care, do you?”

“don’t fucking say that,” satoru snaps. “i do care. that’s why i’m here.”

it takes everything in you to not shoot him another death glare. “so i should be thankful for the bare minimum?”

satoru blinks. he would’ve flinched, but he refuses to let you have that sort of power over him. “i’m not giving the bare minimum.”

“yes you are,” you argue back, voice straining as you swallow a lump of anger down the back of your throat.

the both of you are still. it feels like an eternity passes before the anger in you wanes. you’re exhausted and this fight with satoru is surely going to make the both of you upset enough to not talk for the rest of the night.

“i’m sorry that i’m not good enough,” satoru says, breaking the silence. you’ve never heard his voice so small, so pathetic—he’s never, ever shown you this side of him, and you’re starting to feel that dreading pit of guilt tug at your gut.

“that’s not what i meant,” you force yourself to say, sighing.

“but that’s what you’re thinking,” satoru mumbles. he avoids looking at your face.

“no it’s not,” you deny. “it’s never been about that.”

satoru gives you a wary look. “then what is it about? because i’ve done everything i can.”

“everything? really?” you sneer. “do you even love me anymore?”

silence. satoru swears he can hear your heart break.

“baby, don’t say that,” he groans, “c’mon, we were ten points away from three stars. that’s a single plate—one you didn’t turn in because you somehow forgot how to dash!”

you whip around to glower at satoru, your face twisting into an offended expression. “you set the kitchen on fire! how could i do something like serving a dish if the kitchen is on fire?!”

“baby, it’s the same button that it always has been this entire game!” he whines. “and you set the kitchen on fire! you keep forgetting to take the rice off the stove!”

you sigh exasperatedly, crossing your arms to act like some sort of shield between you and satoru’s (truthful) words.

“but you don’t chop up your stupid fish!” you protest. “so i end up doing five things at once!”

satoru opens his mouth to speak, but he knows you’re in the right. he opts to click his tongue instead.

“and every time i asked for help,” you add, frowning, “you just kept bringing out more of the dumbass cucumbers! we don’t have counter space for that!!!”

“that’s for prep to maximize our sushi making! throw it on the floor!”

“are you kidding me? that’s so unsanitary!”

“it’s a game!”

you’re both panting by the end of the fight. you’re biting down on your inner cheek and satoru is scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly.

“… sorry,” he mumbles. “i won’t bring out cucumbers anymore. and i’m also sorry for being mean about you not knowing how to dash.”

“good,” you huff. “‘cause i was seriously not gonna play anymore.”

“and…?” he prods, nudging you in your ribs. you can tell what he wants just by the sound of his voice.

“and i’m sorry for getting mad at you even though you’re doing you’re best at carrying me in this game…” you murmur, rolling your eyes.

satoru’s face brightens and he places a wet kiss on your cheek. “you’re forgiven.”

“love you, dummy.”

“love you too, baby.”

“no more cucumbers unless the ticket calls for them,” you remind him pointedly.

“yes, chef!”

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader

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luvmila444 · 4 months

Text

SWEET RELIEF - C.S

…………………………………………….. ☆ ★ ………………………………………………

Chris sturniolo x fmreader

summary: Chris can’t help but get a bit worked up while on a tutoring study call with you, when you realise what he’s doing, you only pushing him further to the edge.

content warning: male masturbtion; dirty thoughts; praise kink

word count: 2.8k

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Chris was a little embarrassed with how fast he had picked up the phone call from you, not to mention the blush that had spread across his cheeks and his quickly paced heartbeat when he heard your sweet voice ring through the speakers.

“Hey, Chris!” You smiled as you spread your small pile of assessments and study papers across your desk to get yourself prepared. This had been a regular thing on Wednesdays and Saturdays for the past two months. You guys would set up a phone call together as you would help him study as Chris was falling behind in class…a lot. You guys had to do it over the phone as both houses were always so busy due to Chris’s brothers and your family always occupying your living spaces, making it difficult to have privacy and quiet to help him focus and bring his grades up. Therefore, you resulted in two easy phone calls across the week, which Chris always enjoyed a little too much.

Chris loved that you could never see him and what he was doing at the sound of your voice over the phone. The sweet ring of it through the speakers. The way you ramble so passionately about the work. Yeah… he definitely liked having the privacy of his room for these calls more then he’d like to admit. Although he can never help but imagine what you looked like, what you were doing. Fuck… he’s been on the call for no more than ten second and he’s already getting himself worked up.

