Tumgik
#This is what life has become when you have no job or money
pepprs · 6 months
Text
genuinely so angry and scared im shaking. how many other times this week this month this year have i been exposed without knowing it. do people even tell each other anymore. it’s just so grim. it’s so fucking grim
#purrs#delete later#covid19#i am fighting for my fucking life every day to stay safe and to keep the people around me some of whom are disabled / chronically ill /#immunocompromised / medically vulnerable safe. i am fucking fighting for my life. it’s already hard that i am usually one of two people in#any given room still wearing a mask let alone an n95 mask. hard and bad enough that we get looks for wearing masks and people think im crazy#for my life still being on hold and for my family still basically never going anywhere. ITS FUCKING WORSE that we are still very much in the#throes of all of it and we are in constant physical and quite frankly EXISTENTIAL danger not only of getting sick / becoming (more)#disabled / literally fucking dying but also returning to the absolute hell of lockdown which while important was psychologically damaging in#ways that are difficult to even articulate. like not only have we as a society decided to not give a shit about unpacking all of that and#healing from the trauma and assuming everyone went through the same thing when we very much did not and to just send everybody back to#school and work because 🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑capitalism🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑 but we have ALSO decided to pretend like the freakish unceasing danger just doesn’t exist#anymore and to get rid of every tool we had available to keep us safe or at minimum make people have to pay exorbitant amounts of money to#access them because 🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑capitalism🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑 !!!!!!! im TIRED. im so fucking tired of it. i am so fucking exhausted and angry and scared. and i#HAVE the luxury and privilege of being able to afford n95 masks and covid tests and to be able to work a job that i can do remotely if i#need to and to not be disabled or immunocompromised. what makes me fucking furious is we decided to throw all the people who don’t have#that access or privilege under the fucking bus and forget about them lol. but what do you expect from a country rotten to its core the way#it is lol. im fucking despondent. why are we living in an incinerator.#* the lockdown(s) werent just important they were necessary. and arguably we should have another one even though if we do i genuinely fear#for my mental health both during and afterwards and quite frankly before. im tired. i am grateful for the life i live which has resulted in#part from the different things that have happened because of the pandemic but i also so desperately wish this never happened and every day I#think about what life would be like if it hadn’t happened. the grief of it all is unspeakably big.
11 notes · View notes
bylertruther · 11 months
Text
the brainrot is so bad that i'm sitting here trying to watch the godfather just thinking to myself "damn..... how can i make a byIer au outta dis... 🤔📝"
#karen's actress is italian... maybe karen is too... she's a civilian but mike gets roped into it bc ted is more involved as an accountant.#her family loves him and ted loves money and being able to provide for his family and all that Macho Family Man^tm stuff and#sure karen wants mike to do big things—bigger than just messing around with his friends—but she isn't sure that having him get#chummy with her family is the right idea. mike does it anyway bc it's what he's Supposed To Do and he's Getting Older and karen#thinks well... okay... if this is what you want... ❤️ and mike just nods and agrees like he always does bc thts easier than speaking up#or trying to figure out what the hell to do after uni and Much less scary than working on that book he's been working on since forever.#will's a civilian ofc he gets brought along to mike's family things bc mike wants the company but he doesn't Like that world and the#way they look at him. whenever lonnie used to get fired from whatever job he was working at then he'd end up doing ''favors''#for one of the other families and even though will's nothing like his father and he and his brother and his mom aren't even remotely#involved in that kind of life he still has his last name and it's a brand tht sticks. smth smth the romeo n juliet vibes of it all....#in this au maybe hopper hasn't been reformed bc there's no tragedy to pull him out of that so maybe he's on the wheelers' payroll#and he has a daughter tht they want to introduce to mike... smth smth mike going to will's apartment in the dead of night to get#patched up.. smth smth mike taking el to things instead of will.. smth smth will and mike getting into A Big Fight bc will doesn't#want to see mike continue to get hurt or lose himself in this world and become this person that he doesn't even recognize anymore#and mike starts goading him like oh why do you care so much huh blahblah and they've been dancing around this all their lives#but it finally comes out and it doesn't fix anything bc will doesn't want This mike and mike can't stand the way will looks at him now and#will storms out after having said the unspeakable.. goes somewhere and gets caught in the crossfire.. cue the body pulled from the quarry#parallel when el calls him immediately after she finds out from hopper and there's a horrible few hours where they don't kno if will's#gonna pull thru. he does ofc much to their surprise.. wake up calls n apologies are eventually had... hurt/comfort ensues.. mike talks#to karen and opens up for the first time ever bc they've gotten closer now.. smth smth um . gay people 🫶#mike in suits n gloves + will learning to not ask questions + el seeing tht will's apartment looks more like it's will-And-mike's#apartment bc there's so much of him and his things there and he always walks in n moves around like he owns the place +#will's hands shaking as he tries to tend to mike and he manages to keep it together until mike's all patched up but when he turns around#to clean up his shoulders are shaking and mike jus comes up behind him n hugs him through it bc he knows this hurts will more than it hurts#him (which is saying smth bc mike's blood is literally all over will's hands n dinner table rn so like)#SOOOOO self-indulgent but idc im free . (<- said thru gritted teeth and while closing my eyes so i don't have 2 look at this post)#also i say brainrot but i think tht has bad connotations now. i am just an Enjoyer a Lover a Scholar an Enthusiast one might even say..#mine
17 notes · View notes
inkskinned · 9 months
Text
at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME#there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing#and the writing is what i need to be doing#writeblr#this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to#edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol#i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means#i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong#i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse#i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO#i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness#and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it#im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us#i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer#and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work#even if it means being miserable#but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.
18K notes · View notes
spicybunni · 6 months
Text
YANDERE HUSBAND HEADCANONS
Hello Darlings! This is an imagine I had in my drafts about a husband who just loves his wife so much he wants to care for and impregnate her💕 Hope you like it!
WARNINGS ⚠️: NSFW!! (Minors do NOT interact), NSFW descriptions, fem!darling, controlling husband, pregnancy mentions
Tumblr media
-You’ve been Married to your husband for a year now and it’s been great. The biggest change was your last name changing to his and having a big rock on your finger. The second was him asking you to be a stay-at-home wife…
-You loved your job but…how could you say no to all your needs being met by a man who worships and adores you? He just wants to take care of you and be comfortable. “Is that so bad of me to want for my little wifey?” He would ask while kissing the knuckle of your hand.
-He told you if you didn’t like the lifestyle that you could go back to working. (As if he was gonna let that happen.) which made you feel better about just being at home all day and spending his money. And also letting you believe you had some control. But of course that wasn’t the end of his plans..
-Before having unprotected sex your husband would always gush about having babies with you and how great of a mother you would be. Your face would turn red at the thought at first but then you brushed it off as your husband having baby fever. It’ll pass right?
-Ha. If only it was a phase.
-This man has been wanting to impregnate you since the first year of you two dating. He loves you so much and think life would be even more amazing if you carried and raised children together. He wants to see your big belly and be there for when you get needy and become oh so helpless with the excessive hormones.
-But despite not using protection you always tracked your period for your health. Your husband started to get into it as well to lookout for your ovulation week. His favorite time of the month.
-He would low key get a little bummed out when you would start your period. But it gave him motivation to try harder…go harder… cum inside you harder…
-Perhaps he could just do that position you liked a few days ago….you were really squeezing him and begging for more.
-Yeah by the way, this man keeps track of what positions are best for making a baby and what makes you cum hard on his cock.
-You are no dummy to his antics. It takes two to tango. You knew your husband wanted a baby and…let’s just say he was very convincing in his actions to want a family.. 👀
-Plus you were married so there really wasn’t anything to be worried about right?
-So why do you shake with anxiety as you look at the test in your hands? The reality of it hits you hard in your bathroom. You feel good but also nervous to tell him. Even though he always claims he’s wanted kids with you just couldn’t help but prepare for the worst. But you also knew this would happen eventually when you let him cum inside you.
-A week prior when you two went out for dinner, your husband was the most possessive man ever. He hated when other men would even get to look at you. His grip was tighter and gaze so dark. On the way home he was holding onto your thigh as if you would fly away.
-That night you had 3 hours of raw heaven. By the end of it you remember being sticky and a bit sex drunk. Not being able to move your legs to your butt feeling sore. Your husband did not waver. You felt so full of him and content you couldn’t even complain.
-“My perfect wife, taking her husband’s load so good…”
-A week and a missed period later your husband in question is downstairs cooking dinner for you both. He figured since youre in the shower (and taking a pregnancy test) that he would surprise you!
-You come down in a bathrobe, hand griping on the tie. “Hey honey?”
-He turns his head to you, immediately becoming worried at your facial expression and appearance. Turning off the stove burners he comes over to you. “What’s up baby? you okay?” He puts a hand on your waist and another resting on your cheek to look at him.
-“I-I’m pregnant..” you stutter out. You back up from him to get his full expression. His face would be surprised but then he would become red in happiness and embrace you. You blinked a few times not saying anything before your husband exclaims with watery eyes “I’m so happy!!”
-You both embraced the news and continued into the night gushing about this new chapter you started. For your husband it was more of a marker that you’re finally all his. And he can’t wait for the little rascals he’ll continue to fill you with.
-That night after dinner you both lay in bed with your husbands hand holding your stomach protectively. You place a hand over his, smiling and drifting to sleep before you heard your husband mumble “Now you’re all mine..” in his sleep…
❤️
5K notes · View notes
DPXDC prompt: Friendly neighborhood forensic pathologist Danny Fenton is a new master of The Court of Owls? (Dead on main, of course) +Part 2: Talon Dick
Don’t underestimate what a ghost will do for a higher education. You see, it's the custom of the Fenton family not to run away from things they are afraid of but to face their fear. So Danny Fenton, who has learned to fear scalpels, steel clamps and surgical retractors, decides to do something about it and to dedicate his life to giving souls of those who died a violent death the final rest and justice they deserve.
Well, it didn’t really come to him at once. It started out as a simple joke:
Danny didn’t think he could continue his education after school. Frankly, his grades suck. However, Tucker for fun applied for a scholarship for gifted villains from Gotham University on his behalf.
And hell, they are willing to pay money for his education. Pay in full! Living in Park Row is also incredibly cheap. And with his flying ability, he’ll also save on transportation.
Danny is not a villain. And he’s not planning on becoming one. But he couldn’t lose that chance.
Why do you deserve this scholarship? “My parents are renowned ecto scientists, and I’ve seen their dissection work at its best. Medical school is expensive, and this scholarship will help me accomplish my goal of becoming a forensic pathologist and helping maintain the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead…or use it for my own ends. Of course.”
Well, Mr Two-Face was fully confident that despite his grades in the subjects, Danny was fully committed to achieving high academic achievement. Finally, work experience of Dan came in handy somewhere.
There were only few things about the death that Danny didn’t find on his own or from his ghost friends, so he managed to graduate in record time. Young Fenton thought he was lucky enough to get a job near Crime Alley. It was odd that the job was available. Even a new specialist like him was allowed to work full-time. And the salary was very decent.
~~~~~~
Danny: Yes, Jazz, everything is just fine. I found a great job and I’m trying to relax and find a hobby, you know. Started feeding the local birds. Apparently they were abused, the poor things are so shy and aggressive.
The local birds:
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
~~~~~~
Let’s say that a returned Jason as undead cannot be killed for forever. The stab wounds heal quickly, the bullet holes sometimes itch unpleasantly for a few days, but in general his regeneration is at a level with some metahumans. This is convenient. But when Red Hood wakes up in the morgue after a particularly severe injury, he’s not happy. Sometimes even looking in the mirror at his dissection scar is difficult for him. And this situation is a fucking nightmare. Danny: Oh. Are you awake now? I’m sorry I didn’t have time to put you on the couch, I didn’t have clean sheets and my assistant would have killed me because of the new stains. Red Hood: What the hell? I’m sorry?! It’s fucked up! I’d love to see you wake up on the dissection table. Danny: Been there Done that. But hey, I didn’t put you there. You didn’t get here on my shift, give me a break.
Jason: …So, what's now? Danny: Well, I can offer you tea or coffee. Of course, only after I sew up the hole in your stomach and give you a change of clothes. Or I could go after the documents and pretend I didn’t notice one of my bodies got away. But then don’t dream about novocaine blockade. Pretty liver by the way, you don’t see that much in crime lords. Jason: Um, thank you? But you’re weird. Usually people are praised for the beauty of the face or eyes rather than… Danny: Wow, now I feel attacked.You wake up in your helmet. I can’t compliment what I can’t see. Jason: Gee, I’m surprised your colleague hasn’t taken it off yet. Danny: And lose important evidence? It is not customary for us to put curiosity above professionalism.
~~~~~
Jason learns quickly that although Batman is willing to go anywhere to track him, there are always exceptions to the rule. The morgue was one of them. Not surprisingly, the emotional constipation and uncomfortable theme of Jason’s death worked like a perfect bat repeller. Over time, Jason becomes really interested in a guy who genuinely laughs at his death jokes and listens to his problems at work without judgment. Danny is too cute and nice.
Danny*works*: No visitors allowed here.
Jason: Unless you are a zombie, right?
Danny:...Still not one of your hideouts. The book is where you left it, make some tea if you want it.
~~~~~
Jason, once again delivered without a sign of life to Danny after the fight, woke up during pupillary reflex test.
Jason: Oh, beauty, you are just dazzling today.
Danny: As I thought, your regeneration didn’t cure your concussion before your resurrection. I’ll give you referrals for all the tests and examinations. And we really should stop seeing each other like this. Please take care of yourself.
Jason: I don’t think you have the right to prescribe them to me. Danny: Technically I do not. But we live in Gotham. And for some time the hospital where I work at night is very sensitive to my requests.
Red Hood: And why? Danny: It’s hard to explain… Red Hood: Doctor Handsome, I’ve been through some shit, so try to surprise me. Danny: Okay, okay. Look, you are a crime lord for not too long, right? But criminals and cops are afraid of you and kids and your henchmen really likes you. Jason: ..So what? Danny: Can you please recommend how to maintain a reputation but so your people aren’t afraid of you? Jason: Why do you need this information? Your assistant finally realized you’re friends with walking corpses? Danny: It’s not about that! Although, like.. you aren’t wrong? It’s complicated. I may, well, accidentally, honestly, have seized power over a local secret aristocratic criminal society.
Jason: Baby, please tell me everything. I have a restaurant as a front for a business nearby. It’s a date. Let's go. Danny: Let me finish a few stitches first, Jay.
~~~~~
Red Hood and Red Robin fight near Batman: Hood: Replacement was on patrol without permission! Red Robin: And Jason is dating the new owner of Court of Owls! Batman:.. he's doing WHAT? Jason, how could you take such a risk? it is completely unprofessional and Red Hood: At least he loves me for what’s inside me! Red Robin: Yeah, like a beautiful liver. It’s a great relationship base. Red Hood: I’m talking about my feelings and interests. Dumb lil stalker with a big mouth! I’ll teach you not to bother my boyfriend.
~~~~~
Henchman: Boss. We shouldn’t go into that area, the rumors are that there are Talons here. Red Hood: All under control, they won’t touch us. Henchman: How can you be sure? The poem says 'Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow..' Red Hood: Yeah yeah "speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head". I’m sleeping with their boss, of course I’m sure. Henchman: Boss, don’t kid like that. Red Hood: I don’t pay you for gossip. Let's go.
Dick, to whom the memories began to return, haunts Jason because he did not cut for Lil Wing apple slices like he likes for lunch: Talon came to finish the job. Henchmen: scream
~~~~~
Jason *shows Danny 'Red Flags' on youtube*: Hey, baby, want to be a little shit on our date? I know where Brucie Wayne’s having dinner tonight, so you can meet the family.
4K notes · View notes
smileysuh · 1 month
Text
Love Plug
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”
tw/cw. weed/drug use, shotgunning (kissing after John's taken a hit from a joint), reader likes wine, alcohol, plug!Johnny, unprotected sex, oral (f/m receiving) face riding, big dick john, 69-ing, size kink, grinding, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, ass groping, hand job, creampie/filling kink, cumming together, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.9k
🍭 aus. plug/drug dealer!Johnny, semi-strangers to lovers, Valentine's Day, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I know this is slightly late, as it's Valentine's Day themed, but I hope ya'll like it anyway! big thank you to @sehunniepotwrites, my beta reader, my fellow John lover, my bestie- Love you girlie, thank you for helping me edit this to get it posted on time 💕
Tumblr media
Being alone on Valentine’s Day is never fun. It would be one thing if you were with your girlfriends, but today, you’ll truly be alone. Everyone is busy, people are working, or with significant others- you feel like you’re the only person without plans, and it’s driving you completely insane.
Your apartment is spotless, you’d gone on a cleaning bender to distract yourself from today’s date, but as three o'clock rolls in, you find yourself sitting on your couch and staring at the ceiling.
There’d been a time in your life when boredom would make way for addictive traits. Dopamine-filled hobbies that you’ve since done your best to squash. But as three becomes four and you have nothing to satiate yourself - not even the pink bottle of wine in your fridge has been able to drown your loneliness - you begin to consider more drastic measures.
You’d never been a stoner, per se, but you’d gone with your cousin a few times to pick up from her run-of-the-mill dealer. If anything can help you relax and watch a movie, you think it might be some Grade A Indica. 
Tumblr media
Unknown number: Hi John, are you out today?
John: define out. Who is this
Unknown number: shit
Unknown number: my cousin gave me your number, I’ve picked up from you a few times
Unknown number: You probably don’t remember me but my name is y/n
John: I remember you
John: how much do you need?
Unknown number: I’m thinking $100 worth?
John: I’ll bring my shit. Text me your address and I can be over within the hour
Tumblr media
Usually, when your cousin has gotten in contact with John, he comes to her apartment and the two of you go outside, filing into his truck. He has a duffle with jars full of weed, shatter, and the like. You give him money and he helps you decide what your night is going to look like.
When John calls you half an hour after you’ve texted him, you’re already almost at your door. “I’ll be down in a sec,” you tell him, searching for your keys.
“How about you buzz me up instead?” he suggests. “I’m outside the front door.”
You freeze for a moment. As far as you know, John’s never come up to your cousin’s apartment, and the idea of inviting the sexy local plug up into your one bedroom is sketchy… but at the same time, you’re feeling kind of desperate. 
“Okay, type my apartment number into the keypad and I’ll let you in. The elevator will take you to my floor.”
You hang up, and a moment later your phone rings again. You press the buzz-up key and hold your breath.
You’re not sure if you’re scared of being alone with John because he’s a drug dealer or if you’re frightened of your own lack of self-control. John’s one of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and this is Valentine’s Day. You’d been planning on maybe getting a little high, pulling out your vibrator, and having a good time with yourself… but if you could have a good time with him…
You give your head a shake, reaching for your bottle of wine. You pour the last bit of it into a cup, lifting it to your lips while you wait for the local plug to arrive at your door.
When he knocks, you practically jump, heart lurching in your chest. You scurry to your door, not wanting to make him wait- not wanting any of your neighbors to see the tall, sexy, tattooed man standing outside your home.
John greets you with a grin. “Special delivery,” he jokes, stepping past you and into the apartment and looking around. “You’ve got a nice place.”
“Thank you.” 
You watch him head into the living space. He walks as if he’s been here before, as if he belongs here. The duffle makes a thumping sound when he nonchalantly sets it onto your small dining table, but John doesn’t immediately open it to show you the product like he does when you’ve bought from him before.