“Chris…?” He heard you voice agin. Fuck that voice.

“Yeah... I’m here, hey y/n.” He couldn’t help the smile that rose onto his lips hearing hear giggle at his slow usual response.

“Okay well glad you're here,” you say readying the paper you had recently got giving by your teacher, on to the top of the pill of books you had been working on, “why don’t you fine the paper that mr Hudson gave us today and we will work through that one today, yeah?” You say cutely but trying not to talk so fast so Chris could take in the information.

“Yeah, yeah sure…” he buries his way through his overflowing piles of unfinished homework to find the paper that was given to him today by his teacher “why did he give us the paper today, anyway?” Chris huffs, flipping to the first page that you wanted to start working on.

“I have no idea, it’s not like we don’t already get enough work given to us on Mondays and Fridays, but now on Wednesdays too? It’s getting a bit intense at this point!”

Chris hums in agreement, loving the way you get worked up about things. However, once you were done with your small rant, you let out a sign that was so quiet only the most observant person would notice it, lucky for you, Chris was that person. As you made the noise Chris felt a familiar warm feeling in his lower stomach, just imagining you making that noise in a very different scenario…

“Did you see jenny today?” You interrupted his quickly drifting dirty thought, referring to girl who passes every class, not using her smarts but her body instead, fucking her way to good grades.

“No, why? What was she doing this time?” Chris asked slowly, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat and suppress his dirty thought of you.

“Woah I’m surprised you didn’t see her! She was practically pushing her tits out of her very tiny top to try and get out of this paper…. practically had all the guys drooling,” you huffed. You’d always been quite jealous of Jennifer. She could literally get any guy she wanted and could always get out of these stupid papers. It was irritating to people like you who tried their very hardest in their schoolwork and seem to go zero appreciation for it, when all jenny does is gossip, do her obnoxiously babyish laugh and pop a tit, therefore having the whole classroom wrapped around her finger. It was pathetic.

“Nah, guess i don’t really care that much about her,” Chris was very aware of Jenny’s usual inappropriate behaviour, yet he couldn’t pull his eyes away from you all through that class. He was sat near the back of the class, so he had a good view of his surroundings and could easily see you sat a few rows in-front of him, at the perfect angle so her couple see you left side perfectly. Chris simply couldn’t understand how anyone could pay attention in that class knowing that you were in there, not jenny but you.

Your short denim mini shirt that accentuated you ass and hips so perfectly and highlighting your legs. However, to keep yourself warmer and seem more modest, you through a knitted sweater over the top, making Chris’s eager to rip it off and see what you hid beneath the layers of warm wear. God, if there was nobody else in that classroom, he would not hesitate you lift you up on the desk and kiss up your legs to your perfect thighs and up your body. He would make sure to take perfect care of you, bring his lips underneath your sweater and bring his hand to you perfectly round and covered tits.

Full, he could barely take it anymore. He could feel his harder member quickly growing underneath his get sweats, but he didn’t want to stop. No… he couldn’t stop himself.

“Huh, thats surprising, i could’ve sworn that the guys next to me literally had dribble on his chin, it was crazy.” You laughed.

Fuck that laugh. Chris brought his hand up to his crotch and felt where he had grown harder just thinking of you. He began to palm himself, trying to relieve the growing soreness between his legs.

"We should get started now." You unintentionally break his train of thought, as he gulps, silently cursing at himself. "Because I you barely understood what was going on it that class."

"Uh, yeah." Chris coughed, forcing himself to focus. "What did you want to start with?"

You voice begins to drift into an explanation of what was said at the beginning of the class, only worded in a simpler way, yet Chris could barely take in any of this information. You speak so innocently, brows furrowed, as Chris furrows his own for an entirely different reason.

He continues to palm his dick through his pants while your voice was sending small electric jolts through him. All the way down to his dick, which has begun to strain painfully against his pants beneath his hand. Christ, i can’t actually be doing this right now-he thinks to himself. He licked his lips, quickly responding to what you were saying with a hum and an "ah, that makes makes more sense."

Chris doesn't mean to drown out your words. Because he's listening. But more so to the hilt of your voice, and how it would sound much breathier, as you gazed up at him. One of his fantasies had you on your knees, teasingly licking at his cock, as your devious eyes held his. He had orgasmed extremely quickly, multiple times, when he found this imagine in his head.