“Is it just me, or does it feel kind of sad in here?” John asks, turning to look at you.
“Hmm?” 
“I just mean…” he gestures around, “spotless house, a pretty girl alone on Valentine’s Day… you haven’t bought from me in a while, sweet thing, I kind of thought you’d quit.”
“I did quit-” you stutter, “I mean… I was never a huge stoner or anything, so I wouldn’t say I quit-”
John grins while watching you search for an explanation. He leans back, palms flat on the dining table. The black v-neck he’s wearing shows off some of his chest piece and the tattoos on his neck are definitely a distraction as you try to formulate words.
“Look, all I’m saying is… I’d hate for you to lose your sobriety streak because you’re feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day.”
“I’m not exactly sober,” you scoff, reaching for your glass of wine.
“Is that a rosé?”
You look down at the liquid. “It’s a pink strawberry sparkling wine.”
“Sounds nice. Give me a taste.” He holds out a hand, and it’s clear that it’s more of a demand than a request, so with a sigh, you hand your cup to the local plug.
John swirls the glass, then he lifts it to his lips. He doesn’t sip, doesn’t take his time, he simply tilts his head back and downs the wine in two large gulps. When he’s done, he wipes his hand across his mouth, grinning mischievously. “Yummy.”
“That was the last of it,” you groan. “Now I have to hit the liquor store too.”
“Is it usual for you to get crossed, sweet thing? Weed and wine? You must really be feeling some type of way today.”
“So says the drug dealer working on Valentine’s Day.” You roll your eyes, annoyed that he’d downed your whole glass and isn’t cutting to the chase of your transaction.
“Ouch,” John laughs. “When did you get such a mouth on you?”
“Since you just drank an entire cup of wine in two seconds and started talking about my sobriety streak- are you going to sell me some weed or not?”
“For a girl with nowhere to be, you sound like you’re in a rush,” John muses. “You want to get me out of your home that badly, huh?”
“I mean, I would have preferred meeting you at your car,” you admit.
John simply shrugs. “And I wanted to see how dire your situation was. Clearly, it’s pretty fucked. Listen, we can still go down to my car if you want.”
“Will you sell me the weed if I go with you?”
“Nah, but I can take you out for a drink instead.”
His words hang heavy in the air, and your mind does mental gymnastics to make sense of the suggestion. 
Is he asking you out? 
Finally, you ask, “Aren’t you working?”
“The good thing about being your own boss is you can always say fuck it, I wanna go to a bar,” John points out. “So are you going to come with me and let me distract you better than weed would? Or are you going to mope around here with no wine, no weed, and no sexy plug to make you feel better?”
You definitely have a sexy plug or two hidden away under your bed that could make your day better- but you don’t tell John that. Instead, you let out a sigh. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”
“That’s the spirit, sweet thing, now let’s go on an adventure.”
Tumblr media
The place he takes you to is a complete dive. It’s a dark ambiance, and as you settle onto a bar stool, you notice the stickiness of the counter in front of you. John, however, seems completely at home here. He doesn’t mind the alcohol-stained wood, leaning over it to speak to the bartender over the loud rock music that plays through the establishment. “Two shots of the regular,” he announces.
“You got it, Johnny,” she laughs, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey from one of the higher shelves.
“So I guess I don’t have to ask if you come here often,” you breathe.
“And I don’t have to ask if you’ve been here before. You stick out like a sore thumb, sweet thing. Relax a little.”
You let out a sigh. “Are we really going to do whiskey shooters?”
“I’m buying so I’m choosing,” John insists. “But if you want a cocktail or something, you can get that too, on me.”
So instead of taking your money today, he’s spending his money on you.
John is an enigma, and the confusion you feel has you more curious than ever.
“So how’d a guy like you get into your line of work?” you ask.
“He’s eighteen, gets stupid tattoos on his neck and hands, is rejected from other lines of work, and then discovers he has a talent for growing the best weed in town,” John responds. “Although, between you and me, I’m pretty good at growing orchids too.”
You had not pegged him as a plant guy. He’s always seemed so one-dimensional, and you realize now that your stereotype of him had been wrong. You’d never have thought John was the one actually growing the product he sells, and the idea of him nursing an orchid - a famously difficult flower - has your heart softening.
The bartender returns, setting two shots in front of you and John. “How’s your day going, Hyuna?” John asks, picking up a conversation with her.
“It’s going,” she sighs.
“Ouch, that doesn’t sound good,” John muses, pushing one of the shooters in front of you. “I thought you were seeing that new guy- the finance bro. Figured you’d be with him today.”
“I’m not sure he’s the commitment type.” Hyuna brushes her long dark hair over a shoulder, looking between you and John. “Besides, someone has to run this lonely hearts club here. You’re ruining the single vibe by bringing a date.”
“My bad for not introducing her, by the way,” John grins. His arm comes around the back of your chair, and he pulls you closer. “This is sweet thing, I’m saving her from making bad decisions today.”
“Yeah? And how are you doing that?” Hyuna laughs.
“By substituting one drug for another.” John picks up his shooter, turning to you. “To bad decisions.”
With a sigh, you grab your own shot, lifting it to clink against John’s. “To bad decisions,” you echo.
The whiskey is like fire as you shoot it, and you have to do your best not to sputter from how bad it tastes. You feel your face scrunch up involuntarily, and it earns laughs from Hyuna and John.
“I think we can all agree Johnny’s taste in alcohol is a bad decision,” Hyuna muses. “What can I get you, sweet thing?”
You order your drink of choice. John asks for three more shooters. When Hyuna sets them all down in front of you, John holds one out to her. “This one’s for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out with finance bro.”
Hyuna assesses the shot, then, with a groan, she grabs it. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“No one’s gonna care,” John insists. “And we both know your manager is in love with you. Just take the shot, babes.”
Hyuna rolls her eyes and downs the drink. She sets the glass down, her perfectly manicured black nails dragging along it momentarily. “You and your annoying tastes.”
“You’ll learn to love this,” John assures her. “You learned to love me, right?”
“After I got over how annoying you are.”
John only laughs. He downs another shot, bringing his total to three. Then he stands up abruptly. “Vape break,” he announces. “You girls better not have too much fun without me.”
You watch him leave, sipping on your cocktail. 
“So how did you two meet?” Hyuna asks, half turning to remove some glasses from the washer so she can polish them while you chat.
You lean forward, whispering, “He’s literally my plug.”
“John’s everyone’s plug,” Hyuna laughs.
“How about you? He’s a regular?”
“Yeah, but I also dated his sister once upon a time,” Hyuna explains. “He was her annoying kid brother. I did my best to be nice to him but things didn’t end so well with her- then three years later he came in here, all tattooed and wreaking of weed- He recognized me right away, and he’s been coming in here ever since. Tips good too.”
You’d been wondering about the specificities of their relationship. Hyuna’s gorgeous, like- one of the prettiest bartenders you’ve ever seen. Her lean arms are covered in intricate tattoos, her nails are filed to points, her hair is perfect, her cheekbones are prominent and her lips are puffy like pillows-
Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?
“He’s an interesting guy,” you muse finally.
“Don’t let his tattoos fool you,” Hyuna says, meeting your eye. “He’s a sweetheart. He just likes to look all tough because of his job.”
You consider what she’s just said.
“So…” your throat feels a little dry. “Does he often come in here with girls?”
“Never. And especially not on Valentine’s Day.” Hyuna sets a cup down, leaning over the bar top to get a good look at you. “So tell me, sweet thing, what’s the end goal here?”
“Hmm?”
“Johnny might be an annoying plug, but like I said, he’s a good guy. I’m not dating his sister anymore, but he’s still like a kid brother to me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” There’s a beat of silence. “He’s giving you heart eyes, and he let you choose your own drink. John doesn’t even let me choose my own drink once in a blue moon when we go out. He’s also never cared about what drugs I do, so why does he care so much about you? What makes you so special?”
“I…” you set your cocktail down. “I really can’t answer that.”
Hyuna cocks her head, pursing her lips. “Girl to girl, don’t be a bitch to him. I’m the one he’s going to come crying to if you reject him really hard. Let him down softly, if you have to.”
“Honestly, girl to girl, I don’t even know if he’s into me that way.”
“Sweet thing,” Hyun scoffs, “you must be blind as a bat. Don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?”
“I sort of thought he was just horny for Valentine’s Day.”
The bartender lets out a barking laugh. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”
Your lips part to respond, but the door to the bar opens and John comes back inside. He lumbers over with a grin, taking the seat next to you. His arm slides around the back of your chair and he leans forward, looking between you and Hyuna. “So what did I miss?”
“Nothing important,” Hyuna lies. 
“In that case, I think I’m going to order a-”
“You’re aware that at some point I’ll have to take your keys away, right?” Hyuna raises a brow at John. “I just gave you three shots, you have one sitting in front of you still-”
“We both know I’m a heavyweight,” John insists.
“Sure you are,” Hyuna rolls her eyes, “and your skin is naturally pink.” 
You assess John. Hyuna must have good vision, because in the shitty lighting of the bar, you can hardly tell that John has definitely flushed from the alcohol. His cheeks are a rosy hue, and he looks as boyish as ever, a stark contradiction to the neck tattoos that are also beginning to blossom with color.
“How about this… two more shots,” John bargains, holding up three fingers.
Hyuna scoffs loudly.
“How about… two more shots,” John continues to hold three fingers, “And I’ll buy dessert so my body doesn’t turn into a complete whiskey barrel.”
“Two desserts and you have a deal,” Hyuna sighs.
“Two desserts it is.” John sits back in his chair. “What are you thinking, sweet thing? This place has a really good brownie, although, there's no weed in it.”
“We’ve also got apple pie with ice cream, tiramisu from the Italian place next door-” Hyuna does her best to be helpful, and you’re beginning to appreciate the tough love elder sister act thing she has going on.
You order the dessert that sounds most to your liking, and as you wait, John begins to ask about your cousin. “She’s a trooper,” he muses. “I sold her this massive thing of mushrooms last week and she texted me like two days ago asking for more.”
“She’s a heavy hitter for sure,” you agree.
“She told me once that she only does things like weed and shrooms because they come from the Earth,” John continues. “Never asks for links to cocaine or MDMA or anything- just the Earthy shit. She told me it’s cuz she’s a Taurus.”
You laugh. “That’s my cousin.”
“It was interesting meeting you for the first time,” John continues. “Your cousin gets into the car, knows exactly what strains of weed she wanted- pretty sure she was buying shatter. And there you are, asking for a blunt. Didn’t know if you wanted indica or sativa or a hybrid…” John shakes his head, as if it was the most baffling experience in the world. “In the end, I gave you some indica. Could tell you had a lot of anxiety and shit. I was kind of happy when you stopped buying, I’d hoped you’d found some other outlets or something.”
“I picked up wine,” you say, only half joking.
“Look, on our way back to your place to drop you off, I’ll stop and pick up a bottle for you to make up for what I drank earlier, deal?”
“Deal.”
John grins, and then you see his hand dipping down into his pocket. “Vape break.”
You watch John lumber outside again, and you release a deep sigh, meeting Hyuna’s eye. “Boys and their vapes.”
Tumblr media
Dessert had helped mellow John out somewhat, and he’d actually been pretty law abiding while driving to the liquor store after. The two of you are now walking around the aisles, with John asking you all sorts of questions about your preferences when it comes to booze.
It feels shockingly domestic, especially when people go to move past you and John’s hand finds the small of your back, gently prompting you in front of him to make way for others to go by.
“What if I get us two bottles, and you let me come up for a movie,” John suggests as you reach for a replacement wine from earlier.
“What sort of movie?” you ask.
“Anything you want.”
“Are you sure I’m the only lonely one today?” you tease. “You’re being pretty clingy, John.”
“Anxious girls love a man that clings,” the plug insists. “Here, I’ll sweeten the pot for my sweet thing. Three bottles of wine, on me, and I’ll hand roll a blunt that will blow your socks off.”
“What happened to not wanting me to lose my no-weed streak?”
“I never said I’d let you smoke it, I just said I’d hand roll it and you’d be super impressed by my skills.”
You let out a laugh. It’s shocking how much your opinion of him has changed in a few short hours. You can’t believe how comfortable he’s making you feel.
“Fine. Three bottles,” you agree.
John grabs two more to join the one in your hand, and you head to the checkout. As you’re waiting in line, his phone rings, and he brings it to his ear.
“Hey, Mark…” John’s eyes meet yours. “I mean, I’m kind of busy… You really need it huh? Okay, give me a sec.” The plug presses his phone to his chest. “I’ve got a buddy who wants to link up. He lives pretty close by. It would take like… ten or fifteen minutes max. You good with that?”
“Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds okay.”
John lifts his phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. You better be waiting outside though, I told you I’m busy.”
A short while later, you’re sitting in the front passenger’s seat of John’s truck as he pulls up in front of an apartment building. A man in a hoodie and baseball cap is standing there, and he quickly gets into the back, giving you an odd look.
“Mark, this is sweet thing. Sweet thing, this is Mark,” John says smoothly.
“Dude. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
John ignores the comment. “How much are you spending today?”
“Five hundred.” Mark pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket. 
“The usual?” John asks, reaching down for the duffle by your feet.
“Half shrooms, quarter indica flower, quarter butter or shatter, whatever you think is best today.” 
“You got it.” John sets the duffle gently on your lap, rifling through it. He begins to pull things out, like a jar full of weed. As John sections it off into bags, Mark leans forward to get a better look at you.
“Sorry for interrupting your plans,” he says sheepishly.
“That’s okay,” you assure him.
“You guys up to anything fun?”
“Movie night,” John answers, tossing a baggie of weed back at his friend. 
“Nice.” Mark nods to himself, waiting patiently. 
Soon, John’s fulfilled the order. Mark hands the cash to the plug, and with one final nod and half smile, he gets out of the car. 
“So…” John’s hand returns to the wheel. “Movie night?”
Tumblr media
You’re two glasses of wine into the movie when John begins to roll a joint. He’s seated next to you on the couch, his thigh just touching yours as he bends over the coffee table. For a guy with such large hands, he’s more adept than you would have thought he’d be at the fine-tuned movements needed to make the perfect joint.
You’re more enthralled by him than the movie at this point, and you can’t help the way your body reacts when he lifts up his nearly finished product to swipe his tongue across the paper. He seals the joint masterfully before turning to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna pop onto your deck for a moment to smoke this.”
“I’ll join you,” you tell him immediately, pausing the movie to stand up.
You follow him outside, momentarily taken aback by how cold it’s gotten. 
John pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and after one sharp flick, he begins to smoke the joint.
You like the way his jaw looks in the shadows of light from the deck lamp. He’s so handsome and regal-
The cloud of smoke he exhales is bigger than anything you’d ever be able to do yourself, and even that is sexy in some odd way.
“You’re really not going to give me a hit?” you ask.
“Nope.” John looks at you with a lazy expression and a half smile. “You’re the good girl, and I’m the bad guy, remember.”
“Bad guy,” you scoff. 
“Why are you laughing, sweet thing? I’m a plug with tattoos. I’m bad.”
“You’re a softie.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Says who?”
“Says me,” you insist.
“Yeah? And how do you figure?”
You think about it for a moment before responding. “You’ve taken care of me today… even though you didn’t have to.”
“Well, I wanted to.” John takes another puff, blowing it in your face. “It was pretty self-serving actually.”
You roll your eyes, waving away the smoke. “Sure it was, John.”
“Johnny,” he says quietly. “Call me Johnny.”
You stare at him, taking in his pretty face, the way his perfect lips wrap around the joint when he takes a puff. “Johnny… be for real. Why are you here?”
He lets out a laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Isn’t it obvious?”
You shake your head, holding your breath while you wait for him to elaborate.
Johnny sighs. “Look. I’ve always liked you. I liked having you come around, needing an explanation about weed, and joints versus blunts, and indica versus sativa- it was like… it was like having a little bit of sunshine every once in a while. Then you stopped buying, and I was happy about that, but I also wasn’t. Hadn’t heard from you in months, didn’t have your number, couldn’t ask your cousin about you- you texted, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and I came up and saw you were alone- and… I don’t know… I just hate missed opportunities, and I couldn’t let this one pass me by.”
You’re really not sure what to say. His demeanor is usually kind of joking, he’s the type to always have a smile- but right now, he’s not smiling, not joking- he’s being dead serious. 
“I’m happy I messaged you.” You feel stupid as the words leave your lips, but they bring back Johnny’s boyish grin.
“Yeah?”
“Uh huh,” you step closer, looking up at the tall plug. “Thanks for taking me out for drinks.”
“It would have been a crime to leave a sweet thing like you alone on Valentine’s Day, and trust me, I know all about crime.”
God, he’s such a goof. Why is he so endearing?
“Do you know about shotgunning?” you ask.
Johnny’s brows furrow for a second. “I’m shocked you know about shotgunning.” 
“Do you wanna try it?”
The plug looks you up and down. “Is this a ploy to get at my joint?”
“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. 
Johnny leans forward, meeting your eyes as his lips almost brush past your own. “Liar.”
He pulls away, slotting the joint in his mouth. He watches you while taking a long drag. Then he’s removing the joint and bending down again, meeting your gaze. 
You lean forward, reaching to gently grab at his shoulders. Your heart is racing a million miles a minute in your chest, and you do your best to exhale, although it comes out shaky.
“Kiss me,” you whisper.
Johnny doesn’t have to be told twice, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He exhales the smoke into your lungs and you do your best to breathe it in, but Johnny’s so much bigger than you, and you have to pull away before he’s completely finished his breath.
You sputter a little, feeling tears in your eyes. There’s a rush through your body, and you feel a little wobbly, but your grip on Johnny keeps you standing. 
“John-” As soon as you’ve recovered, he’s kissing you again, but this time, it’s not for the purpose of shotgunning.
This time, he’s kissing you like he means it. 
Like he needs it.
His large hand cups your cheek, and he releases a soft groan when you kiss him back, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders to pull him closer. 
He tastes like weed and wine, and oddly enough it’s not a bad combination. As his tongue swipes past your lip and you open your mouth for him, you find yourself releasing a groan of pleasure. 
Johnny returns the sound. In the periphery, you’re aware of him flicking the joint to the ground in favour of grabbing you with both hands. First, he cups your hips, pulling you flush against him, but after a moment, he reaches down to squeeze your ass too.
You go for a breather, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your throat, teasing his tongue against your skin and making you shiver in the cold evening air.
“You know…” you thread your fingers through his hair, “if you won’t give me drugs to use for happy chemicals, the least you could do is give me an orgasm.”
Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look at you with eyes that somehow sparkle. “I thought that was a given, sweet thing.”
“It better be,” you tease, cupping the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours again.
This time, when the kiss deepens and Johnny bends down to cup your ass, he lifts you off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He pushes the door open behind you, taking you back inside.
You’re so lost in his lips you almost don’t realize he’s moved past your couch, and then he’s gently laying you onto your bed. “So how do you like it?” he asks, pulling away so he can tear his hoodie and shirt off, revealing a toned chest, and all the tattoos you’ve been itching to see.
“I like it any way you want to give it to me. Dealers choice.”
Johnny lets out a laugh. “You’re cute.”
“You’re cute,” you retort, hooking your fingers in his belt to draw him closer again.
Johnny presses a hand to the bed by your head, bending over you so he can kiss you. Your thighs wrap around him, pulling him fully on top of you while you’re locked in the hottest tongue battle of your life.
He’s just so big and sexy- the weight of him is enough to have you gasping, even though he’s still holding himself up with his elbow now propped into the bed. 
His free hand finds your hip, slipping under your shirt to trace your skin. Each brush of his fingers builds the fire in the pit of your stomach, and as he slowly moves to grasp your breast, you find yourself almost dying with need for him. 
You whimper lewdly against his lips, pushing your chest up toward his palm. With a bra in the way, you can’t get the proper stimulus against your nipple, and within moments of him massaging your tits, you begin to tear your shirt off, needing more.
Johnny helps you remove the fabric, tossing it to the side so his mouth can find your throat. “You’re so pretty,” he muses, reaching under you to undo the clasp of your bra. “Can I take this off?”
“Yeah, fuck- let's get naked.” 
Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look down at you. “You sure you didn’t drink too much wine, sweet thing?”
“I’m mostly sober.”
“And that shotgunning didn’t make you needy?”
“You make me needy,” you insist, cupping his face. “You know how you said you were into me months ago? When we first met, I swear I thought you were the sexiest plug I’d ever seen.”
“Probably the only plug you’d ever seen,” Johnny points out with a grin.
“John,” you meet his gaze, “earlier, when you first got here, I wasn’t even sure if I should invite you up. I was worried I’d lose my self-control and jump you or something- trust me, the physical attraction has always been there, but… getting to know you today, I like who you are inside too… so, just fuck me, yeah?”
“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to us lonely hearts, huh?” 
Instead of answering, you kiss him again, tangling your fingers in his hair. Johnny groans when you tug gently, and he grinds his hips down against your own. You can feel the bulge of his cock as it drags against your core, and you’re pretty sure your panties are going to be ruined after this.
You can’t help yourself, you trace your hand down from his shoulders to his chest, then his abdomen- then you cup his cock, applying pressure that has him moaning again, thrusting against your hand for friction.
“I think I kind of want you in my mouth,” you admit breathlessly.
“That’s funny, I want you in mine.”
You think about it for a moment. “Sixty-nine?”
“Fuck, you’re a girl after my own heart, aren’t you, sweet thing?”
You can only grin, heart thundering in your chest as you push at Johnny’s shoulders, prompting him to roll onto his back.
“You take off your pants, and I’ll take off mine,” you suggest, getting off of him so you can work on your jeans.
Johnny doesn’t need to be told twice, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under his skin as he hurries to get naked. 
He’d never actually taken off your bra, so you do that yourself. In moments, you’re both completely nude.
You stare at Johnny, taking in his cock. 
He’s rock-hard and huge. It makes you excited, but you’re also not sure how well you’ll be able to take him. He must be at least seven or eight inches, and thick too, with a pretty mushroom tip that’s already leaking precum. 
He grins at your reaction. “Think you can handle this, sweet thing?”
“Something tells me you’ll make it fit.”
“You got that right,” he laughs. “Now come sit on my face, wanna taste that pretty pussy.”
There’s something so suave about half-baked Johnny. He speaks with an almost melodic tone, it’s deep and sensual, and your pussy throbs just from the words coming out of his mouth.
As you crawl onto the bed, getting into position, his hands are careful against your form, helping you settle as you swing a thigh over his head, hovering your core over his mouth. Instead of waiting for you to sit down, Johnny lifts himself up a little, burying his face in your pussy before you can even touch his cock.
“Fuck-” you whimper, grabbing the base of his length as he pushes his tongue deep inside of you, licking the length of your slit. 
You would love nothing more than to enjoy his mouth on you for hours- but you have your own job to do, and you’re already drooling. You bring his mushroom tip to your lips, gently licking at him.
Johnny’s large hands find your ass, and he squeezes you gently. “No teasing,” he mumbles, and the vibration against your clit has you squirming down on his face.
You take him into your mouth, sucking on the tip and twirling your tongue. Johnny immediately releases a groan before diving back into your pussy. He grabs your hips pulling you down tighter against his face.
It’s hard to know what to focus on. He feels so good with his mouth worshiping your pussy, but at the same time, you’re kind of obsessed with sucking his cock. He’s so huge, and you want to see how much you can take. You sink further onto his length, feeling your lips stretch at the intrusion-
God, he’s going to absolutely wreck your pussy. You can’t even fit half of him in your mouth before he’s hitting the back of your throat, and as you constrict around him, he releases lewd sounds of pleasure that have your core practically throbbing with need.
You pull off of him, if only to collect your saliva as lube so you can stroke what your mouth can’t reach. Taking a breath and steadying yourself, you grind gently against his tongue, moaning loudly. Then you take him past your lips again, getting lost in the act of simultaneous giving and receiving.
You’re lost in him, so lost that you don’t even know how long you’ve been in this position- but you can feel an orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach every time Johnny focuses on your clit.
You find yourself grinding harder against his face, and as the feeling builds, you can’t help but pull off of his cock, gasping and moaning. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna-”
“Cum for me,” he groans, squeezing your ass as he kitten licks your clit. “Don’t hold back. Cum on my face, sweet thing, give me everything.”
You’re stroking his cock mindlessly, your muscles tensing as Johnny takes your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking-
“Oh my God-” you whimper, toes curling-
Your orgasm washes over you like a wave. It tingles through every inch of your being, throbbing out from your core. You and Johnny both release groans of satisfaction, and the knowledge that he’s enjoying having you cum on his face only makes your pussy clench tighter.
You’re practically riding his tongue now, chasing the last inklings of your high until you’re absolutely breathless. 
Johnny presses one last kiss to your clit, and then he’s tapping your ass gently. “Gonna roll onto your back and let me fuck you like the good girl you are?”
“God, yes,” you groan. Your legs are shaky but you get off of Johnny’s face, collapsing next to him. 
“Damn, sweet thing, that was a good one, huh?” Johnny laughs, sitting up and stroking your thigh.
“So good,” you whimper, still feeling the aftershocks.
Johnny gets between your legs, elbow pressing into the bed next to your head as he dips close to kiss your neck. “The way you were grinding against my face was so fucking hot.”
“Johnny-” You wrap your legs around him, feeling absolutely desperate for his cock.
“You’ll have to be a little patient for me, sweet thing,” Johnny sighs, one large hand cupping your breast and teasing past your nipple. “I’ve gotta stretch you out before you can take me.”
“What if I want you now?”
“Like I said,” his breath is hot against your throat, “you’ll have to be patient.”
“What if I want you to wreck me?”
Johnny laughs, pulling away to look at you. “You’re not as innocent as you look, are you, angel?”
You trace your fingers along the fine line, black and white, Japanese Oni mask tattoo that sits on his chest between his defined pectoral muscles. “Not when it comes to you.” 
The plug simply grins at your words, his hand trailing down until it reaches your core. Two thick fingers prod at your opening, and you spread your legs even wider to accommodate him. He teasingly dips the first digit inside of you and you release a moan at how good it feels, but he’s quick to pull it out and circle your clit.
“You know what you said earlier?”
He lets out a humming sound.
“About not teasing?” you correct. “If you’re making me wait for you to prep me, you better not take your sweet time with it.”
“You’ll have to let me take my time with you next time then.”
“Next time?” You cock a brow.
“Yeah,” Johnny ghosts his lips over your own. “Next time.”
“Deal, now finger fuck me open then give me your cock.”
“Jesus, I love it when you talk dirty,” Johnny groans, dipping his finger into your core again. “Tell me more.”
“You just feel so fucking good,” you groan, swiveling your hips. “Even one finger- you’re just so big- Johnny, how are you so big?”
“You haven’t really experienced the Big yet,” John points out, adding a second digit that he scissors inside of you, stretching you out for him.
In response, you reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him gently. “I’m gonna feel you inside me for days after this.”
“Especially if you let me fuck you tomorrow, and the day after- you could feel me forever if you wanted to.”
“Forever, huh?” You let out a whimper as his digits work harder inside of you, crooking up to stroke your g spot with shocking precision. 
“I’m still a little high, it’s making me… too honest.”
“I like honest,” you admit, cupping his face with your free hand, drawing his lips to yours. “I like you.”
“I like you too,” he whispers, kissing you deeper as he finger fucks you faster. “Okay, sweet thing, I think you’re just about ready for me- dripping all over my hand.”
“I’m ready,” you assure him, staring into those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.
“Should I grab a condom?”
“Are you clean?”
“Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t fuck around that often. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”
You giggle. “I’ve sort of noticed that.”
He kisses you again. “I can still grab a condom though.”
“No, I’m on birth control. I want you to fill me up with cock and cum until it’s all I can think about.”
“I can do that.” Johnny pulls his fingers out of your pussy, and before he can lick them clean, you grab his wrist and guide them to your own mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, angel.”
You groan around his digits, sucking them clean. When you’re done, Johnny grabs your jaw, drawing your lips to his so he can taste you, his tongue gliding against your own. 
You’ve still got his cock in your hand, and you pump him gently, adjusting against the blanket to get closer to him so you can guide his tip toward your core.
Johnny takes the hint, and he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. His gaze dips to where your bodies meet, and he allows you most of the control as you drag his cock through your folds. “You really want this?”
“Just fuck me, John. Please don’t make me beg.”
He pushes forward, the tip of his cock sheathing in your tight core. “Holy shit,” Johnny groans.
“More.” 
Johnny can only laugh, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he thrusts deeper into you. The two of you hold your breath as inch after inch stretches you open. You’re so wet, and it makes the process easier, but you can still feel Johnny everywhere.
You’re a wriggling, moaning mess by the time he’s fully inside of you.
Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin, and his chest is rising and falling with effort, his bicep bulging next to your head. “You good?”
“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.
“Can I-”
“Rail me. Break my back. Murder my pussy.”
Johnny laughs, pressing his lips to yours to shut you up as he begins to move his hips, pulling out only to thrust back in. You can feel your insides practically quivering with each drag of his length against your walls. He’s so big, and you’re stretched to the brink- the vein along the underside of his cock is an added stimulus that has your toes curling already.
You’ll never be the same after this.
No one’s cock is ever going to compare and you just know it.
Johnny’s lips can’t muffle the sounds of pleasure still escaping you, and you grab at his broad shoulders, tracing your nails against his skin.
It’s so easy to get lost in Johnny. He makes you feel safe, and the pleasure he’s giving you has time flying by like nothing else. Johnny’s mouth goes to your throat, teasing the spot that has you moaning even louder.
“Can I flip you over? Wanna see that ass.”
“Do anything you want with me,” you tell him, and you mean it.
With one last kiss, Johnny pulls out of you. His large hands find your hips. He manhandles you over, pulling your ass back and up so he can push into you again. 
“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. “You’re even deeper like this-”
Each time his front meets your ass, the slapping sound turns you on even more. He’s practically rearranging your guts like this, and you don’t mind it one bit.
“Do you wanna rub your clit for me, sweet thing?” Johnny asks. “You’re so fucking tight around me, and I’m so sensitive when I smoke- not sure I’ll be able to last long, and I want you to cum with me. Wanna feel this pretty pussy all clenched and dripping-”
Every word has your body tingling, and you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles. 
“Johnny-” you whimper.
“That’s it, angel. You feel so fucking good- so fucking good for me.” He grabs fistfuls of your ass, squeezing in a way that has you crying out. “Who’s my good girl?”
“Me!”
“Who’s taking this cock so fucking good?”
“Me!” 
“Fuck-” Johnny lets go of your ass, wrapping a hand around your throat. He helps lift you up until your back is curved, shoulders pressed to his chest. His lips find your neck, hand dipping down to grasp your breast roughly, pinching your nipple.
“I’m gonna-”
“I know, sweet thing, me too-” He’s fucking into you like a god damned fuck machine, and each circle of your fingers on your clit has you closer and closer to the edge- “Fuck, okay, I’m there- shit, yeah, I’m there- you’re gonna cum with me, right? Gonna cum on my cock and let me fill you up?”
All you can do is whimper, your body fulfilling his ask before your brain can even fully process it. Your core clamps down hard on his cock, and Johnny releases a deep groan in your ear. He holds you close, squeezing you as his thrusts get erratic.
You can feel him cumming deep inside of you, and you’ve never felt this cock drunk in your life. 
Nothing matters except Johnny and his huge cock filling you up to the brink. His lips are hot on your throat, and he fucks you through your highs, your pussy fluttering around him as wave upon wave of pleasure rocks through you.
As you both finish, he pushes himself fully inside of you. You can feel his cock throbbing, and his groans are music to your ears. 
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers, letting out a soft laugh as he nuzzles against your cheek.
“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day,” you giggle, grabbing the hand on your breast and lifting it to your lips so you can kiss his palm.
He holds you for a few more moments, then he gently lowers you to the bed, cock still inside of you. “I’m gonna pull out,” he says, smoothing a hand over your ass. “You don’t mind if I watch it drip out of you for a second, right?”
“I’m just laying here,” you smile against the quilt. 
Even so, it feels like a loss as he takes his cock out of your aching pussy. His hands are on your ass and he spreads your cheeks. “Fuck, sweet thing. This is the prettiest view in the whole fucking world.”
When you’d texted Johnny earlier for a link-up, you’d never expected this. Never expected to see this softer side of him. 
You’re so fucking happy you reached out- he provided more than what you’d asked for.
“I busted a fat load in you, angel,” Johnny laughs, his thumb moving to rub your clit, causing you to whine and push back against him. “How about we go for a shower. I can wash you up, eat you out some more-”
“Damn, Johnny, are you pussy drunk?”
“Uh huh.” He leans over you, kissing up your spine and to your shoulder. “Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet, we should make the most out of it, right?”
You get the sneaking suspicion that you’re going to be making the most out of it with Johnny for many days to come, Valentine’s Day be damned. God. Your cousin is going to have a freak when she hears about this.
Tumblr media
☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I know it's late by three days but this John still has me in the Valentine's Day spirit
🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 
🔮 preview. “You’ll like this. You always like this. You love cumming on my cock. But you don’t get my cum unless I get yours, that’s the deal, right?”
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, grinding on his thigh, hand job, oral (m receiving) blow job, he spits in y/n’s mouth, spit as lube, masturbation, y/n touches herself while blowing Johnny, fingering masturbation, y/n rides his cock, multiple reader orgasms, praise, gentle degradation, dirty talk, breast worship/tit sucking,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 250
🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader
Tumblr media
bonus
You’ve gotten accustomed to your plug boyfriend. You’d only been dating for a month when he’d officially asked you to be his, but you know the two of you were exclusive to each other since that very first night you’d fucked. 
Being with John is pretty easy- but his odd work schedule can be a bit of a pain. He never knows how busy he’s going to be, so you can plan date nights, but sometimes he has to push it back a few hours to do unexpected late-night deliveries.
If you’d been cock drunk for him after the first time he’d fucked you, you’re even more dependent on him now.
No drug in the world could fill you up and give you the pleasure that Johnny’s cock does, and you’ve become a little impatient when you have to wait for him to complete deliveries… although, you’d never bring it up with him
You know being a plug is his job. It’s what pays the bills and allows him to dote on you in ways you’d scarcely been able to imagine before meeting him.
Even so, you can feel your skin crawling, pussy practically aching with anticipation as he completes the last handful of orders for the night. He’d initially wanted to be over at your place by seven, but it’s nearly ten now, and you’re three hours behind on the fuck marathon you’d planned.
Tumblr media
☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.6k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here
👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here
🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list
Tumblr media
general taglist
@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling
@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae 
@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii
@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven
@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf
@chogiwapadada - @librarian-stacks - @meowniee
@learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy
@mocha000 - @darthlunaa​ - @just-here-to-read-01​ - @shiningnono
@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas - @aaniag
✘ nct taglist
@milkyway-vxm - @nctsawrus - @shiningdery - @freezerandfame
@fairieblog - @fairybr3ad - @peachyjaemin - @chemaistry
@sehunniepot
2K notes · View notes
xorafe · 26 days
Text
cam girl (part five)
pairing rafe cameron x female reader
rating explicit 18+
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.
{ read part one here }
{ read part two here }
{ read part three here }
{ read part four here }
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
You were too tired to wake up to your alarm. You snoozed for an extra hour under a mountain of blankets, drifting in and out of consciousness.
When you finally feel ready to start your Sunday, it’s almost 10, and your mind slowly pieces together everything that happened last night.
Rafe has become your sugar daddy. There’s no doubt about it, no other word for it. At this point, you’re sure he’s given you almost ten grand.
You remain lying in bed and pick up your phone to see he texted you five minutes ago. After the $3000 transfer last night, you had quickly saved his number.
Rafe: sore?
You reply: as fuck.
Rafe: you loved it
You roll your eyes. Of course you loved it.
You think of the way he spoke to you, mumbling that you’re beautiful and praising the sounds you made. The way he thrusted into you and called your pussy so fucking perfect. The way his skin slapped against yours with his rough jolts. Remembering it makes your stomach twist with arousal.
You reply: so did you
Your phone buzzes again.
Rafe: send an ass pic
You: are you always horny?
Rafe: pretty much. woke up hard
You: and i’m the needy one… lmao
Rafe: are u sending it or not
You smile to yourself at how bad he wants you. You push the blankets off your body. You had fallen asleep in a cold room, your radiator refusing to come back to life no matter how hard you tried, so you’re covered head to toe under fleece pajamas.
The way Rafe reacted to your heat being broken replays in your mind. He seemed so dumbfounded by the idea that you couldn’t just fix something without worrying about the cost.
Then he sent you the exact amount you need to fix it. The fact that you can ask for however much you want and he’ll probably send it without hesitation still throws you for a loop. It’s an odd feeling not having to worry about money.
Thankfully, the morning sun has warmed up your bedroom. You pull your pants and underwear down in one smooth movement, turn onto your front and angle your phone camera.
You can smell Rafe on your pillow. The aroma of his cologne is so unbelievably nice, memories already connected to it.
You lie on your back again, pulling the blanket over you, and send him the photo, a low angle image of your naked asscheeks. You gaze at your screen, anticipating what he’ll say.
But he doesn’t send any words. Just a picture. Your eyes travel over the bulge making a tent in his black boxer briefs. You can see the trail of soft, light hair that leads down to his cock.
Your body tightens at the image. He felt so damn good last night. You can’t wait until the next time he’s inside you.
You text: wish u were here?
Rafe: i’d fuck u even harder than i did last night
You: you wouldn’t make me wait hours for it? wow…
Rafe: you’re so wet right now aren’t you
You can imagine the way he’d say that. He’s so smug. And so right. You dip a hand below the blanket between your legs, your soft folds drenched.
maybe, you reply.
Rafe: you took my cock so good
You bite your lip reading his words. The photo of his covered erection isn’t enough. You need more.
You: show me it
Rafe: you’d like that huh
You: i can just find some porn if you won’t do it
Rafe: don’t even fucking joke about getting off to some other guy’s dick
You smirk. You got to him like you hoped you would.
You: what? i can’t tease you too?
Rafe: no
You: send me a pic then. u know i deserve it
Rafe: only good girls deserve it
You: idk if good girls play with their pussies on camera… maybe i should stop doing that
Rafe: shut up. ur doing it for me every night
He’s so damn worked up that it’s funny. You shrug to yourself, opening another app, letting him sweat.
Your phone buzzes moments later, a notification from him dropping from the top of your screen.
Rafe: ???
You reply: you told me to shut up. i’m listening
He only texts your name.
You: rafe :)
A picture finally comes in. You take in the image of his dick, glad you finally have a chance to appreciate him in brighter lighting. The other photos that he sent over the cam chat were so dark, but now you can see the veins that run down his shaft, the swell of the tip, his large hand gripping the base.