“So thats basically the first part,” you continued to explain, unaware and completely oblivious to Chris’s hand rubbing at himself on the other end of the line.

He won’t do more. He can’t, this is just so wrong of him Just…relieve a hint of tension. You continued to speak, and your words began to sound like something he wished he could grab, as his hand tightened on his bulge, his rubbing growing messy. His breathing had grown heavier, but he covered it up by saying ‘yes’s and ‘no’s, answering your questions.

“Sorry, I’m rambling. Did you have any questions?” You ask, feeling as if Chris wasn’t getting everything he needed out of your words. He had to spare a glance at his incomplete work, scanning to see if he’d written down any problems, trying to remember if he had any. Because the only problem he could think of right now is how his over-the-clothes rubbing was doing little to satisfy his need.

His cock was now rock hard, it was torturous. His mind began to glaze over with lustful thought of you “I—I don’t think so.” He mutters out, his fingers reaching into the waistband of his sweats and briefs, pulling his cock, which was now leaking with drops of pre-cum and the tip was a bright rosy, red, much like his cheeks.

He imagined the way you would touch him. Would you be gentle and slow, or would you edge him and make sure he’s extremely overstimulated as you milk him dry. Chris’s breathing stutters as he strokes himself. The little hums you make when you think have begun to make his hips thrust up into his palm. His other hand had tightened around the sheet, praying that you can’t hear him jerking off to you. Chris becomes lost in your tone as his cock twitches.

“Chris?” You slowly ask, making his hips jolt at the utterance of his name from your lips, but he tries to keep his voice of some composure.

“Yeah?” He had to press his lips together after a needy whimper nearly falling.

“Are you…okay?”

Your question makes him halt, much to his cock’s dismay. “W-what?”

“You sound… i don’t know, out of breath?” You say, behind the line trying to think of why.

“Really, you think?” He hums with a small smirk on his face enjoying the uncertainty in your tone and how innocent you mind must have been. You nod to yourself, but then you catch the smallest of sounds fall straight from Chris’s lips. You had to be mistaken, as it had almost sounded like one full of pleasure that could have only been as a result of one thing...

Your mouth opened in shock as you realise. He’s out of breath because he’s…

“Chris.” You say again, hearing a stuttering whimper from him before he tries to cover it up by asking ‘yes?’ again.

“What are you doing?”

Chris curses himself because you sound suspicious. “I’m studying obviously. Being tutored s-so well... by you.” He says, really forcing down his cock’s wanting to just ask you to keep talking so he could reach his orgasm, attempting to stop himself from stuttering his words, but he just couldn’t help it.

“You’re sure you’re good?” You asked unconvinced, as a small smirk rose to your lips.

“No. No, I’m all good, i swear.” He says, really forcing his words to sound normal, as he had slowly begun to stroke himself again, his cock angry.

“Ah huh, yeah…okay,” you knew what you were going to do, this was going to be fun. “Did i tell you how good you looked today?”

Chris’s eyes opened, looking at his phone slightly trying to keep a steady pace of his raging cock but if you were going down this road of compliments, he probably wouldn’t be able to take it much longer.

“Uh, n-no,” he stutters pathetically, somehow unaware of the game you were playing.

“Well, you did, your hair…wow. I could just run my hands through it! How do you always get it looking so soft?” You paused momentarily, hearing Chris’s surprised whimper. “Sorry thats kind of a goofy thing to say…sorry.” You were basically just teasing him now, the basic matters of the studying gone.

“I- no i don’t think its goofy. a-at all…” his words are broken up by that heaving panting.

“God. really? You’re so sweet chris…wow,” You hum, making Chris’s hips thrust up into his hand, his legs having widened as you spoke.

“R-really?” His eyelids began to feel heavy again, wanted nothing more but to see the darkness and use it as a canvas to paint his dirty images of you in his mind.

“Yeah, i mean you’re the literal sweetest” you hum lightly, “you always make sure i havea seat in class, you listen to me when i speak and when i help you i study, you defend me in-front of your friends! You’re so sweet! Such a sweet, good boy for me” you were practically grinning at this point.

Chris could have sworn that your words could have sent him spiralling over the edge.“I a-am?” He asked, almost to clarify that this was real, that you were actually saying this to him.