You don’t think you could ever get tired of it.
You: am i allowed to touch myself?
Even through the power struggle between you two, you love giving him the control of when you can orgasm.
Rafe: if you promise me something
You: what?
Rafe: i can watch you play with your asshole tonight
Jesus. He’s unhinged. When he sent that message telling you that you’ll be doing a lot of new things with him, he wasn’t kidding.
The thought of doing this for him is stirring. None of the other guys on cam ever asked for anything like that.
You: i can do that
Rafe: get the toy i bought you. text when ur ready
You drop your phone and rush to find the vibrator, feeling like you’re throbbing now. When you’re all adjusted, you text him: ready.
Your breath hitches as the toy starts to buzz at a brutalizing intensity. You cross your legs, squeeze your chest, and groan as you think about him.
You orgasm within a minute. It feels good, but not as good as when Rafe is actually with you. With him, it’s a new level of ecstasy. Fuck. He may have ruined masturbation for you.
You pick up your phone.
You: might have to go back to sleep after that…
Your phone flashes a notification of $100 being transferred into your digital wallet.
Rafe: order breakfast for yourself
The amount he sent is ridiculous. What kind of place does he get breakfast from?
You doze off again, waking up half an hour later. After ordering food, you send Rafe a screenshot of the confirmation receipt and text: thanks baby <3
Rafe: did u call about the heat yet
You reply: i will
Rafe: do it now
You: bossy
Rafe: now
God, does he love to be in control. You follow his instructions and find the repair place you called last time and make an appointment to get your radiator replaced tomorrow afternoon.
It’s an unreal feeling - your problem being solved in the snap of a finger. This is a little taste of wealth.
You know not to read into it. Rafe’s not doing any of this of the kindness of his heart. Spoiling you is obviously one of the many things he gets off on. But you’re happy to go along with it. Especially considering $3000 is pocket change to this man.
When breakfast is dropped off, you notice a box addressed to you sitting in front of your door. You open it to find a new webcam. Rafe mentioned he’d buy it yesterday. He moves fast.
The day feels long and at 10 pm, you finally log on with the hope that Rafe will do what he did last night and come over instead of making you crave him throughout your session, leaving you to fuck yourself while fantasizing about him.
You’re wearing the ‘princess’ top you bought with his money, matching with pink underwear.
He joins the session and lust fires through you already.
“Hey,” you purr. “How’s the new camera look?”
figure8: much better
figure8 tipped you $100.
“What’s that for?” you giggle.
figure8: for looking so pretty
“Thanks, baby,” you say. “Is this pretty, too?”
You immediately turn onto your knees, looking back at the camera at the sight of your lace panties stretched over your ass.
figure8: goddamn
You smile.
figure8: you get me hard in a fucking second
“Yeah?” you coo. “Did you like my ass pic today?”
figure8: fuck yes. you ever done anal?
You laugh at how direct he is. You never have to wonder what Rafe’s thinking.
You hadn’t gone into that territory, but something about Rafe made you feel adventurous. “No, but maybe I’d try it with you.”
figure8: maybe?
“Depends on your mood,” you say.
figure8: the fuck does that mean
“I had to cum three times for you the other day. But yesterday, you wouldn’t let me do it for fucking hours.” You shrug. “If you make me wait that long again, you’re not getting anything.”
figure8: its honestly really fucking cute how you think you make the rules lol
“Shut up.”
figure8: im not getting anything… sure. i didnt let u cum all day but you were still begging me to fuck you last night
“I hate you,” you laugh.
figure8: you love me and this dick
figure 8: let me see you squeeze your ass
You’re so turned on already, resting your hands on your ass and kneading the flesh. You roam over your skin, fondling and grabbing, then move your fingers to the back of your thighs and bounce your asscheeks for him with your hands.
figure8: fuckkk just like that
“You like these panties?” you ask. The lace leaves nothing to the imagination.
figure8: i wanna see them ripped off
“These were expensive,” you pout.
figure8 tipped you $500.
figure8: there, you can buy more
“God, how much do you think they cost?” you laugh.
figure8: rip them off right now
You dip your fingers beneath the frilly border of the underwear and try to pull them apart. The lace digs into your skin and you finally hear a tear, the fabric giving way.
You watch your image in the screen, the pink lace pulling apart over your asscheeks.
figure8: shake ur ass
You oblige, arching your back, imagining him sitting behind you, big hands on your waist while you writhe and bounce for him.
figure8: let me see ur asshole
The request is probably the most obscene thing he’s ever asked of you. But you like that he does this, that he pushes you into new experiences.
You’re shaking with arousal as you watch yourself obey his orders, spreading open for him.
figure8: holy fucking shit
figure8: i know you’d loooove it up the ass
figure8: get close so i can see you suck on your finger
You’re puzzled at the request, but you obey anyways, turning to face the screen. You shift closer to your laptop and seductively stick your forefinger into your hot mouth, sucking it with quiet moans.
You’re reminded of how he shoved his finger in your mouth last night. Shit, last night was perfect.
figure8: is it nice and wet?
“Mhm.”
figure8: wanna put that finger in your ass for me?
You bite your lip, apprehension inching up your skin. He seems to notice your nervousness.
figure8: nice and slow, baby. you can do it
You nod, turning to spread your ass for him again, then slowly push your digit into your tight hole. You breathe through the pressure, dipping each inch of your finger in with caution, finding pleasure in the new sensation.
figure8: hows it feel?
“Good,” you breathe. You sit up to grab the lube in your nightstand that you bought when you started camming and sit in front of the camera, opening the bottle.
“You want me to try two fingers?” you ask.
figure8: fuck yes
You squeeze the slippery liquid onto your forefinger and middle finger and get onto all fours, angling your ass towards the camera.
When you slip both fingers inside, you arch your back and breathe shakily. Your eyes squeeze shut as you enter your body in a new way for him.
As hot as it is to be doing this for him, now that you’ve had a taste of what it’s like having his body melt into yours, you need him. This just isn’t satisfying enough anymore.
figure8: u like that?
“Mhm,” you moan. “Maybe it’d be better if I try with the dildo?”
You get the reaction you were hoping for.
figure8: the first dick in that ass isn’t gonna be some toy. it’ll be mine, you understand?
“Okay,” you say, brows furrowed, a tone of disappointment in your voice.
figure8: you want it tonight, don’t you?
“Yeah, baby,” you whimper, writhing in anticipation. “I want it tonight.”
figure8 tipped you $1000.
figure8 has left the session.
You smirk to yourself. It seems like this’ll be your and Rafe’s special version of foreplay. Maybe you’ll always begin with a cam show he pays you for, the same way you two started this wild affair, and then he’ll race over and have his way with you.
You decide to pull off your shirt so you can greet him fully naked.
When you hear his knock at the door, your skin prickles with anticipation. Rafe comes in frenzied, slamming the door behind him, grabbing your face in his hands and pushing you back into your bedroom.
“Already naked for me,” he rasps, standing in the middle of your bedroom, holding you, towering over you. “My needy girl.”
“Don’t make me wait any longer, then,” you whisper.
Rafe guides you onto your bed, hovering over top of you, his lips hungrily kissing and sucking on your mouth over and over.
With your back against your sheets, you roll your body beneath his, the sensation of his jeans and t-shirt rubbing on your bare skin wildly sexy.
You swear you can feel his cock jerk under his jeans and you breathe out a contented sigh.
“What?” he asks, pulling back with his forehead still pressed against yours.
“Your cock is twitching,” you tease, slipping your hand under his shirt to feel his hot skin. You pull his shirt off and toss it onto the floor.
Rafe lifts his body slightly and dips his hand between your legs, making you sharply inhale as he spreads your lips apart.
“And you’re so fucking wet,” he replies, like he’s trying to one-up you. You shudder as his fingers run up and down your slit.
He brings his hand up to suck on the tips of his fingers, hard eyes on you, and you feel like you might lose your mind over how hot the shared moment is.
“You taste so good,” he says, voice rough. He comes back down to kiss you hard, then shifts to put his mouth on your tits.
You jerk when he grazes a nipple with his teeth, a moan spilling out of your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, feeling him pinch and grip you.
“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk,” Rafe says against your cleavage. “You want that?”
“Yes, yes, please.”
“My good girl,” he praises. You hear him fumbling with his jeans, the zipper slipping down quickly, and he plunges into you with no warning, with such a rough blow that you whimper.
You feel your body swallow his thickness, stretching to adjust to his size. He curves into you so perfectly.
Rafe pulls back and rocks into you again, your body jolting with his pressure. His chest is pressed against yours and he shifts to the side to put his hand at your throat, long fingers around your neck.
He squeezes gently, still pounding into you.
“Tighter,” you whisper.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he says with a breathy laugh, like he can’t believe that you exist, that you’re taking him like this.
His fingers tighten on the sides of your neck as the sound of smacking flesh fills your bedroom. You grunt with every heavenly pump he gives you, his balls swinging against your ass.
“You take it so good,” he breathes. You tilt your head back, letting his big hand grip your neck better. You’re so grateful he didn’t torment you by making you wait this time.
“Get on top,” Rafe groans into your ear, drawing out of you. “I wanna watch you ride me.”
His hands find your hips as he helps pull you over him. With your palms against his firm pecs, you sink onto him, his cock hitting a new angle.
“Fuck,” you choke out. “Oh, my God, Rafe.”
“You like that, huh, baby?” he says, dimples framing his cocky smile.
You start to bounce with your legs bent and framing his torso, leaning forward so your clit rubs around the base of his cock. The feeling of him filling you and the friction against your sensitive spot makes your eyes roll back in your head.
Your heart starts to pound harder as you massage yourself with his dick, grinding at the perfect pace. You look down at him, meeting his blue eyes, as you roll your hips so you can feel him in every possible way.
You dip your head, panting and moaning as he grips your hips. You’ve never wanted to scream from pleasure so badly.
“I know, princess,” he drawls. “I know it feels good.”
The waves of pleasure are so damn nice that you moan and cover your mouth with your hand so your neighbors don’t hear how loud you’re being.
Rafe roughly grabs your wrist and pulls your hand down.
“Don’t do that,” he instructs.
“My neighbors-“
“Let ‘em hear how much you love this dick,” he says. You feel like you could cum from his words alone.
“F-fuck,” you stammer, grinding faster and harder. “Oh, fuck.”
“You gonna cum?” he teases. A part of you is afraid he’ll push himself out of you, delay your orgasm.
“Please let me,” you whine, “please, baby.”
“I’ll let you,” Rafe says with an amused chuckle. “God, you’re my fucking dream girl.”
The pleasure spikes in you so damn high that you feel your limbs go numb. You cry out as you dissolve into pleasure in its purest form, continuing to ride him as the orgasm hits you, tightening around him in pulses.
“There you go,” he says soothingly, encouragingly.
You bend over on top of him, resting your cheek on his chest, hearing his heart in your ear. Rafe’s warm hand strokes up and down your back as you spasm on top of him.
As your gasps slow down, his hands find your ass. He jiggles your cheeks in his hands and you giggle breathily.
“You gonna let me cum in that ass?” he asks you.
“You can cum anywhere you want,” you breathe, feeling cockdrunk. Rafe’s chest rumbles with his laugh.
You sit up and slowly pull yourself off of him, his hard cock bobbing once it’s out of you.
Even though you’re sure you already made his cock wet enough, you hand him the bottle of lube before getting on all fours on your bed. You look back at him to see him slathering his cock with lube.
“I’ll go slow, princess,” he promises. “I’ll stretch you out first.”
You squeeze your pillow and place it so that you can sink your face into it as he fucks you. With your head dug into the soft cotton, you feel Rafe’s big hands grope your ass.
He spreads your cheeks apart and groans.
“Every part of you is so pretty,” he huffs. “You gonna take my cock in any hole I want, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” you moan, muscles still weak from your orgasm.
You feel a finger slowly enter you and you arch your back, eyes squeezing shut. It’s so new but so fucking nice. The pressure is higher than when you did it on camera for him, his finger bigger than yours.
“There you go,” he coaches as he pushes deeper inside of you. “Shit, it’s so fucking tight. I’m gonna cum in a second, baby, I know it.”
“Fuck, Rafe,” you mumble. “It feels amazing.”
He adds a second finger, working in and out to stretch you out some more. You push back against his fingers to encourage him to go deeper.
“I want to fuck your ass so hard right now,” he groans on the verge of a whine.
“Do it,” you say. “I’m ready. Do it.”
His fingers pull out of you and you feel him spit on you, warm saliva dribbling over your opening. Finally, you feel the tip of his cock start to push into your ass.
The pressure stings as he buries into you and you try not to slump, you try to stay firm for him.
“Oh, my God,” he moans as he fills you. “Fucking… Oh, my fuck…”
His raw, untamed rambling gives you a sense of willpower to stay still and ignore your body’s impulse to pull away from the unfamiliar pain.
Rafe finally presses his base against your ass, filling your hole up completely.
He retreats, giving you some relief, then pounds into you again. The feeling is a good pain as he starts to thrash in and out, his fingers so tight on your hips that you know he’ll bruise you.
He pulls away a hand and you suddenly feel a hard smack on your ass that makes you gasp. He keeps fucking you hard, plunging in and out with a frenzied pace.
“You like it, princess?” he says between breaths. “You like it up the ass? I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Yes,” you groan, the feeling pleasurable now that you’re getting used to it. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“It’s not just your pussy that’s mine, is it?” he taunts. “It’s your ass. Your mouth. Your tits. All of you. Fucking all of you.”
His claim of ownership on you is so fucking intoxicating that you almost forget all this is supposed to be is hot, casual sex.
You push away the thought, refusing to let it ruin things. This is just fun. This is all this is.
“Goddamn, and you were just…” he groans as he keeps fucking you. “You were just… fuck, just always around and looking so fucking hot. I never thought I’d get to fuck you.”
You bite your lip at his words, lost in the feeling of a man wanting you this bad. Of Rafe wanting you this bad. You knew he loved to tease you, but shit, he was yearning for you this much whenever you came to clean his house?
“Oh, fuck…” Rafe’s deep voice gives out as you feel him pulse his hot cum into you, his body jerking against you.
He eventually slowly pulls out and you feel his hand slowly rub over the curve of your ass.
“Stay like this,” he says. “I wanna watch my cum drip out of you.” Just when you think he can’t get any filthier, Rafe surprises you. Every damn time.
Once he’s satisfied, you feel him plant a kiss on your ass before he shifts away to put on his underwear.
Your smile is slack as you drop onto your side, hand resting on your forehead. You feel utterly fucked out. He didn’t lie. You won’t be able to walk tomorrow. You watch his chest rise and fall when he lies down next to you.
Again, Rafe surprises you that he’s staying, even if it’s just a little while. He seems like such a fuck and chuck kind of guy. It’s what you expected. Kind of what you welcomed.
He looks at you, amused by how hard you’re gasping for breath.
“Damn, you won’t even need your heat on tonight, huh?” Rafe says. “Gave you a whole fucking workout.”
“If it’ll be like this every night, I’ll cancel,” you joke lazily.
“Cancel?”
“Mhm,” you say tiredly, eyes closing.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean?” you whisper.
He says your name stern enough that you pop open your eyes.
“I’ll cancel the appointment,” you clarify.
“They didn’t already fix it?”
“Tomorrow was the soonest they could do.” His brows furrow in what looks like anger. You can’t help but chuckle a little. “What’s the big deal?”
“So, you spend another night cold?”
“It’s not that bad,” you say. “I have lots of blankets… and…” You yawn. “A space heater… and… my pajamas…”
You realize you’re lying on top of a thin sheet completely naked but you’re too exhausted to care that you’ll wake up cold. It’s like Rafe fucked the energy out of you.
“I have to lock the door behind you,” you remember. You sit up, rubbing your eyes so you stay alert. “I don’t know if you realized but this isn’t a gated community.”
“Should I… uh, do you want a hotel room or something?” Rafe asks.
You look at him, his head on your pillow, his hair a mess, and offer him a confused smile.
“Hotel?” you repeat.
“If it’s gonna be cold in here.”
“Oh, that radiator has broken a million times,” you say. “I’ve survived a lot of cold nights. I don’t need a penthouse suite.”
Rafe gazes at you with an indistinguishable look.
You feel a bit awkward now. You know he’ll leave eventually, but if he doesn’t do it now, you’ll pass out and he’ll leave the door unlocked.
You stand to keep yourself awake, finding a clean pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt.
“Same time tomorrow?” you try to joke.
“I can stay and…” he says. He sits up, his hair falling over his forehead, his stomach flexing. “Uh, I can… hold you. If you want. So you’re not cold.”
You stand in the middle of your small room, looking down at Rafe, and can’t help but notice how out of place he looks. His large, half-naked frame on your small double bed, his expensive clothes drawn out on your squeaky, scratched up floor, offering to cuddle you to sleep.
This is supposed to be purely sexual. You’ve been having fun and adding to your bank account, while letting him live out his fantasies to sexually and financially dominate the help. That’s all you are to him: a depraved cam girl who cleans his house. Right?
But now, he’s acting… well, nice. Like he’s not just a fuck buddy who gets turned on by giving you money and buying you things. And it’s unexpected.
You’re not sure what to do.
{ read part six here }
taglist * @angel-anna / @devotedlyelectronicartisan / @abbybarnesstuff / @littlered0000 / @princessmaybank / @simping-for-mgg / @angelofcigs / @dazedvivenne / @maryscanyon / @cameronspecial / @travis27 / @nononopenono1 / @harringt8ns / @caitnicole / @mariolalol / @rxfecameronsslut / @fredwesleysgf / @rafesmoongirl / @jamespotterismydaddy / @starkeys-world / @daddyissues-muah / @luna443 / @katnis23 / @starrkissezz / @venussss01 / @kiiyomei / @maybankslover / @lostwinchestersouls / @prwttiestbunny / @raven0love / @ymnizuh / @carolinaxvz / @peterpan-neverfails / @stupidbxnny / @hehedinorawr / @mysticallystilinski / @atorturedpoetx / @perfecti0n / @herhang / @thewalkingdeadsmut / @franzi201070 / @xii-jao / @immabebuckyspunk / @stupidbxnny / @buckyswhxre / @kelbrave / @kravitzwhore / @patrickbatemanswife / @lemonnpeach / @littlemissborntolose
* reached tag limit - rest of tags in replies!
* if you liked/replied to be put on the taglist but don’t see yourself, that means tumblr didn’t let me tag you, i’m sorry! i think you might have to adjust your settings to allow other users mentioning you
2K notes · View notes
userlando · 10 months
Text
a different light — max verstappen
Tumblr media
max verstappen x fem!reader [6.9k] summary: you weren’t just friends. friends didn’t touch you the way he did (or the one where max has an epiphany and realizes he's in love with his best friend) warnings: 18+ explicit smut, idiots in love, friends to lovers a/n: idk what it is with me and writing fics at work, but here i am again. i had SO much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy reading this ♡
Tumblr media
Max hadn’t experienced many moments where he felt true and utter bliss, especially when he was growing up. His home life made it hard, and he’d rejected any type of positive feelings for a long time until you came along. You’d been a force to be reckoned with, matching Max’s energy so well that it wasn’t hard to build a solid friendship that would last for as long as it did.
He found comfort in your soft skin, in your reassuring smile. Even in the way your voice would get all high pitched when you told a white lie. You’d been his one true pillar when his career went from karting to racing, becoming a known household name in the chaos of it all. You’d kept his feet on the ground when he needed it most, and there was no amount of money to ever repay you for everything you’d done for him, and you vice versa.