“Well of course, and you’re always so busy as well, yet you always make time for me in your busy schedule. You must be stressed a lot of the time. I could always help you…relax sometime, relieve some of your…tension.” You had lowered your voice now in order to have a more seductive tone to your voice now.

Chris chokes on a whimper as he places his hand over his mouth, still thinking you don’t know. “My tension…?”

“I mean, yeah… i could alway give you a massage, rub you down, you know I’ve been told I am very good at giving…massages.” It was becoming blatantly obvious what you were doing now but Chris must’ve been blinded and in a lustful haze because he still seemed to be completely oblivious to what you were doing. Continuously pumping his dick eagerly and chasing his release.

The thought of you sat on top of him, rubbing all down him in order to relax him was definitely doing the opposite effect and only working him up more. Fuck. He had almost come from the thought of you taking care of him. the tone you had dropped to makes his hand quicken as his hips had begun to grind into his palm.

“You’d do that for me?” Chris whined, only imaging what else you would do for him almost sent him over the edge.

“Of course, i would baby, you would tell me where it feels good before i drag my hands down your body…” Chris let out a pathetic whimper at not only the simple thought but at the nickname as well. Baby? Baby??! Oh, my lord he was going absolutely feral at this point, “however, through your clothes it mind be hard to properly get that tension out.”

Chris moans through his teeth, as his hips pathetically thrust at your words. “No clothes?”

“No clothes.” You confirm. “Would that be, okay? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable— “

“Yes.” His answer was immediate, cutting you short. He coughs. “That would be fine.”

You grin. “Good. Because that way I could really relieve some tension. I’d have to straddle you of course.” You pause to hear chris’s heavy breathing and the faint sound of his hand gliding along his cock. “You may even have to flip around, because I’ve heard that the most tension can be by your collarbones and neck.”

Chris nearly orgasmed at the thought of you straddling him, as your hands wandered his body. “As in straddling..my front?”

“Yeah, is that okay?”

“Uh huh.” He hums, his cock twitching with a soon need to release.

“I could give you that massage the next time we study.” You say, making chris’s breathing quicken at the possible reality of all that. “I could come over to yours.”

At this point he couldn’t care how desperate he sounded. “Yes. Please, come anytime.”

“Or maybe you should cum?” You ask, your innuendo strong, as pleasure began to rock through chris’s body.

“W—what?”

“Come to my place, i know yours is always super hectic.” You play it off, listening to the wet sounds his cock was making as you could hear how close he was to his orgasm.

“Fuck…yeah that sounds good, i-if you’re happy then s-so am i…” he was no biting his own lip so hard he could’ve sworn he was drawing some blood. He now had his back so far arched up off of his bed and was practically fucking up into his own hand.

“See, again, you are alway thinking…of me,” oh he was definitely thinking of you, thats for sure, “you are such a good boy.” And that did it. His orgasm wracked through him as quiet whimpers and moans left his lips his hips grinding into nothing. Wishing the air was you. He watched as the white strings of cum coated and stained his dark shirt.

“Fuck” he let out a relieved groan, now not even hiding the action that he had just did.

“Maybe next time we study i should just jerk you off instead,”

Chris’s eyes widened at what you had said, before realising how blatantly obvious what he was doing was. You giggled once again hearing Chris’s heavy breathes, pleased to know that it was you who had pushed him over the edge.

“Fuck, you can do whatever you want to me,” Chris let out with a deep breathe.

Oh, you certainly would…

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A/n : thank you so much for reading, this is literally my 3rd time trying to post this because I keep making mistakes 😭😭I really hope you enjoy and if there are any more mistakes pls lmk

ily my angels 💞 (especially @gamermattsgf)

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you

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kneelingshadowsalome · 6 months

Note

i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((

Banner picture credit: @661ave

possession

noun

the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Word count: 7 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint. A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)

He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.

And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none.

He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.

He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any.

Family, or friends, that is.

When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?

It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute.

There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need?

Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir.

She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…

And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.

She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven.

He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?

He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago.

It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus.

He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy.

When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away.

It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home.

Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard.

It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.

His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.

It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube.

Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.

He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her?

And god, how he would fuck her…

Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…

He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob.

He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.

"Scheisse–"

He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.

She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.

He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.

…

She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.

She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of.

Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.

Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things?

But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.

He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.

With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all.

There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.

What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?

He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.

He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job.

The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.

Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.

So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up.

She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…

She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.

"I got you something... Merry Christmas."

"Aw… You shouldn't have…"

She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.

"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.

He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb.

Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for…

"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically.

Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present.

Well, shit. Fuck.

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."

"That’s nice to hear."

"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."

He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.

"You already got me Christmas decorations."

"Yeah, but… You paid for them."

"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"

He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.

"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways.

"I truly did."

She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.

"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying.

"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."

She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.

"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."

"...What does that mean?"

"It means 'Happy New Year'."

"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"

Shit.

Shit…

"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."

She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.

"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.

"Something naughty."

Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too.

"Really…?"

"Yes."

"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."

Playful, naughty, dirty.

She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.

Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening?

"I want to lick your pussy."

There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.

"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"

"Ja."

It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.

Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress.

With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.

When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.

"Go ahead then," she whispers.

He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.

She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.

It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips.

Mein.

Mein…

He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.

Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.

And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.

He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin.

"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"

He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries.

To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.

"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"

She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams.

The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin.

Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined.

Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.

And he's only about to fuck her…

"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.

"Oh–oh god…"

Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds.

"Wait–"

"I will fuck you now."

"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"

She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for.

"Hm. I don't have any."

"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child...

But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.

Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...?

How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?

She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft.

"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.

She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go.

"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"

"I am."

He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.

And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.

He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.

"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."

Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove.

"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"

It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.

"Ok…"

"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"

"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"

The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.

"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.

"O‐oh…?"

"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."

"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"

If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness.

"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."

He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had.

He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely.

"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"

"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"

Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.

He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog.

"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"

He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck.

She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.

"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"

She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.

"Will you stay? For the night…?"

His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content.

"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”

She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity.

She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.

“I'm sorry..."

"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.

For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.

He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…

She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.

She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.

He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.

It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.

The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women.

When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.

"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."

There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.

And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.

"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"

She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…

"Liebling... Me too."

"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."

"Oh I fear a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like… flying, for example."

"But you fly all the time?"

"Exactly."

She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…

"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."

She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.

If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one.

"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"

"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"

"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."

She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in.

He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.

What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs.

This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him.

"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.

"...What?"

He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.

"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.

"What do you mean.”

She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.

"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."

He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.

"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."

Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.

So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…

And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy.

But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…

"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"

"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."

"Well, neither am I."

He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.

"No one is."

"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes.

"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."

"Liebling…"

"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"

"Of course."

She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets.

He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his.

Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…

And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise.

He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.

But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.

"Are you still afraid?"

He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness.

"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #yandere könig #tw: dark content #könig smut

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joelscurls · 6 months

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I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers.

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?”

You sniff again. Nod.

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself.

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.”

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath.

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face.

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?”

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him. Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch.

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim.

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull.

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours.

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you.

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox.

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all.

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense.

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him.

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward.

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet.

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him.

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head.

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now.

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated.

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush.

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours.

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears.

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?”

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes.

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle.

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.”

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.”

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy.

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?”

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from.

Sheila is home.

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea.

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?”

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.”

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip.

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used.

“You sure?”

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise.

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you.

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length.

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx.

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop.

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him.

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat.

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot.

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep.

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile.

Do you hear that? Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you.

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp.

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast.

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar! We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted.

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt.

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle.

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth.

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air.

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?”

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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gayhoediaz · 27 days

Text

"I - I'm sorry for showing up at your station in the middle of the night, I - I should have called, but I knew you had a shift, and I-"

"Didn't want to do this over the phone," Tommy guesses gently, watching as Evan nods, face flickering with recognition.

"...or in a text or something, yeah," he confirms - then he clears his throat, frowning at the ground for a moment. "Look, I - I know that - that maybe I should just... walk away, and - and take no for an answer, and I - I will," he says, and when their eyes meet again, Evan's are glossy with emotion - even from ten feet away. "I promise."

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling gently as he waits for Evan to gather his thoughts.