So, he found comfort in a lot of things when it came to you. But you, sitting close to him when you had so many seats and chairs to choose from? That was everything.
You had claimed the two-seater for yourselves, but it didn’t stop you from snuggling right up to your best friend’s side with his arm around you and your head comfortably resting on his pectoral. It was a common occurence, you so deeply embedded in his arms that it might as well have been a permanent shape of you on his skin. Max had grown up with you, so he'd basically memorized the smell of your shampoo that you'd used since you were fifteen, the freckles and moles on your face and how goosebumps rose on your skin at the slightest cold breeze because that's who you were.
He'd naively thought it to be normal, to be so in tune with his best friend and it wasn't until he'd entered early adulthood and actually spent time with his friends on the grid that he realized that maybe it wasn't usual.
He still remembered the day he'd brought you along for the Baku Grand Prix and you'd mentioned being childhood friends in a passing conversation, registering the sheer looks of confusion coming from his friends. It had made him flush, a little embarrassed and a little confused until Daniel had hooked an arm around his shoulders and murmured I've been going around for three months thinking she was your girlfriend, man.
Max had shoved his friend and pulled a face, the usual ‘gross, she’s like a sister’ phrase on his tongue that he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. But it had stuck with him for the rest of that day, and the more he thought about it, the more Daniel was probably right in thinking so.
Max couldn't pinpoint what exactly had shifted after that day, but he knew that something had changed. He became hyper aware of your touches and lingering looks, your ability to flirt but still toe the line of it being a little too inappropriate.
Sharing hotel rooms became weird, and it dawned on Max that maybe the two of you were acting a little too much like a couple when he found himself in bed with you snoring by his side, Daniel's words still haunting him like a ghost at the corner of the king sized bed.
He’d stared at your face in the dark for an hour, the street lights doing a good job of contouring your face in the dark and he’d felt a knot in his stomach when you’d shifted in your slumber and reached for something. He hadn’t realized what you looked for until you placed your hand on his arm.
Not grabbing. Just… setting it there like you needed his comfort even in your sleep. Such a simple gesture that had shook your best friend to the core.
The Aussie made it, along with Lando, his life's mission to send looks and make comments after that race weekend in Baku.
That was eight months ago, and they clearly had no intention of stopping as you sat in the backyard of Carlos' family vacation home in Palma de Mallorca, surrounded by drivers and their partners alike. You’d been there for two days, the relaxation already blanketing your group the more you spent time in the ocean and dozed in the loungers. The nights consisted of card games, drinking games and bonfires until someone had the stupid idea to go for a dip in the sea that just so happened to be in your backyard.
You'd been dozing tonight, finding it hard to stay awake with the way Max's fingers absentmindedly drew patterns up and down your drawn up legs.
The sun had clearly done its number on you during the day, draining every bit of energy you’d had. Heat and humidity always did that to you, so it wasn’t a surprise that you’d find the comfort of your best friend’s embrace the moment everyone sat down and curl up much like a cat.
The rhythm of his chest was enough to lull you into a sense of security, watching your group of friends across the table as they played Uno with the occassional accusation and shouts that came with playing the card game.
It had been Charles' idea to play it, clearly wanting to see the world burn as he put a group of competitive people into a game of Uno. It had been great entertainment though, your lips curled into a permanent amused smile as you watched on in silence.
Lando pulled a draw four card, setting it down with a grin and Carlos cursed in Spanish, clearly annoyed as he shoved the curly haired boy. A ripple of laughter tore through the group at the display, and you figured that it wasn't long before the game would dissolve into angry arguments.
"You can't beat the master of Uno." Lando said, clearly looking to agitate the Spaniard as the black haired man picked up an additional four cards to his already stacked hand.
"You've lost the last four games, mate." Charles muttered into his glass, taking a sip of his icy margarita for good measure.
"My luck is turning, mate.” Lando flipped him off, earning laughter from Pierre and George. “Get off my back."
You watched them bicker, thoughts stuttering to a halt when Max shifted beneath you. He drew the hand that had been on your legs up, ruffling your hair gently and you glanced up at him.
"Have you fallen asleep on me yet?" He asked quietly, for your ears only and you grinned sleepily, the perfect picture of comfortable.
“Not yet.” You muttered, covering your mouth as a yawn took you by surprise and Max smiled in amusement.
“Do you wanna go for a walk?” He glanced up at the boys when their voices picked up volume. “Get out before this becomes massacre.”
You laughed, nodding your head in agreement and letting him pull you up. No one really noticed as you slipped away, or if they did, they didn’t question it.
The voices of your friends faded into the background the further you got away from the house, grass and gravel transformed into cobblestones leading up to the town and further from the ocean.
“It’s so pretty here.” You mused, looking down the cobbled path, lit up by street lamps. “I’d love to live some place like this, some day.”
Max’s brows furrowed, following your gaze before looking at you questioningly.
“You basically do.” He said, humourous lilt to his voice. “Mooching off of me, living it up in Monaco.”
It would’ve made you feel self-conscious and even a little embarrassed if those words had come from anyone else but Max, but you’d been friends for so long that you knew when he was joking and when he was being serious. And in this case, it was the former. It was evident in the teasing smile and his light voice, aside from the fact that he’d always find a way to rebook your flight and beg you to stay for a few more days. As if you hadn’t been with him for a week already, as if you didn’t attend nearly every race because he claimed that he didn’t want anyone else around but you.
You were aware that it wasn’t a normal friendship, what the two of you had. And you knew that people thought it to be unbelievable that you weren’t romantically involved, some days you questioned that yourself. But that was a whole can of worms that you weren’t ready to crack open just yet. It felt too dangerous.
“I’ll be out of your hair soon.” You said, voice airy as you tossed your hair over your shoulder and skipped a step forward before turning and walking backwards in front of Max. He arched a confused brow, almost disappearing under his cap and the sight was a little too funny. “As soon as I find another man to live off of. Preferably handsome and rich.”
You were kidding, obviously, but the thought still made something sour well up in Max’s throat and he struggled to not frown in annoyance. He looked away, making it seem as if he was admiring the ocean view that he could barely see in the dark, when he was in fact trying to shield his face from your attentive eyes.
“Shouldn’t be too hard.” He said, cursing himself when his voice shook. It was so minimal though and you thankfully didn’t call him out on it. ”I mean, look at you.”
There was an awkward silence seeping into the space between you and you tried to maintain the aloof expression on your face but it was hard when your stomach was doing weird flip flops. Look at you.
“And also,” Max continued, rushing to fill the silence and break the sudden and rare awkwardness. “You’ve got me as your wingman.”
That made you laugh, and something like relief flooded Max’s stomach.
“Wingman? Right.” You turned, walking ahead of him and the boy frowned at the disbelieving tone in your voice.
“What do you mean? I’m an excellent wingman.” He jogged up to catch up with you, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in.
It always amused him how you stumbled into his embrace whenever he did that, always so caught off guard but never once doubting that he’d be there to keep you upright. It was his favourite thing to do, mainly because you’d grumble and peer up at him with your eyes and Max would grin like the close proximity didn’t make him want to vomit with how much he craved to press his lips to yours. Just to see what it’d be like.
“Max,” you rolled your eyes. “No one ever dares to approach me when you’re by my side. You’re like a guard dog.”
“What?” He pulled back a little to look at your face, still keeping his arm around you. “I’m not! What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You scare off every single man!” Your voice went high in amusement and something else that he couldn't put his finger on. At Max’s furrowed brows, you sucked your teeth in exasperation and continued, “Last weekend, we were out in Monaco, remember? Two guys approached me, and you just magically seemed to show up and stake your claim. You might as well have peed all over me.”
The furrow between Max’s eyebrows seemed to deepen, feeling a little lost all of a sudden because you sounded genuinely upset and he didn’t know what to do with that.
“That's disgusting. And I wasn’t staking anything.” Max grumbled when the silence stretched on. “They were idiots anyway. Who wears sunglasses inside a club? At night?"
The both of you stared at each other as you walked and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle that broke the sudden tension. Just the sound of it made Max relax a little from where he'd suddenly gone tense.
“He was kind of a loser, wasn’t he?” You agreed, because it was true. “But you still scare every guy off.”
Okay, so maybe he did. And he’d done so unintentionally until last year before his feelings for you started to enter dangerous territory. Whereas before, he’d genuinely think that the guys you dated were total idiots, now he’d find a way to glare and act standoffish until the men took that as a sign and bailed.
“Sorry.” He said, but he really wasn’t. And you clearly didn’t believe he was sincere, judging by the arched brows on your forehead. “What? I am.”
You didn’t say anything to that, because you weren’t really upset about the fact that Max managed to chase men off whenever they got close to you. It was just the fact that he ran them off and then continued to act as if his actions didn’t have any hidden motives.
There was clearly something between the two of you, and it scared you but it also made you want more. Max was just too much of a wuss to act out on it, and so were you, in a way.
You didn’t know how many hints you could dish out before it got borderline ridiculous. Max didn't need a push, he needed a shove.
The both of you took a walk around the small village before circling back home. A few had retired to bed already, and you found Daniel, Pierre and Lando lounging around by the outdoor fireplace. Lando clocked the both of you walking into the backyard, looking a little suspicious and you shot him a questioning glance.
“Welcome back, children.” The man himself greeted, earning a flick to the head by Max in passing. He yelped, making you laugh as you sat down by Pierre.
“We’re older than you, idiot.” You pointed out and Max made a hum in agreement, looking around with a small frown.
It was ridiculous how he all of a sudden felt a little lost when you didn’t immediately go for a seat that held two people. You always managed to find a seat right next to Max, even going as far as sitting in his lap when he was in a chair; neither of you pointing out the fact that there were other seats to choose from.
But now you’d sat next to Pierre, and he felt something ugly bloom in his chest when the man in question draped a friendly arm over the backrest. You were good friends with the Frenchman, and he had a girlfriend but it still made Max annoyed.
He reluctantly sat in a chair when he realised that he’d lingered for too long, trying to tune into the conversation that had gone on for the whole time he’d gotten lost in his head.
You’d noticed, of course you had, there was no one as in tune with Max Verstappen as you were. It made you feel a smidge of glee because it was just further confirmation that whatever was going on between the two of you wasn’t friends being friends.
And it only seemed to solidify when Max looked your way, a hundred emotions shining in his eyes as he glared daggers at Pierre and his harmless arm. You arched an eyebrow, silently and innocently asking him what was wrong.
You watched Max shift in his seat.
“So, where’s Kika, Pierre?” He asked, the question coming out of the blue and you almost rolled your eyes, trying not to react when Daniel and Lando’s conversation trailed off to look at the three of you.
Pierre touched your shoulder with a finger, a tap that conveyed so much and you hid a smile by biting your cheek. Leave it to Pierre to read a room and embody the innocent and clueless man perfectly in order to help you.
“She’s sleeping.” He replied easily, kindly. “Had a little too much to drink. Which reminds me…” He trailed off and turned his head to look at you. “She wanted me to remind you of your plans tomorrow.”
“What plans?” Max asked before you had a chance to reply.
“We’re just going to a boutique we came across. It looked cute,” you smiled. “It was closed when we walked by today. But they had these nice bikinis I wanted to get my hands on.”
Lando looked up at the mention of bikinis, a smarmy smile that told you exactly what he’d say before he even opened his mouth.
“Can I come?” He asked, making Daniel cackle.
You stretched your leg out to kick his shin, grinning at his cheekiness. Lando dodged your kick just barely, a smile of his own stretching his lips.
“You’re being weird.” Max said, giving the British boy a look that looked an awful lot like a warning. It didn’t deter Lando though, not like it’d make a grown man running if it were aimed at a stranger.
The curly haired boy only rolled his eyes, a playful air to him as he glanced between you and Max.
“I’m being weird, sure.” He said. “Not as weird as you two sharing a bed.”
A hot flush traveled up your spine and reached your cheeks when Pierre and Daniel laughed, like they were trying to hold it in but couldn’t. You had half a mind to reach over the table and strangle your friend who looked way too smug to have aired out the one thing everyone probably had thought at least once, but never said out loud.
You and Max shared a glance, expecting him to look embarrassed but he looked smug and you didn’t know why your stomach rolled at the sight. He looked… hot. Confidence had always looked good on Max.
“At least I have someone to share a bed with, dipshit.” He stretched out his hand to pinch Lando, making everyone laugh. “Can’t say the same for you.”
“Oh, ha!” Lando raised his voice in a fake laugh, face scrunched up adorably sarcastic. “Ha, ha, you’re so funny, Max. Maybe you should consider being a comedian instead of the insufferable driver that you are.”
“Maybe then you’d have a chance to get podium.” Max said around a laugh and it took exactly two seconds before everyone started hollering and cackling, Lando standing up to deliver half-assed punches and nips at the laughing Dutchman who tried to dodge the incoming attacks.
You watched with an amused smile as they scuffled, both red in the face from laughter and shouts. There was no way that they wouldn’t end up waking up everyone in the house, so you stood up and ushered Lando away from Max with a laugh.
“You’re both children.” You pointed your finger at Lando when he took a step back.
“Still more mature than you.” Lando said, not maturely at all and you smiled in amusement.
“That's a fucking lie, mate.” Daniel scoffed, laughter in his voice and Lando turned around to give him a piece of his mind.
You watched them dish out insults at each other that really sounded a lot like friendly love in disguise, startling a little when you suddenly felt arms circle your waist. A yelp left your lips when you were pulled into Max’s lap, twisting until you could look at him.
The closeness of his face caught you off guard, the blue in his eyes so striking with the fireplace reflecting in them. You draped both legs over his lap, making yourself comfortable with a shy smile.
“Hi.” He greeted you softly once you’d settled down.
“Hello.” Your breath stuttered a little when he brushed his fingers against your waist, skin against skin where your tank top had ridden up.
“I think that’s our cue to go to bed.” Daniel said quietly, but loud enough for you to hear and look at him.
Lando shot him a look, eyebrows raising when both Daniel and Pierre stood up.
“I’m not tired? You go —“ He halted his words when Daniel glared at him. “Right. Whatever.”
The boys stood up, bidding you goodnight and kisses to your head before disappearing inside. You watched them through the sliding doors as they shoved each other and laughed, vanishing around a corner. Max squeezed your side and you glanced at him.
“What?” You asked when you spotted the smile that so badly wanted to break out on his face, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.
“You were trying to make me jealous.” He said, not as a question but as a sure statement. You rolled your eyes and tried to steady your breathing when he leaned forward to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck, his hot puffs of breath making goosebumps rise on your skin.
You squirmed when his beard tickled you, shoving halfheartedly on his shoulder but he didn’t budge. He pressed his lips against your pulse point and you knew that was it; he could definitely feel your racing pulse, there was no way he couldn’t.
“Well, it worked.” You replied belatedly, voice a lot weaker and shakier than you would’ve liked it to be.
Max didn’t say anything of it, though you could feel his lips move as he smiled into your throat.
“It did.” He confessed quietly, feeling your pulse jump beneath his lips. “I wanted to break Pierre’s fingers.”
He touched your shoulder where the Frenchman had previously touched you, like he was wiping off evidence of any man but himself. It made something coil tightly in your stomach, and you struggled to not squirm in your best friend’s lap.
“That would be unwise.” You whispered, glancing over at the house where there was no sign of life.
You didn’t know how you’d explain it away, if someone were to walk back out and find the two of you in this position. You, in his lap with your arm wound around his shoulder and Max under you, pressed so close in every way. It would certainly be hard to convince anyone you were just friends after this.
But you weren’t just friends. Friends didn’t touch you the way he did, with his hand stroking the skin over your collarbone, trailing a path down the cup of your tank top and feeling the swell of your breast. Your heart was thundering in your chest, eyes locked on his hand as it mapped out every inch of your skin; fingers stroking down between your tits before he opened the palm of his hand to slide it over your ribs, almost cupping your heaving chest. You almost wished that he did, every inch of your body aching to be defiled by the very same man you’d called your best friend for years.
“Breathe.” He murmured against your throat and you realised that you’d been holding your breath, a rush of air escaping your mouth as you willed yourself to relax.
“Max.” Your brows furrowed, arching your back a little and pushing your chest closer to him.
He said your name, the sound of it so beautifully intimate and hot on his tongue that it almost made you whine. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess in your head, making it hard for you to think of anything other than his hand. The very same hand that caressed your ribs, fingers spanning out until he brushed your nipple. You inhaled sharply at the twinge of pain when he went over it again, making out the shape of it through the thin material of your top and circling it teasingly just so he could hear your stuttered and laboured breaths.
“You sound so pretty for me.” He spoke against your skin, welcoming the twinge of pain when you pulled at his hair slightly.
The whispered compliment lit your body on fire, made your hand tighten in his hair so you could push his face against your neck. He seemed to get the memo, opening his mouth to latch onto the sensitive skin there and suck. The combination of suction and the sharp pain of his thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple made you moan, the loudness of the sound catching you off guard.
“Fuck!” You cursed when he rolled the bud between his fingers, enjoying the way you squirmed; like you weren’t sure whether to push into or away from him.
You glanced up at the sky, trying to focus on the light of the stars but there was no stopping the way your eyes rolled when he bit into your skin where he’d been sucking a nasty mark into it, flattening his tongue out to lave over it. Almost like he wanted to soothe the sting.
“This isn’t weird, is it?” You asked breathlessly, even though you both knew the answer to that.
“Does it feel weird?” He countered, pulling away and you blinked down at him; struck by the absolute need in his face.
It was the first time you’d seen his face since you sat down, taking in the saliva on his lip and the blown out pupils. He looked good enough to eat and you couldn’t help but lean forward to kiss him, licking into his mouth the way you'd thought of doing for the last year.
He welcomed it with gusto, pulling away for a swift second to gauge your reaction. Max must’ve liked what he saw on your face because he dove right back, claiming your lips in a bruising kiss that had you moaning from your throat.
“Been thinking about this for a long time now.” Max confessed when you both let up for air, staring at each other through hooded lids and bruised lips.
“Me too.” You said, pushing his hair back softly. “So long.”
He kissed you again, like he couldn’t help it and you let him claim your lips however he pleased before he trailed down your jawline, sucking a few more hickeys down the side of your neck for good measure. You pushed your chest out when he neared the swell of them, watching how he pulled your top down just enough to get a better look at your tits.
Max stared at them, marvelling at the sight before the need to have his mouth on them became too great. A whimper tumbled from your lips when he sucked and licked until your skin turned raw, giving the other nipple the very same treatment.
“Oh, what the fuck?” A voice exclaimed and you jumped, turning to shield yourself from whoever had decided to turn up unannounced.
Max hurried to pull up your tank top, shooting you a glance before he leaned to the side and peered around you at the same time you looked over your shoulder. George had his back turned to you, one hand on his waist and face turned toward the sky. You couldn’t see his face, but the exasperation was clear as day in his body language.
“You guys are fucking gross.” He said and you bit your lips together to stop from laughing.
“What the fuck do you want, Russell?” Max asked, clearly annoyed that you’d been interrupted and you smoothed a thumb over the crease on his forehead.
“I forgot my phone, asshole.” He replied, agitated. “Are you guys decent?”
“Yes, you drama queen.” You rolled your eyes and watched him turn around.
There was a grimace etched on his face as he walked forward, sticking his hand down between the couch cushions until he fished out his phone. George stood upright, and there was a moment of awkwardness as you all looked at each other.
“Congratulations on finally coming to your senses.” He said finally, saluting you and walking backwards. “But please don’t shag on the patio furniture, we still have a week left and I don’t think Carlos would like an ass print on the cushions.”
“Why don’t you come over here and kiss my ass?” Max flipped him off with no real heat and you laughed.
“No thanks,” he grinned as he reached the sliding doors. “I’ll leave that to your girl.”
A silence filled the air after George made his exit and you slowly turned around, mentally preparing yourself for the onslaught of prodding questions that would surely come in the morning. George could never keep his mouth shut, enjoying chaos where it wasn’t necessary and you’d been friends with everyone long enough to know that it only took one person for word to spread like wildfire.
“It could’ve been worse.” Max said, who’d been sitting silently and regarding the faraway look in your eyes. It never ceased to amaze you how easily he could read you.
“Don’t remind me.” You widened your eyes at him, a smile overtaking your face when you saw the sparkle of humour in his eyes. “Maybe we should…”
You trailed off, hoping he’d take the hint because the sudden embarrassment kept you from finish the sentence. What would you even say? Maybe we should go to bed so we can finish what we started?
Max seemed to pick up what you were putting down, as he always did. He gave you a nod, face soft with reassurance as he cupped your face in his hand, brushing a few strands of your hair away from your face.
“Are we good?” He asked, and you took a good look at him; noting the slight worry in his eyes and you realised that while he was reassuring you, he needed a little reassurance of his own.
You placed a hand over his, giving him a gentle nod with a smile. His eyes fluttered shut when you leaned over to peck his lips, placing a kiss on his stubbled cheek for good measure.
“We’re more than good.” You gave another nod, climbing out of his lap and reaching both your hands out so he could grab them. “Take me to bed, Max.”
He made a show of groaning loudly until you laughed, hauling him up and dragging him across the lawn. You preened under his wandering hands as he crowded your space from behind, plastering his front to your back and winding his arms around you.
“Stop that.” You hissed when he buried his face in the crook of your neck, making loud and lewd noises until it tickled you.
“But you’re so soft.” He complained, sliding both hands up your sides and under your top, fingers grazing your under boob.
You squirmed but made no real effort to push him away, opening the sliding doors and walking inside with a little difficulty. The both of you got as far as the living area before Max turned you around and kissed you, rendering you useless to stop him or protest. You could feel his mouth stretch into a smirk, like he knew what he was doing and you didn’t have the heart to make any effort to scold him even as he backed you into the sofa. A loud yelp left your lips when the backs of your knees hit the sofa, accompanied by his startled shout when you both went tumbling down on the furniture with him over you.
“That wasn’t nearly as sexy as they make it out to be in the movies.” You complained, watching Max smile down at you. He adjusted the both of you until you had your legs around him, testing the waters by grinding down on you and your mouth dropped open when you felt the hardness of his cock against your crotch. “Oh, hello.”
Max exhaled, like he was relieved to finally take some pressure off by grinding against you and you angled your hips to meet his thrusts, keeping your eyes on his to watch as his face went through a hundred of different emotions. You were struggling though, the rough denim of his shorts against your cotton ones felt deliciously nice and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep quiet.
“I’d sometimes lie awake and imagine what you’d sound like.” Max murmured quietly, teeth bearing down on his lower lip when you gripped his shoulders a little harder. He ground down, listening to you whine high in your throat. “I’d fantasise what you looked like when you came.”
You dug your heels into his ass, silently telling him to keep going because a few minutes more of his incessant thrusting and he’d have you coming. Max kissed down your jawline, sucking tiny little marks into the skin that he knew you’d give him shit for when your mind had cleared, but it was the thought of your friends seeing your bruised skin that worked him up into a frenzy. He wanted, needed to show everyone that you were his. Fuck Pierre and his wandering hands, and Daniel who’d smugly smiled at him from across the paddock all those times.
He’d show them.
“You gonna make that reality, my love?” He was getting close, voice losing its edge as he spoke the words into your clavicle. He bit the thin skin there until you keened, digging your blunt nails into his shoulders. “Gonna show me what you look like when you come?”
“Yes, yes, yes…” your words were becoming jumbled, making these high noises from your chest that seized Max by the throat.
He didn’t think you were even aware of how loud you were becoming, but he’d be damned to stop you. It reminded him of the same noises you’d make when you’d take a quick dip into a cold ocean and he’d splash you just for the sake of it. You’d make this high pitched, whiny noise like the chill of the water took your breath away. It was mesmerising and so fucking hot that Max couldn’t help but grind down one last time and shoot off into his shorts, a throaty moan in your ear that sent you over the edge as well.
He forced himself to watch your face as it scrunched up, mouth hanging open as you gasped for breath, body seized up beneath him as you both ground against each other in an effort to bring you back down from your highs.
“Fuck, this is gross.” Max scrunched his nose up as he looked down between you. You peered down with a breathless giggle, noting the spot in his shorts that had seeped onto yours.
He looked up at you at the sound of your laughter, face relaxing when he saw your smiling eyes and hot cheeks. The sun had been good to you, kissing your skin so beautifully that he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from you for a second since you got here.
“I can’t believe we just humped like a couple of teens.” You said it with laughter in your voice, but Max could spot the shy tilt of your brows and there was something oddly endearing about it. "In Carlos's family home." You said the last part in a mortified whisper, like the reality of it was dawning on you.
“Should’ve done that sooner.” He joked and you laughed, slapping his shoulder.
Max dropped his weight on you as sudden exhaustion seeped into his body, and you grunted. You wound your arms around him though, ignoring the messes you’d made between you for the sake of a cuddle. Your fingers drew little patterns on his back, like you knew Max loved, and he almost purred at the feeling.
“We should probably go to bed.” You said quietly.
“Yeah.” He said, but neither of you made any effort to move.
The grandfather clock was ticking away in the corner, almost like background music, and you were almost lulled to sleep by Max’s steady breathing. Your eyes opened when he suddenly moved above you, having sensed that you were two seconds from falling asleep when your hands stopped moving on his back.
“Okay,” he sighed heavily and stood up with a grimace, wobbling a little. You smiled slowly when he offered you his hands, pulling you up. “Time for bed.”
“I’m getting déjà vu.” You referred to an hour ago when you’d declared bedtime, only to end up a few meters away on the couch instead.
Max laughed, pulling you along toward the stairs and guiding you down a narrow hallway.
The morning after went as well as you’d imagine, waking up with Max snoozing quietly on his stomach with his hands shoved underneath the pillow. You’d ghosted a kiss on his cheek before getting up to get ready for the day. Sharing a room with Max during all the years had made you stealthy enough to perform your routines without him waking up, but it could also be because he slept like a rock and not even pans and pots in the hands of Lando and Daniel could bring him out of his dead sleep.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Daniel greeted you when you stepped foot into the kitchen, pulling everyone’s eyes toward you and you smiled awkwardly.
“Hi? Hey.” You carefully avoided George’s eyes as you walked around the counter, patting Heidi on the back in a silent greeting.
The look she gave you had your hackles rising a bit, but you pushed the paranoia away because surely George hadn’t gone and blabbed already? It was only - you looked at the clock - nine in the morning. Christ.
Charlotte handed you a mug of steaming coffee and you wordlessly took it, taking a small sip. “Thank you.”
Conversation picked back up again as you went on the hunt for toast, popping them in the toaster and pouring another cup of coffee for Max who’d probably woken up by now. Francisca talked about the boutique you’d be going to, waving Pierre off with a playful hand when he tried to invite himself into your girls day.
There was a slight lull in the chaos of three conversations happening in the space of the kitchen, and it wasn’t hard to figure out that Max had finally joined the party. You turned your head and almost smiled at his hair, wet from a shower and sticking up in all directions. He looked sleepy still, a little bleary eyed but he still managed to find you in the gaggle of people.
It warmed your heart a lot more than you’d like to admit when you watched his eyes light up as they settled on you, murmuring good morning’s and patting backs as he made a beeline for you.
You smiled at him. “Morning.”
Max accepted the mug of coffee you handed him, kissing your cheek in thanks and you leaned into it automatically. It was scary how fast you’d gotten used to his affection, but it felt so natural that you couldn’t bring yourself to question it.
“You look beautiful.” He complimented you, hand finding the hem of your dress to pluck at it with his fingers.
It was a plain old summer dress in white, one you’d worn a couple of times but it was Max’s favourite piece. It made your legs look amazing, and he was slightly mourning the thought of having to let you go out with the girls and not being able to ogle you openly.
“Thank you.” You smiled up at him.
“Is anyone gonna address the elephant in the room?” Lando spoke out, bringing the both of you out of your bubble you’d managed to create.
You turned around to look at the nosy group, rolling your eyes at your friend.
“Isn’t it clear?” Pierre balled up leftover bread from a loaf and chucked it at the Brit from across the table.
Charles frowned, glancing at you before looking over at his girlfriend who was smiling a little too brightly for your liking.
“Am I missing something?” Charles narrowed his eyes and looked at you. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“You’re not.” You said, playfully glaring at your friends. “They’re just being idiots.”
George coughed, dodging an incoming slap to the arm from Carmen. Just that one gesture let you know that Carmen was aware of what had happened last night.
“Tell that to Carlos’ furniture.” He muttered but it was enough for Carlos to look up, frown deep in his face as his round eyes looked between George, you and Max.
“What?” He asked, confusion lacing his voice. “What did you say?”
Max coughed, hiding a laugh as he turned around to pick up his mug of coffee. You shot Kika a look that screamed help me and she didn’t even hesitate to hop up from the barstool and nod at the girls.
“Everyone ready?” She asked, earning a few replies as they gathered up their things for a day in town. "Vamos."
You watched in amusement before turning to Max, not really in the mood to leave him and he seemed to share those feelings, judging by the look on his face. His eyes flickered across your face, like he was trying to memorise it and you leaned into him.
“I’ll see you later?” He asked, like it was ever a question, watching you nod. He handed you the toast you’d prepared, giving you a look. “Eat up before you go.”
You tried to act like that small gesture didn’t make your heart absolutely crumble into ashes, not having the strength to refrain yourself from standing on your toes to press a kiss to his mouth.
“What the fuck?” Came Charles’ voice from somewhere and you laughed into Max’s lips before pulling back.
Max gave your behind a small pat and you turned around to leave the kitchen, thinking that you couldn’t wait to be back home.
5K notes · View notes
aidaronan · 1 year
Text
The years go by. The retail jobs that Steve thinks are temporary keep piling up, but he has no idea what else to do with his life so he just keeps on keeping on.
Until a large tree falls on the lawn of the little house he managed to buy and he gets the quote on removal and the number literally hurts his soul.
He buys a small chainsaw instead. Over the course of a few weeks, he gets most of the branches cut up. He collects some large rocks from down by the quarry and digs out a fire pit in his backyard. On his days off, his friends come over and they sit out back and have a few beers. The pile of wood dwindles. The giant trunk is another story though. His chainsaw isn't big enough for it. Burning it would take forever, and Steve's terrified he'd disappoint Smoky the Bear. He's at a loss.
Until he sees another giant trunk in someone's yard carved into a bear.
He knows what to do then. Not a bear, but something else. Through trial and error, the trunk becomes the rough shape of a woman, the remnants of the branches like a crown on her head. It's not as amazing as the bear he saw, but it's his. He finds he loves the smell of sawdust and the feeling of creating something.
Just like that, Steve realizes what he wants to do. It takes several months and a lot of yard sales, but he scrounges up the tools he needs to start woodworking. He learns to measure twice and cut once. He makes tables and chairs and carves them with art and designs that get better and better the more he learns. Shockingly, people actually buy his pieces.
Even more shocking comes the realization that he's making enough money to do it full time. He puts in his two weeks notice at Melvald's and hands in his assistant manager badge.
He's not sure he's happy, but he is content. It feels good to work hard and actually have things to show for it. It also feels good to work muscles he hasn't used since high school. He carries on for a few years like that, creating and learning and creating some more. Then Eddie Munson blows back into town. Invited back so Hawkins can have their most famous alumnus sing the national anthem at homecoming. Steve's honestly surprised he shows at all. "Can't believe you didn't tell them kiss your hairy ass," Steve says. Because of course Eddie ends up around his fire pit, sipping on Steve's cheap beer like he doesn't have three Grammy awards on his mantel. The years fall away with each drink, reminding Steve of just how much it had hurt when Eddie left. He'd wanted Eddie so bad back then, more than he'd ever wanted anyone. He can feel the echoes of that deep ache across time.
"Pfft. Don't you know all famous people wax our asses now? All the rage in LA." Eddie cuts a look at him and smirks when Steve rolls his eyes, grateful for the lighthearted moment to snap him out of his maudlin nostalgia. "Really though I thought about it, but then I thought it would be way funnier to donate a metric fuckton of money to Hawkins High with the stipulation that it go to the theater and band programs. Kind of bummed they couldn't honor my other request though."
"Which was?"
"My old Hellfire throne. I miss her, but apparently she's not around anymore. Something about water damage."
"Oh yeah. Water main busted a few years back and flooded the theater. I remember that." "Yeah. Had to settle for the promise they'd make a game lounge and stock it with all the supplies a budding young nerd needs."
"That's really nice, Eds."
Eddie shrugs. "I've been known to be nice on occasion. You'll come to homecoming, right? Moral support?"
Steve hasn't been to homecoming in years because he sees the other people who stayed in town all the time, and he has no interest in seeing the people who didn't. He can only answer the same questions so many times. Oh, I'm doing woodwork now. Yep, I still live right here. Nope, still not married, no kids.
He goes though, and he answers the uncomfortable questions. Because Eddie asked him to. Because no matter how long it's been, Steve can't deny that some part of him still...
He says goodbye after, and Eddie leaves again, and Steve tries not to think about that too much in the following days.
He's halfway into the project before he realizes what he's building. He'd seen Eddie's throne quite a few times back when. What he doesn't have memories of, he makes up. He adds his own touches too, making it a throne fit for a rock star, a nerd, a friend.
He carves ornate patterns, he creates scenes of dragons being beaten back by a man with a guitar, crowds of people that could be knights or concertgoers.
It's his favorite piece he's ever done, and his hands are shaking when he dials Eddie's number. He gets an answering machine and stumbles through a message.
"I made you something. I guess it's kind of silly, but it's here in Hawkins if you want it. Or I'm sure you can afford the shipping if you don't want to come. Just, I made you a chair. It's more of a... Well, you'll see. Unless you don't want to... It's Steve by the way." He hangs up before he can embarrass himself even more.
Eddie doesn't call him back. One day passes and then another. Steve tries not to let it get to him. He works on orders and new projects. He enjoys his little backyard oasis. He rents a few movies and thinks they're okay.
He's debarking some wood in his driveway when the rental car pulls up, Eddie stepping out in ripped jeans and an old Metallica tee. "Hi again, Stevie."
"Oh." Steve clears his throat. "The thing's in the garage. I'll..."
Eddie doesn't say anything for a long time, circling the throne, running his tattooed fingers over each little detail.
"You made this whole thing?"
"I did."
"For me?" Eddie looks at him then, one hand still touching the wood like he doesn't want to let go. Even under the harsh lights of the garage, his eyes are such a warm shade of brown that Steve forgets to breathe.
He nods. "For you."
"Why?"
There are a hundred answers Steve could give, but he spent so long not knowing who he was or who he wanted to be. Too long. "Because you'll always be the one that got away. Because some part of me will always want to make you smile no matter how long it's been."
Eddie falls into the throne like he just got the wind knocked out of him.
"You don't have to respond to that," Steve says. "You can just say thank you and take the chair."
"I can." Eddie blows out a breath. "But that would be incredibly stupid considering half my early ballads are about you."
"What?" Unfair. Steve doesn't have a chair to fall into.
"Oh sure, I changed the hes to shes for a while there because..." Eddie waves his hand. "But they're about you, Steve. God, I should've asked you out. I just thought..."
Hearing those words is a lot like seeing that carved bear all over again, something clicking into place that wasn't quite right before.
"Go out with me now then," Steve says. "Or stay in. I've got a frozen lasagna and I rented Contact."
"Steve Harrington? Asking Eddie 'the Freak' Munson on a date? Did hell freeze over?"
"Pfft." Steve takes a step closer toward what he wants most. "Hell froze over in 1986, Eddie. You were there."
Five months and a lot of long distance phone bills later, Steve opens Harrington Woodworking in Los Angeles. That same day, Eddie takes photos for Rolling Stone posing in an ornate throne in his living room. He tells the reporter exactly who made it and what he means. At concerts, he starts singing those ballads the way he always wanted to. More often than not, Steve stands in the wings singing along.
7K notes · View notes
b0xerdancer-writes · 4 days
Text
Baring Teeth
Azriel x Archeron!Reader
Summary: Azriel and reader are mates, after what has felt like a lifetime to them with how fast life has seemed to move Azriel finds himself wanting what his brothers have, his mate having been through hell and back is willing to give him whatever she can.
Warnings: Some smut scenes, death, violence, war, torture, blood, inappropriate language and jokes, this is entirely an 18+ work.
Word Count: 14,099
Notes: This was meant to be that Azriel baby fever fic from the get-go, but I got sidetracked, it gets there eventually. Lemme know if you would like to see a part 2!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you asked Azriel he was anything but a jealous male, if you asked his mate however she would tell you it was circumstantial at best.
It had been only a handful of years since my sisters had destroyed the cauldron and the king of Hybern but life seemed to want to fasten its pace. I couldn’t say I didn't blame it for wanting too either.  Being born between Nesta and Elain always had its challenges, my mother favored Nesta as the first born and both of my parents always doted on Elain for her sweet, caring, and gentle nature; I had always just been there neither parent cared what I did and that was amplified when Feyre was born. I used the opportunity to learn something unique for my family, how to wield a sword, to fight, to kill. I used the opportunity to learn from guards, sell swords, mercenaries, and what teachers were available to me. 
So when my family lost all of their money I announced I’d be working as a sellsword, Nesta had thrown a fit about it but at this point she threw a fit about everything. I had a small amount of gold stashed for myself so when my parents finally decided to marry me off I’d run and buy all the things I needed to start my career as a sellsword, or mercenary, or just whatever I ended up becoming; I’d announced I was going into town and slipped out the door with the bag of coins strapped to my waist. I had bought a few furs, a good quality sword that would get me through till I could buy a better one, some bags I was able to strap across my body, and some easy traveling clothes, and some small pieces of leather. I knew if I was going to be gone they would need some way to be able to get food; I split my coin down the middle and used half of what I had left to buy them food, the other half I’d save for travel expenses. 
I dropped the food off with my sisters and father, then slipped back out the door after a quick goodbye and made my way towards one of the nobles' nearest estates. One of my teachers had written to me when he found out about my family's misfortune and told me he was stationed there and would recommend me to the lord he worked for, all I had to do was show up. I Showed up like he said, not to the front door but to the side door, the servants quarters and there I was greeted by my teacher and some other for hire guards who all coaxed me in with pats on my back and one went to fetch the head of staffing. It was an easily acquired job with a recommendation from my teacher and the other guards that had greeted me at the door, an even easier job to perform with good pay; simple patrols and hunting shifts at 50 gold a day. 
While I was there the barracks became my home, the other sellswords and mercs became family and before I knew it I was going out with them on the days we were released and getting drinks and celebrating. I had a pretty good stash of gold saved up, kept it in a nice bag that my belt strapped through and kept it firmly against my hip, I would write to my sisters and send them 10 gold once a week to help keep them fed. If I sent more I knew Nesta or Elain would commandeer it and use it on useless things, they could at least stock up on a good amount of fillers like rice or barley with 10 gold.