"I know I fucked up by going all... bro-dude on you on our first date," he says, trailing off with a self-deprecating, sad chuckle. Tommy swallows, forcing his feet to stay glued to the concrete flooring. "And you don't wanna deal with that, I get it, I know that you probably didn't sign up for... all of this," he continues - and somehow Tommy has a sinking feeling that he's not only referring to his newly discovered bisexuality. "Didn't sign up for someone who is just... so new at this-"

"-that's not it," Tommy can't help but interrupt - the same way he can't help but take one step closer - and then one more. "Evan, I don't have a problem with being the first man you're with, it just seemed as if you weren't sure that you wanted a man at all, and that's the thing that I'm not sure that I-"

"I - I know that," Evan interrupts him right back, his voice growing thicker, tears seemingly dangerously close to passing his waterline as he takes half a step closer to Tommy, his hands in front of him, frustratingly grasping the air as if the words he wants to say will be somewhere in there. "That's what I came here to say - look, my entire life, I've just been... searching for something, you know? Something that felt right, someplace where I could... belong," he says, forehead decorated with a deep line of frustration. "And then I found it."

"Firefighting," Tommy guesses - and the crease evens out - just a little bit - as the corner of Evan's mouth twitches up.

"Yeah," he nods. "Yeah - and I thought that was it. And - and then I realized that I still felt... wrong? And I - I felt stupid, you know?" he says, tapping the pads of his index and middle finger to his own temple. "'Cause I have a job that I love, people that I love - and I spent so long trying to find the thing that was missing, and I just - I - I had no idea what it was..." he says - and then he straightens up a little bit, swallowing. "...and then you kissed me," he concludes.

Tommy feels himself melt.

This goddamn kid is going to be the death of him, isn't he?

"...and it was like..." Evan brings his hands up in front of himself again, mimicking something like an explosion - but the sound effect he chooses isn't an explosion. It's a sharp, unmistakable, loud exhale.

"That was it," Tommy hums, allowing himself a few steps closer. Evan's eyes remain on his own as he moves, trailing him every single step of the way.

"That was it," Evan confirms. "So if you think that I - that I'm somehow gonna - gonna change my mind, or - or run away, or freak out, or decide that I don't like men, that's never gonna happen," he shakes his head. "I'm - I'm a lot, I know that, I've always been a lot, I don't think I totally know how to be anything different, but Tommy, I am... I'm very, very bi. I like men. And I like y-"

Tommy finds a gentle grasp on his chin, guiding him into a kiss.

Shut up, is what the kiss says. You have me. I'm yours. I got you.

#niesfics #writing tag #bucktommy #buck x tommy #911 abc #fanfiction #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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thestarkinternship · 6 days

Text

10 Minutes

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader: One Shot (Smut)

Summary: Bucky is a little desperate for some alone time during one of Stark's parties, and ten minutes is all he needs.

Word Count: 2.2k (no mention of Y/N)

Warnings: Profanity, drinking, unprotected sex, praise, oral (male receiving), slight exhibitionism (bathroom at a party), MINORS DNI!

A/N: I kinda took a break from writing because I had a lot of unfinished fics, but I'm slowly starting to get back into it. And thank you for 300 followers on here! I can't believe there's that many people of you who actually like my writing :)

Masterlist

“That’s gotta be what, your sixth drink?” You giggled, watching as Bucky polished off another glass, “don’t you wanna slow it down a little?”

With a smirk, he set the empty crystal on the countertop. “Worried I’ll have too much and do something to embarrass you, sweetheart?”

“You could never embarrass me, James,” you rolled your eyes, “and you also can’t get drunk.”

“S’not gonna stop me from trying,” he grinned, “now come here..”

Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pulled you into his side before you could give an answer. Not that you minded – you didn’t need an excuse to be as close to him as possible. You nestled your head in the crook of his neck, breathing in the heavy aftershave that he wore. It was your favourite scent. The musk from it mixed with the spice of the whiskey on his breath as it fanned across your cheeks. It was intoxication in the best way possible, superseding the several glasses of liquor that you’d consumed yourself.

“There is something else, if you think you can handle it.”

In your own little bubble, it was easy to forget that the two of you weren’t alone. Breaking your gaze away from Bucky, you saw one of your teammates making his way over to you with a delicately engraved bottle in his large hand.

“Hi Thor,” you smiled politely, “what is that?”

He held the bottle up proudly. “Asgardian liquor, the finest brewed there. It puts everything here on Midgard to shame.”

“I bet.” You chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a challenge.” Bucky grinned, stepping away from you momentarily to join Thor and some of the others in a round.

You folded your arms across your chest as you shook your head. The super soldier serum might stop his body from reacting to alcohol in the typical way, but it did have a particular effect on Bucky. You couldn’t help but notice how he always seemed to get that little bit more handsy with you. Maybe it was a placebo effect, or maybe that was just an excuse to keep you close to his wandering hands.