 They never wrote back, it was probably a good thing in hindsight. Had any of them mentioned Feyre being taken by the fae I would have gone right after her, but there was no mention of it to me until I got a letter from Nesta one day saying they had been moved into a new estate and father’s fortune had been restored by some sheer dumb luck. I wrote back congratulating them but making them aware I had no intention of giving up my post; then the next letter came written by Nesta again it had said something was wrong with feyre, telling the story of what had actually happened while I was gone. It had told me that Feyre had been taken by some fae monster that then she had returned after that first letter had been sent to me but had to leave again to go after some male she loved, but that this time she called the same male she left for the first time a monster  and had appeared at the estates doorstep with three males on her heels and asked for us to hear them out. I didn’t bother writing back, Nesta had sent that letter the same day. If I took a horse I’d be at where they mentioned their estate was within two hours, so I stepped down from my post and was told if I ever needed it to come right on back to them; I set out towards my family's estate with a large fur on my back to battle the chill winds, when I arrived a staff member took the horse and showed me inside. 
Nesta was the first to greet me, pulling me in for a hug and telling me how proud she was that I made something of myself; she told me how tense the atmosphere had been since Feyre showed up with the males, that feyre was now a member of the fae and she had somehow been changed into one of them. I had nothing against the civil fae but we were close enough to the wall some strays would slip through and tear apart weaker humans,  I had helped the barracks crew take down some rogues that slipped past the wall on a few occasions; nothing big, nagas as I had been told were the most common ones we faced. 
Stepping into the room elain squealed and buried herself into my side and the fur I wore, I heard Feyre call out to me with hesitancy as her eyes raked over the small scars the littered my exposed skin from the fights in the woods or sparring accidents; I motioned her over and pulled her into a hug, fae or not she was still my family and still my baby sister. The fae behind her had introduced themselves and their positions, they seemed to have no qualm with me but with Nesta and Elain. One wrong comment sent Elain into tears while she profusely apologized to Feyre, the two had their moment but it didn’t set right with me; yes they were in the wrong for doing nothing while Feyre hunted almost daily for them and I was off working, but they very obviously realized they had fucked up and were in the wrong. It did not mean they got to insult my family and I made sure they knew that, one of the males the tallest with the biggest wings there that I would later come to know as Azriel, seemed amused with my wild and protective temper and applauded me for it. 
They later left with promise to come back soon, I busied myself with the guards and servants we had around the estate by leading patrols and hunting parties myself; I stayed out of most of their business so the next time I saw them  I had just returned from a hunting party, dragging a decent sized deer to the kitchen. The tall male found me there in the kitchen caught off guard when he found me there, sleeves rolled up and cloak tossed to the size with a butcher knife in my hand while dismembering the deer; he had introduced himself to me then, as Azriel, and offered to help. I tossed him the hide and asked him to bring it out back, string it up on the dry rack. He agreed, I’d get around to curing the skin of the hide after I finished drying and preparing the rest of the meat; when he returned I had already stored all the meat away and was by the sink basin washing the deers dark blood from off my hands, I looked up at him from the corner of my eye and watched as his breath hitched and he quickly excused himself from the room. 
Nesta was the one who collected me when the queens were on their way, a new member had joined us in the living room that I had not recognized but she introduced herself as Mor; I stood silently like a guard myself when the human guards joined us, silently judging them as my sister and ‘her mate’ as she had called him explained to the queens what they needed. The meeting was surprisingly quick, the queens leaving just as quickly as they had arrived. We ate dinner together like a family that night, Azriel made small talk with me about my skills and training; I had to admit to myself that I found it endearing no one else even my sisters cared or dared, I wasn’t sure which  it exactly was with them, to ask me about it.
They left the next morning, and life returned to normal once the servants themselves returned; Oftentimes I got incredulous looks for being in the back working on my pelts or  sparring with the dummy I had ordered set up when I returned to the estate, other times the children of the servants were more than ecstatic to ask me of tales I had experienced within the woods. I had ended up using that deer hide in my cloaks, something about it was sentimental to me, though I couldn’t quite place why. 
A few weeks later, my nerves were on end, like the times when the entire barracks would ride out together hunting a naga or other rogue beast and we weren’t quite sure where they were lurking. I didn’t bother changing out of my armor and cloak. I should’ve trusted my gut that night, as I was unable to find sleep easily and only able to fall asleep with my blade at my side and a dagger under my pillow. I awoke to screaming from down the hall, Elain’s scream, I burst out of my room blade in hand knocking a few of them off their feet as the door collided with them.
One thing that had been instilled into me over the time with my teachers was the fact the bigger you looked the more intimidating you could be, my piled furs and cloak were an extension of that teaching; a large black wolf pelt was my crowning piece on my shoulders the, the deer hanging over my shoulders under that like a shawl. 
The fae turned to look at me in the faint light and darkness of our home, needless to say the illusion I was aiming for had worked on them as I heard several yell, “Beast!”, in alarm at me. And beast I was, I had taken down and decapitated several of them before they finally apprehended me in my war path to get to Elain and Nesta, the latter I realized had been gagged and I saw blood on her face; ever the fighter she was I had seen one of them holding her nursing one of his hands over the other and had surmised she had bitten him, and taken a chunk from his hand. I’d have to applaud her eventually for that, it was genius thinking and she was always so much smarter than she let on. They doused us with some sort of potion or substance that swept Elain under immediately, Nesta fought off the sleep as much as she could but after a few seconds went under herself; I fought against them straining and struggling, teeth bared, fighting off the sleep that coaxed me at the edges of my mind till they had to use another dose to put me under.
I awoke to chaos. So much was happening. Azriel and Cassian were insanely injured but still trying to fight the bane in their systems to crawl to us. Feyre bawling. Two males and a female I didn’t recognize beside her. The male I had been introduced to as Rhysand was in pain himself. A large male in the center of the room. Two guards either side of Elain hauling her up. A large thing that didn't seem natural in the center of the room. Nesta had three guards around her. I had seven. The seven I realized were on edge around me, made uneasy by me. Made uneasy even though I was restrained in any way they could think of. I felt like a beast surveying its options of prey to hunt. 
The large male in the center, realizing all of us were finally awake, finally introduced himself as the King of Hybern, a name I recognized Azriel’s family talking about at the meeting. The King introduced the strange object as ‘The Cauldron’, Azriel had mentioned it was something akin to a god to them. Not natural indeed. He motioned for the guards to bring Elain forward as he explained his plan, the guards raised her over the large pot; she screamed and thrashed in their grip, red marks and bruises already appearing on her skin. I saw red. I shot forward, catching all the guards around me by surprise as they scrambled to get ahold of my restraints and chains; they stopped me just as Elain went under, my arms were pinned behind my back by a chain and I snarled, insults and threats falling from my mouth. I heard Nesta react similarly yet not as violently as I was, seemingly stunned by everything going on, or maybe it was just her cold mask refusing to let the King and our enemies see how much she was fazed.
The king simply let out a dark laugh. “The feral beast bares her teeth.” It was meant as a condescending remark.
They pulled Elain out of the cauldron and I jolted forward towards her again, catching the ones holding my chains off guard and several of them fell to the floor from the sudden jerk forward that caused them to lose their footing. One of the males at Feyre’s side mumbled something I didn’t catch thanks to the blood pounding in my ears, and my attention caught on him and the blondes beside him; he straightened eyes, or eye, wide and he stumbled back. I turned my attention back to the so-called ‘King’, promises of death dripping like venom from my teeth; I barely caught the fact Rhys or maybe it was Mor had pulled Elain to their side of the room. 
The King tilted his head at me, an amused smile on his face as he spoke to me. “You want to behave like a beast? So be it.” He turned his attention to the seven around me. “Get her in that cauldron I don’t care how.” 
A chorus of yes sirs surrounded me and the chains began to dig into my skin as they tried to pull me towards the over-sized cooking pot.  I had just started to lose my footing when a weak call came from my right, giving me just enough motivation to regain it.
“Fight them! You’ve taken down worse things than them! They are nothing compared to those Nagas in the woods! Come on! I believe in you! Show them those techniques you told me about!” Azriel had  braced himself on one elbow wincing against the fae bane in his system. 
I nodded and braced myself the best I could, the guards stood on the other side of the pot as me and I turned slightly as I let out a snarl like smile. They looked between each other in worry as I dug my boots into the ground and hauled ass the other direction, dragging one of them too close to the cauldron they tripped, losing control of the chain and fell in screaming himself. One of the others dropped a chain to the floor, giving me more breathing room, to help the screaming male out of the pot; he trashed on the floor ripping his armor off exposing his skin that had begun boiling and simply falling off.
The others tightened their grip on my chains but were distracted by the horror of the scene, the one that had helped him out screamed and began throwing up. I heard Nesta cheer behind me, and I turned my attention to what seemed like the now weakest guard holding my chains; I charged forward, the male screamed in horror as I caught him off guard and took a page out of Nestas book and sunk my teeth into his throat. Just as I was expecting the guards on the opposite side pulled violently and assisted me in pulling his throat out, I wasn’t going to go down easy, and by whatever gods did exist it was going to be violent and bloody. He grasped his hollowed throat and tried to scream as he collapsed and I spit the wad of torn flesh towards the King’s feet; I was down to four guards , but what I didn’t account for was the backwards motion created by the other 3 guards.
I had collided with the side of the cauldron and howled out in pain, the guards took the opportunity to haul me up; I tried thrashing but every time I moved pain shot through my body. Unable to struggle against the water as it pulled me in I snapped at the guard trying to push my head under’s hand, taking a few fingers with me as I finally submerged. 
It was dark for a moment, then I was in an open room able to stand on my feet and move without pain. I heard shuffling somewhere opposite me, the more I moved forward so did it; till I was face to face with a giant beast, black and golden brown, eyes that seemed to look into my soul, and grand antlers with flesh hanging from them. The sickening feeling like I was looking in a mirror sunk into my chest, when I moved the beast moved. 
Then it finally spoke, yet it didn’t at the same time. Something ancient I couldn't understand or speak. Yet intrinsically I knew what it was asking me. That if my true nature was like that of the beast itself, that I should just give in. That if I did I would bring all my enemies to their knees, take them all to their graves. It asked if I would accept that part of me, asked if I would accept its offer of power. I nodded, and it stepped forward lowering its head to my level. I stepped forward meeting it there in the middle of the never ending, ethereal space. It pressed its head against me, and then I was taking a large gasping breath as I felt my bones break and reforge, a blinding pain before I could see detail so much sharper then I had been able to, could hear everything as every sense in me heightened. I felt stronger, felt faster, like one of the beasts I hunted in the woods with my friends in the barracks. Then I felt the inky thickness of the Cauldrons water again, I could see my own hands and claws as I reached out and felt the cool metal; I felt the chains around me tighten again ever so slightly before they fell away as I began to haul myself from the black water. It sloshed and spilled over onto the floor as I emerged, blacker than the depths of the shadows that followed me through the woods in the late hours of the night.
I swallowed a breath as I hauled myself over the edge of the cauldron and finally collapsed on the floor; I used my hands to keep me from fully collapsing as I kneeled there and looked up at the King, a deadly promise in my eyes as I snarled a simple “Your head will be mine and I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”
My hair hung in my face, droplets of black water slowly fading to a normal color as I dried, and he smiled in amusement. “Once a beast always a beast.”
I took a breath and looked down at the puddle on the floor, my firs were still wrapped around me though sopping wet but it wasn’t my obviously messed up appearance that shocked me, but the eyes that looked back at me that did. Thin slits like the beast I had seen within those waters stared back, the color still my own but so much different. I heard Azriel call out for me in a strangled noise, I turned my attention sharply towards him to find him looking devastated; I wanted to comfort him, he was such a good male and I was in so much pain I was exhausted, I hauled myself shakily to my feet barely able to make it to him as I collapsed at his side. Nesta called out to me as my vision began to fade, and I saw Cassian lurch forward despite the threat to his life as he screamed for her. I lost my vision just ;as she was going under’ the simple threat to the king, so much calmer than  my own, made me smile before I passed out.
I had despised waking up in places I was unfamiliar with, I shot up with a growl before wincing and clutching my side. A small female attempted to calm me down to no avail, till I heard Azriel’s weak voice through the haze. 
“Hey Wildling, woah, woah, they are just trying to help. They’re our healers. You're in the Night Court, remember me telling you about this place?” He was on a cot in just his leather pants, a large white bandage around his waist, chest, over one shoulder, and around his massive wings.
I nodded and looked around slowly, all the fae were looking at me terrified and on edge, like they would run from the room at the slightest growl from me.
“Sorry, just caught by surprise.” I mumbled and looked down at the bandages around my own waist, they covered my chest and entire torso.
I didn’t really care about modesty, you live with men for long enough especially mercs and sellsword men that you stop caring, and they stop caring about your own body. Many times I hade changed into my uniform or hunting clothes in front of them while we were all getting ready for the day's assignments. I scanned over the bandages no blood leaked through but everytime I moved It hurt, everytime I took too deep a breath it hurt. 
“I’m sure from your experience you can gather what happened?” Azriel’s voice was soft, and a comfort. I wouldn’t admit it, yet anyways until I found out everything that was going on, but I had started to consider him a friend or maybe something even more; I mean those wings were fascinating and from the time we aparred in the back he had experience and when my knee had met his crotch in a low blow, after all who fought fair anymore, he was well endowed. 
“I’m one of you now, aren’t I? Elain and Nesta too, just like Feyre.” I quirked a brow at him and he nodded.
“And as for your injuries, what do you assume happened?” He quirked a brow right back at me, a test of my knowledge like we had done with sparring.
“Broken ribs? That pull back had to have enough force to break them, especially when I collided with the cauldron. Severe bruising and maybe even some large gashes? Those chains were tight enough there had to be at least major bruising.” I winced as I adjusted how I was seated.
He nodded with a smile. “Correct to an extent, good job wildling.” His wings flared as he adjusted himself, and I wanted to move forward and help him adjust slow enough he wouldn't hurt himself. 
He smiled when I extended my hand to stop him. “Hey im okay, i'm more worried about you right now, I’ve been shot down from the sky with fae bane arrows and survived it. I'll be fine. You however are the one I’m worried about, those chains were tugged back tight enough it had shattered your ribcage and  popped at least one of your lungs. Thankfully the fae healing kicked in for you fast enough to keep you alive.”
I nodded in stunned silence. “Just sore and it hurts to move i. Sone directions, I'm breathing fine now.” 
“Good! Madja, shes our lead healer here, was worried your healing wouldnt work fast enough since you were freshly made.” Azriel told me in a worried tone, but I could feel it in my chest, feel just how worried he was in my heart; could feel his emotions as well as my own.
I tilted my head in confusion and reached for where I felt him in my chest, my brows furrowed and he straightened.
“Are you okay?” He looked anxious like he was about to call for one of the nurses to help me.
“Im fine just confused? You told me all that information in a worried tone but I felt it here,” I motioned to my chest, “Like it was my own emotion.” 
Small gasps echoed across the room and the small nurses fled. Azriel rose from his bed slowly and came to sit at the edge of mine. 
“You feel it too then.” He spoke softly to me like he was calming a storm. “I wasnt going to mention it to you right away, both Nesta and Elain didn’t have the best reactions to suddenly having mates.”  
“Mates?” I tilted my head quizzically at him. “I’ve heard the word, though I’m not a hundred percent sure what that means or what is expected of me.” 
He placed his hand on mine. “Like Feyre and Rhys right?” I nodded. “The Mother, you remember her right? I mentioned she was another one of our ‘gods’ as well.” I nodded again, listening intently. 
“Well,” he hummed trying to consider how to word something.”She blesses some fae with mates, or whats called ‘the mating bond’ its a soulbond between two people normally between two fae. Though admittedly both Rhys and I felt it with you and Feyre while you were still humans.”
I moved to squeeze his hand softly with my own. “So, our souls are intertwined with the others?”
He nodded. “That's one way to put it,while you didnt feel it snap till you were turned most likely, i felt it that day I walked into the kitchen to find you washing the blood off your arms and hands. You were just, how do I put it into words, Ethereally beautiful? Darkly enchanting? I don’t know how to word it but you get the picture. I felt the bond snap in my chest and I almost lost myself to the emotions when you looked up at me the way you did, like a flirtatious taunt.”
A blush crept up his face and I felt it creep up my own. I felt his adoration seep into my own chest again and I looked up at him in pure adoration back. “How do you do that?” 
“Do what?” He smiled.
“Make me feel what you’re feeling?” I furrowed my brows for a second as I tried to send my emotions to him, to show him how I’ve felt about him for a while now without realizing it.
He moved his hand to his own chest, and tears welled in his eyes. “I didn’t even have to explain it to you, see? You’ve already picked it up. All the love you're pushing through to me. Good Job wildling.”
I smiled but then frowned. “I get the physical connection of it now but what is expected of me?”
He smiled and caressed my face gently, thumb running over my cheek bone. “As of right now? Nothing. But if you decide you want to accept it or reject it, then we will have more to discuss.” 
I nodded and went to open my mouth but he interrupted me first. “I don’t want you to make a decision right now. Think on it for awhile, process all the changes to your life first okay wildling?” 
He smiled sadly and I nodded. I could feel his sadness through the bond though I could tell he wasn't trying to make me feel it, I just could, probably easier than most I assumed since every other sense of mine was heightened. A soft knock rasped against the door and my attention shot to it, Azriel called for whoever it was to come in. Rhys had pushed his head in followed by his entire body.
He nodded at the two of us. “I see you’re both doing well, I owe the both of you an explanation and update on everything.”
So we sat, we sat and listened as Rhys gave us the rundown. How and why Feyre was in the spring court, how she was our inside girl, how eventually she would return. Explained to us Cassian was still out, having experienced a higher dose of fae bane than Azriel, but while he was healing slowly he was still healing and would be okay. Then he finally turned his attention solely on me and gave me a rundown on Nesta and Elain’s health. I must have pushed my grief down the bond to Azriel before the tears had even reached my eyes, because he was already comforting me when the dam burst. Rhys stood silent in front of us, before he congratulated us on our bond and offered me any assistance I would need in adjusting or helping my sisters adjust to the massive change in our lives. Eventually he left ,after some small talk with Azriel, to check on Cassian.
Then it was just me and Azriel again, for the next few weeks it stayed just me and Azriel in our small medical room with check ins from Rhys and Madja. We eventually  got the clear and along with that cane the announcement Cassian was awake, we beelined it to his room; he was still on bed rest and would be for the next handful of days as they double checked everything had healed properly and assessed the damage. I was shown to my room right next door to Azriel’s, inside a neatly wrapped box in a blue bow sat on the foot of my bed.
“I asked Rhys to pick it up for me.” He smiled and sent a wave of adoration into my chest.
Opening the box I found a set of folded clothing black pants and a flowy comfy dark blue shirt. I sent a wave of appreciation his way and fingered the silky fabric. “Thank you Az, this is… probably the nicest set of clothing I’ve ever had.”
“Your welcome wildling.” He leaned down to press his forehead to my shoulder. His actions caught me by surprise and nearly had me crying, it was such a pure act of surrender and love; my breath caught in my throat and I had to swallow back sobs as I moved one hand to caress what I could reach for the male.