Either way, barely twenty minutes had passed before your observation was proven true.

Your shoulder leaned against the back wall as you watched Steve and Tony play pool when Bucky joined you.

“Where’ve you been?” he murmured, “I was looking for you.”

His metal hand drifted up your side, tracing the hem of your shirt and slipping underneath to graze your hip. The metal raised goosebumps on your warm skin, and you shivered further back into his arms.

“Bucky, stop… what if someone sees?” You whispered.

Bucky didn’t ease up, rubbing soft circles on your hip as he drew you in closer. “It’s okay, nobody’s looking at us.”

You glanced around. The loud music masked your hushed whispers, and the addition of Thor’s Asgardian liquor had worked wonders on the team of superheroes. With all of their defences down, no one had noticed the way the pair of you had sidled off to the side.

“We shouldn’t risk it.” You whispered, reaching for his hand and stopping it in its tracks.

“Let’s get out of here, just for a little bit,” he leaned in, pressing his lips to your jaw. The gentle ghost of his breathy murmurs in your ear sent your heart racing, “ten minutes, that’s all I need.”

“Are you really suggesting that we hook up in the middle of the party?” Your head tilted in a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

“Why not?” Bucky pouted. His lips looked so damn kissable when he did that. The thought of giving in, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth in a frantic need to satisfy the urge that you were starting to feel right now was starting to not seem like such a bad idea.

“Because…” Your voice trailed off in search of a compelling reason. Even the slightly hint of doubt would signal a dead giveaway to Bucky that you were more than willing to give in. And the worst part of it was the stupid grin on his face that told you he knew this too.

“Because?” He taunted, his smirk growing wider.

“Because…” The agitation in your voice grew as you struggled.

Bucky chuckled darkly, letting his right hand meet his other at your waist. He turned you slightly, until your back was against his chest. Grip tightening, he pulled your hips back into his. Pressed flush against him, you became all too aware of the way his tight, muscular body felt against yours. And that wasn’t the only thing.

“Bucky, are you-“

“Painfully.” He whispered, leaving another soft kiss just below your ear. Your head fell back to rest against his shoulder. Lips parting, a quiet whimper escaped from them. Bucky tucked a curl behind your ear to lean in better, “What was that that I just heard, hm? You can resist all you like, doll. But your body’s betraying you.”

He was right of course, but you bit your bottom lip anyway in an attempt to prevent yourself from letting another sound slip. The more you tried to hide your growing desires, the more Bucky persisted. His hand slid down your hip to the hem of your skirt. He played with the material, gently grazing his fingers across the back of your thigh that was now exposed to him. Instinctively, your legs clenched as he dared to venture higher.

Bucky chuckled under his breath. “Bite your lip all you want. But what are you gonna do when you start to soak through your underwear and all over that pretty outfit of yours?”

Your face burned red as your gaze immediately fell downwards. Searching the front of your dress as discreetly as you could, your shoulders relaxed when you found that you hadn’t. But your reaction alone was enough to let Bucky know that you considered it a real possibility.

“Did I have you worried there for a second?” he mocked, “You know I’m right. Come on… ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Yes ma’am.” He smirked, gripping your hand and pulling you out of the room.

It was a wonder that you made it to the bathroom at all. His hands were everywhere. Running through your hair, on your waist, cupping your cheek. But yours were the same, only pulling away just long enough to fumble with the bathroom door. It pushed open, and you both crashed through.

With a hand on his chest, you pushed him back to lean on the door. His eyes widened in at your sudden control, but who was he to stop you? Ripping the hand towel down off the rail by the sink, he dropped it to the floor to cushion you as you sank to your knees in front of him. You toyed with the zipper of his jeans, slowly pulling them and his boxers down in one as you pressed soft kisses to each inch of his bare skin that you exposed.

Bucky let out a tormented groan from the back of his throat as your tongue teased up to the head of his cock. He looked down at you and nearly buckled at the sight. Your hand gripping his thigh, hair messy and lipstick smudged. He watched your wet lips twist into a soft smirk that was so close to wrapping around him.

“When you said painfully, I had no idea this is what I’d done to you.” You cooed, innocently sliding your palm up and down his length.

Bucky hissed at the sensation and reached out to tilt your face up to look at him. His fingers were firm on your cheeks. “We’re down to nine minutes. You gonna keep talking with that sweet mouth, doll, or do you want to put it to good use?”

He didn’t have to ask twice. His tip grazed the back of your throat in one smooth motion. But you didn’t let it rest. You moved your head back and forth, letting your tongue trace over every vein. Bucky’s hand slid up from your jaw to cup your cheek, pulling you further around him as he met your movements with shallow thrusts. His view of you faded as his eyes squeezed shut, revelling in the overwhelming pleasure you were bringing him. The two of you might’ve set a time limit on this brief rendezvous but fuck he could let you go on like this forever.

Head falling back against the door with a soft thud, he growled. The animalistic sound ripped through his gritted teeth as he tugged your head back and off him. Pre cum lingered on your lips as you licked them clean.

Reaching for your hands he helped you to your feet and wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours. He walked you backwards until your bumped into the sink. Reaching for your thighs, he lifted you up to rest on the countertop. Your skirt slipped and bunched up around your waist as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He leaned in, nudging himself between your legs. Gentle whines slipped out from your trembling lips as he brushed over your wetness.

“Bucky…” You begged softly.

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured, sliding your underwear over to one side, “seven minutes.”

Bucky pushed his hips forward to meet yours, burying himself completely in you. His head dropped to the crook of your shoulder and his lips met your neck. Your arms curled around his broad back, scrunching up the material of his shirt as you clung desperately to him. Soft grunts from him reverberated up into your ear as he pulled out of you only to get sucked right back in by your tight cunt. With one hand on your hip and the other on the edge of the sink, he kept you in position to take it all. Every stroke inside of you had you clenching down around him. His knuckles turned white as his fingertips pressed harder into your skin with each sharp thrust.

“Such a good girl, letting me fuck you with all our friends in the next room,” he muttered between delicate nips at the skin just below your ear, “and you had the nerve to act like you didn’t want this just as much as I did.”

Your hands moved up through his hair and down to the sides of his face as you leaned in, lips met his in a needy fashion. The kiss that followed was all-consuming, swallowing any quiet moans that might give the pair of you away. But shallow breaths slipped out here and there as Bucky rolled his tongue over yours in passionate frenzy.

He pulled on your hip until your body slipped closer to the edge of the sink, and you let out a small gasp. As Bucky’s lips parted from yours, he smirked at the fucked-out haze that glazed over your eyes as his cock rutted up deeper inside of you. As he quickened the twitch of his hips, your thighs tightened around his waist.

“Keep that up, and I won’t be able to pull out, doll.” He grunted softly.

Your brows furrowed as your head leaned back in a wave of pleasure. You weren’t listening to a damn word he was saying right now. Bucky’s hand left your hip briefly to tilt your head back to him.

“Is that what you want? Want me to fill you up and fuck it back into you hard enough that it doesn’t leak out for everyone to see?”

Too out of it to verbally respond, your thighs gave him a light squeeze and answered for you. Bucky’s hand let go of your face and reaffirmed its position on your hip as he then set a ruthless pace. Your head slipped forwards to rest on his shoulder. Burying your face in the crook of his collarbone, your moans vibrated against his throat, driving him crazy. You let your body go limp in his hands as he worked to bring you both a release that the pair of you desperately craved.

Two more thrusts was all it took to bring you both over that delicious edge. His metal hand nearly snapped a porcelain chunk out of the counter with how hard he was gripping it when he came. But you were only the same, with your thighs shaking and breathing heavy. You fluttered around him with every beat of your heart, squeezing every drop of come out of his cock that he had to give you. He lazily rocked his hips a couple more times, coating every inch inside of you.

Bucky’s hands released your body from his tight grip as he gently brushed strand of messy hair out of your face, but he kept himself seated.

“You can’t tell me that wasn’t worth it.” He breathed.

Your pink cheeks pinched into a soft smile. “Maybe it was.”

“Maybe, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, not hesitating to lean into your neck.

“What are you doing?” You giggled as you felt his gentle kisses.

“What? I’ve still got one minute left.” He grinned playfully, trailing kisses up your cheek now as well.

“Bucky.” You whined, feeling his cock teasingly plunge deeper inside of you. Your sensitive body could barely handle any more.

“Fine,” he smirked, and slowly eased himself out of you, “but when this party’s over, I’m done holding back.”

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