I had made up my mind then and there what my answer to the bond would be, if anyone could guide me and my ways through the sudden changes it was him. I stepped forward and he furrowed his brows but I turned and planted a kiss on his lips. He let out a mixture of a cry and a whimper when I pulled away, his eyes wide and watery; I turned back towards the clothes, not thinking about the implications as I stripped from my current ones and bandages but was stopped before I could step into the new ones laid out in front of me. 
Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as he ran a light touch across a lingering bruise on my skin, goosebumps shot up my skin in a wave of chills that caused me to flinch and wince. Azriel growled softly at the thought of me in pain, or at least that's the impression I got from his side of the bond. 
He wrapped himself around me, his hands finding purchase on my chest, causing me to swat at him with a light hearted hiss.
He grumbled back at me, rubbing his hand where I had smacked him in mock defeat. “You shouldn’t be so casual about stripping then. Especially  being as hurt as you are, the urge to just protect you and curl up around you is a bit overwhelming right now.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to my clothes, finally stepping into the new ones. “This is nothing compared to what it used to be like in the barracks.”
“What do you mean?” It was slightly growled out, the tiniest wave of jealousy seeping from his soul to mine. 
Without thinking about what he meant or the new emotions in my chest I responded to him. “There were maybe 10-15 of us in the barracks total, I was the only female. Not necessarily common amongst sellswords, yet I kept up with all of them. You all become close like family; I'm sure you get how that feels, I mean you, Cass, and Rhys are like that. But after a point you all just change infront of each other and no one really looks or cares anymore, it just becomes natural, part of the routine in the morning.” 
I shrugged it off as I shrugged my shirt over my shoulders, still slightly sore when I stretched my arms above my head. Azriel growled but tried to stop himself, an attempt to remember I hadn’t accepted the bond yet so he had no reason to be feeling jealous and territorial. “Ah, I see, I get what you’re saying though I admit I am a bit envious that 10 or 15 males have seen you shirtless before I did.” 
I tried, I really did, to prevent the chuckle that fell from my lips. Azriel growled playfully in response. It was comfortable whatever we had, between all their meetings at the house and the now formed bond between us, I felt safe around him. Behind him neatly hung my cloak and furs, sparkling and pristine as the days I had cured them; yet somehow bigger, I understood with a simple what had happened: they had changed with me.
He caught where my eyes had fallen and smiled at me brightly. “Oh! Rhys said he would bring them to your room, I noticed they were different too. You went into the cauldron small yet ferocious enough you unsettled them, they couldn’t figure out how you were outsmarting them or how you had already killed so many of their comrades. But when you came out, they understood how and why. The cauldron however it forged your body anew, decided that for however ferocious and ambitious you were, you would need a bigger vessel to do it in.” 
I hadn’t realized it yet but I only stood a few inches shorter than Azriel did now, eye level with his chin and throat; when before I was much shorter, level to his chest at most. It was then that I caught my reflection in the mirror, my features had indeed sharpened or elongated in spots and I gave off a predatory air about myself without even trying; Azriel stood behind me as I took the sight in. While I knew he was no high lord, the way in which he carried himself said otherwise, in the mirror, I realized we looked like the Lord of shadow and the beast that lurked just within it. A display I noted, however beautiful it was just between us, would have horrified onlookers if it was meant to intimidate. A thought I found quite pleasing.
He rested his head on my shoulder and I let out a low purr in response to the imagery in the mirror. “So. Let's say if I were to accept this bond.” He perked up. “What would be expected or asked of me? What would the process of accepting it be?” 
His eyes met mine in the mirror, the smallest change in his scent had alerted me to what affect my questions had on him. A small enough change that if my senses hadn’t heightened more than even Azriel or Rhys’s that I wouldn’t have caught it. 
“If you were to accept it,” he crooned, “then my answer would stay the same, I expect nothing of you except to accept my love for you and for you to return it back to me. I have waited centuries to find my mate, and you are so new to the world of the fae I want you to be able to explore it but I also want to be a guiding hand for you to do so. As you know I’m Rhys’s spymaster. I may be gone on missions for up to a week at a time, if you wish I can train you even more and you can eventually join me on them.” His shadows swirled at my feet, I had learned to accept them as an extension of himself from the first time we met, where he went they followed. “Is that acceptable?”
I nodded, a warmth in my chest. “And how would consummating the bond work?” A low purr rumbled from my own chest that ended in his own.
“It's a real simple process, a simple ritual, only differing slightly from the human tradition of marriage. Same significance just without rings.” He placed a kiss on my neck before continuing. “One of us cooks for the other, and presents it to the other to eat. Normally it’s something simple, seeing as the hormones and instincts start to affect us from the first bite we normally can’t scarf a whole meal down. Feyre made Rhys soup. Once the food has been consumed, like I said instincts and hormones take us over, reverting us to nothing more than feral creatures intent on fucking our mates till we collapse. That phase normally takes about a week, then it's a phase of adjusting to life together, heightened emotions, territorial instincts, and being inseparable till the bond calms. That phase however differs between mates.” His eyes bore into me in the mirror, the gold flecks in his hazel eyes sparkled in a feral amusement at my reactions as he spoke.
“So all I’d have to do is cook you something?”I tilted my head giving him more access to my neck as he slowly dragged his lips across the open space, in slow tension filled kisses.
“It depends,” He smirked at me, his canine digging ever so slightly into my skin. “On if you had the intention of accepting the bond or not. You have to make and serve me the food with the intention of accepting the bond.”
I shuddered under him. “I take it Rhys has given you some time off from work, to recover and until Feyre updates us on the situation?” 
“Possibly.” He nipped at my neck trying to elicit the same shudder as earlier. “Why do you ask?”
I wanted to groan at him. “Maybe I was considering consummating it. But since you won’t give me a straight answer we will have to wait and see.” 
I offered him a smirk back only for it to die on my face quickly, between the heat in his eyes and the growl that rose from his chest.
“Wildling.” He warned, “Do not toy with me, if you have the intent to accept the bond, tell me here and now. If you intend to cook for me I will march you straight to the kitchen and barge into Rhys’s office right now to tell him I’ll be taking the week off entirely.” 
I swallowed a shaky breath at the pure power and intimidation he oozed when growling like that, his nose twitched and I assumed he picked up the shift in my scent. “So tell me wildling, do you intend to accept it?” 
I swallowed and nodded. “Yes, I do.” It was shaky and broken up as I tried to regain my composure.
“Good” That same growl again, had my knees weakening. “Then I’ll show you to the kitchen.”
And so he did, he led me through the winding halls of the house till we were in the large kitchen and he dismissed himself quickly with a kiss lingering on my forehead. I shuffled through the cabinets noting ingredients as I went, trying to figure out something I could make. Meat, I knew how to cook different meats, had hunted and cooked several different kinds of it, whatever I made him I decided I wanted to have meat in it. Beef I thought or some chicken, I jumped out of my boots when a bundle wrapped in brown butcher paper appeared on the counter in front of me; the house was sentient Azriel had told me but I didn’t think it meant like this. 
I unwrapped the bundle, white meat and from the looks of it chicken. Easy to cook, easy to pair with any ingredients I found lying around; my attention was drawn towards a fruit bowl, a lemon topping the pile of fruits. How amusing I thought, for the fae to have fruits from the human lands; only when I had pulled a knife from the wooden block and had split the lemon in half did I realize it wasn’t just a lemon, the taste and smell of it were both much sweeter and stronger yet still held a sour note. I found the spice cabinet and went through it, pulling everything I wanted out; a lemon pepper chicken I decided, simple yet enough to keep his energy up.
I had a tendency to keep my guard up unless I was in a place I ultimately felt safe and with Azriel just down the hall I felt safe enough to lose myself in cooking, it was something I had learned I had enjoyed when I was working in the barracks; I’d hunt down whatever tomorrow’s dinner would be then help the chefs prepare it for storage, then take the hides to be cured and turned into blankets for the barracks or depending on the quality of the pelt. Then when I returned to the kitchen the chef would have the night's dinner out and ready to begin preparing. The chef there was an older gentleman with blonde hair that had turned mostly white by the time I met him; he walked me through everything he did, explaining why and answering any questions he had. However, due to my love for the craft I found it easy to lose focus of the world around me and let my guard down; which was fine, until it wasn’t.
I had been so distracted pan searing the chicken that even with my heightened hearing I had not heard Azriel’s approaching footsteps, he leaned against the archway the led into the kitchen from the dining room silently as I hummed and began plating the chicken; I had been cutting  the lemon into a smaller sections to drizzle it over the chicken, knife in hand I turned around to drizzle it on the plate when I heard the smallest of noises from the male. I jumped and spun towards the noise, the knife in my hand thunked into the wall an inch from where Azriel had just been leaning his head as I threw it. 
His eyes widened as he jumped away from the wall. “Mother, save me, efficiently deadly even when off guard.” 
I clasped at my chest as I panted loudly trying to catch my breath after being startled. “Fuck me! Azriel! Warn a lady!” 
He mumbled  “I'm trying.” Before actually apologizing for scaring me. 
He slid his way onto a barstool and I pushed the plate towards him, he looked between the plate and me before he cut a small piece of the chicken off. He stared at the small piece of chicken and then looked back up to me, with a small nod from me he swallowed the small piece and I could see all the emotions cross his face as he began to scarf down the rest of the small piece. His wings flared ever so slightly as he bit into the last piece on his plate and I rounded the small island, pressing myself between his massive wings, a gesture to sooth him as I felt the cooling air he normally gave off grow in temperature and sweat began to form on his brow line. Then he had finally swallowed the last piece and chugged the small glass of water I had set out to accompany his meal, I had ran my hands over his shoulders and wrapped them loosely around his neck; His hand reached up and grabbed mine before he was pulling me off him and spinning around, capturing me in a tight hug as he pressed his lips to mine. With a growl he was pulling me down the maze of halls and then we had finally reached the set of familiar large grand doors with swirls and lines that reminded me of his shadows carved into them, the small royal blue rug he used as a welcome mat slid under our feet as he pulled me into another kiss while pressing me against the door. 
He had managed to pull away enough to fumble with the door knob and finally open the door, his room greeted me with the gorgeous ash colored wooden decor accented in that same blue that matched his siphons. I took a few steps inside, he followed right behind, his shadows closing the door behind us with a click; he wrapped himself around me and his lips found purchase on my neck. I could feel everything coursing through him down the bond, my own emotions, hormones, and instincts beginning to scream louder and louder over any clear thoughts I was having. His scarred hands ,that I had found as a beautiful testament to all he had been through, ran under the soft material of the blue shirt and left goosebumps in its path.  
He slipped the shirt off over my head and spun me to face him as he dropped to his knees, pressing several open mouthed kisses to the spattering of scars that adorned my skin. The last coherent thought I had before I lost myself to the haze of the bond was that one day I would kiss over every scar that littered his own skin like he had done with mine, I’d do it as an act of devotion when he thought he wasn’t deserving of anything good in his life. 
He pushed me towards his bed, bedecked in blue silk sheets, till I finally fell back on it and he was right there at the foot of it slipping my boots off. He threw them somewhere across the room and then turned back to me with lust blown eyes, I ran my hand across his jaw line and leaned down to press a kiss against his lips; he replied with a soft moan and as he pulled away he began slipping the pants down my legs, ripping the only covering left on my body like the feral beast he currently was. His fingertips dug into the skin of my thighs as he held them apart, licking his lips with a smirk as he lapped from me like a stray hound. I can’t remember how long we were there but he repeatedly brought me crashing down over the edge on his tongue and fingers, the haze cleared ever so slightly as he threw me further up his bed and settled himself between my hips; my legs wrapped around his hips as he nipped at my neck and throat, a moan fell from my lips as he came to rest the head of his cock against my opening. 
My mouth fell open as he sheathed himself inside me, capturing my lips in his as the moan I screamed echoed off the walls of his room. My legs tightened around his hips holding him close to me as I adjusted to his size, I wasn’t a lady by any means, I had fooled around with the males in the barracks occasionally when tensions were running high after some stressful patrol or hunt but they were all nothing in comparison to the sheer mix of Azriel’s girth and length. While with my newfound growth spurt the stretch didn’t particularly hurt it was still an adjustment, my mind wandered to those nights my mind had drifted to imagining him between my legs instead of my own hand. Azriel’s name was like a prayer falling from my lips as he slammed himself into me, our moans and pants mixing together as we called out each other's names. We were there, slotted together for what felt like ages until his hips stuttered and his wings flared, finally coming undone inside of me after he had brought me repeatedly to the edge and past it.   
As he finally released inside of me, I felt the bond in our chest sing as it solidified and could then feel every ounce of pleasure he had received, if the growl that escaped his throat was any indication of him being able to feel my own, the pride he sent my way was. He finally pulled himself away from me and moved to stand, placing a kiss to my lips that I returned eagerly as he stepped into the attached bathroom. Exhaustion slowly started to come over me as I awaited the male, he returned to me and I couldn't help myself but to pull him back on top of me with another heated kiss.
He let out a mix of a growl and a laugh. “Look if we keep going down this track the bath I just drew for us will be cold by the time we are actually able to return to it.” 
I sighed and relented, letting him carry me to the bathroom where with his help we both sunk into the warm clear water. He held me against his chest and began to run his fingers through my hair as he hummed a soft melody, I started to drift off with my head on his shoulder and he happily let me. He woke me when the water started to get cold, stepping out before me he wrapped a towel around his waist then helping me out and wrapping my own towel around me. My legs were still semi-shaky so he happily elected to carry me back to the bed, dropping both towels at the foot of the bed; he pulled back the sheets letting me crawl under them he followed behind me, pulling  me to his chest we managed to get a few hours of sleep before he was slotting himself back between my legs and my hands found purchase at the spot where the membrane of his wings met his skin. The moan that left his mouth as he shuddered above me would never leave my thoughts, neither would the sensitivity of his wings.
It took us about two weeks before we were able to leave the confines of his room, finally going back to training was a relief especially after we had moved my belongings into his room earlier that morning. However Azriel was still overly territorial of me so Cassian found himself pouting as he sparred with Rhys. We had kept that routine until Azriel’s territorial behavior had lessened as long as I was within eyesight, Rhys was finally able to teach me how to control my mental shield and prevent daemati attacks. I had become a natural quickly between training with Rhys and sparring with Azriel as he furthered my teachings on fighting, we were in the middle of sparring when Rhys announced the boys would need to fetch Feyre and the friend that was accompanying her out of Spring Court. I had kissed Azriel goodbye and wished him well as he and Cassian took to the sky, I had decided to take the opportunity to fully explore the house; I had either been too entertained in Azriel, injured, or busy to fully explore it earlier.  
I pushed a semi-large door open to be greeted with isles of bookshelves, a hearth that wasn’t lit, a long table with many chairs, and a few small loveseats in front of the hearth with a small coffee table and rug. Inside sat Nesta, who scowled at me, a handful of books whose genre matched what she and Elain enjoyed reading; I had no doubt she was reading them to Elain, Rhys had kept me updated on my sister's conditions. 
“Sister…” A half-hearted acknowledgement as she turned back to the isles picking another book out.
“Nes! You look good! You could eat a bit more but-”I happily circled her taking her in before she cut me off.
“You look like you’ve adjusted to this life well.” It was a bitter acknowledgement that I did indeed look and act better than both her and Elain did right now.
 “Well, Yes I have, Azriel has been a great help with everything-” She started towards the exit and I followed behind her.
“Well, you were always the wild one, I suppose it's fitting for the beast to feel at home amongst them.” I stopped in my tracks and she pushed her way out of the library. 
“Nes..” I reached out for her but the door shut without her even looking back.
I tried to block my emotions from flooding Azriel while he was on the mission, simply sighing and turning back to the shelves around me; I plucked a random book from a shelf and made my way back to Azriel and I’s room, our room. The comforting shadows carved into his door were a happy sight as I oh so elegantly threw myself onto the black loveseat he had moved from my room into here, grabbing a fur blanket I made myself at home on the small couch with my book and some tea graciously provided to me by the house. Maybe once Feyre was back it would knock some sense into Nesta and Elain, I could hope at least.
I felt a calling from the bond an hour later, Azriel had made it back with Cassian, Feyre, and that red-headed male that had stepped towards Elain.  I bounded up the stairs, racing through the halls and then finally slid into the living room. Feyre was wrapped in Rhys’s arms and I threw myself into Azriel’s welcoming him back with a kiss, Feyre whipped her head around to  look at us; Rhys hadn’t told her we had accepted the bond yet, so when she found out she happily congratulated us. I pulled her into a crushing hug, which she tapped out of just as Rhys had called a meeting that had the entire inner circle making their way into the sitting room with us. 
Mor happily smiled and waved at me, she had watched me spar with Az and train with Rhys and when the boys just needed to absolutely deck each other she would lead me up one balcony to where  her and Amren set up a small little tanning spot. Amren, while Azriel had described her as this terrifying creature based on the energy she gave off, had only ever seemed as an equal to me. I had never felt that overwhelming power like the boys had described to me, she gave me a small smile and sat on the other side of me.  While tucked into Azriel’s side with Amren’s foot touching my own in a comfortable silence, Nesta and Elain finally entered the room. It was a long night but eventually after a heated argument between my sisters everyone was dismissed, my sisters being allowed to keep to their own devices. 
Azriel was sparring with Cassian and I had found myself holed up in Amren’s apartment with her doing puzzles when we had gotten an emergency call from Rhys. Amren and I both sped out of her apartment and we were off towards the mountain house, Azriel and Cassian picking us up and bringing us up the stairs to save us some time. We had been informed of the break in to the library, Amren and I were both on edge this understanding between us, when one was on edge then the other was too. Rhysand had asked her to comb through the rest of Velaris that night to see if any other uninvited guests were hidden amongst us, Amren invited me with her and I happily agreed. Azriel covered me with my furs and cloak and kissed my forehead as I set off to join Amren in this makeshift hunt. 
It seemed like a back to back eventful week, I had crawled back into bed beside Azriel extremely late at night or extremely early in the morning depending on how you looked at it and it felt like I had just fallen asleep when Azriel awoke me in an emergency. Azriel had hurriedly told me Adriata was under attack and I slipped into the leathers Azriel had made for me adding my  furs and cloak back onto my shoulder, next thing I know I’m in the bloodied streets of Adriata beside Mor and Feyre, Azriel and Cassian somewhere in the skies with whatever other forces Rhys had scrounge together on such short notice.  I had been pulled into a hallway by someone whose armor I recognized as the enemy held me in a chokehold and I couldn’t get a grip on them due to how they had my arms restrained, an idea graced me as their arm  rubbed against my face in my struggle. I growled before opening my mouth and latching my sharpened teeth into their arm, they screamed and relaxed their grip; it was enough of a give I was able to tear my mouth away from their arm and turn on them before tearing their head from their shoulders, a trick Amren had taught me. I rejoined their side and they both gave me a look that questioned if I was okay without the words leaving their mouth. 
Then we were back home, and I was more than thankful to rinse the blood from my face. Nesta seemed to be coming around slowly as she worked with Amren, Elian was still pale and distant but was slowly coming around with Nuala and Cerridwen. Everything had seemed like it was going okay when Rhys and my sister finally announced the meeting with the rest of the high lords. I stayed beside Azriel the entire time we were there, it had seemed like negotiations were going fairly okay, yes there was people acting suspicious of others but with a war on the horizon who wouldn’t be suspicious of others, until Eris had opened his mouth about what had happened to Mor; she had confided in me what had happened one day when I had seen the scars while we were tanning, Eris’s words had enraged me and Azriel as well. If I hadn’t been enraged I was sure Azriel could have kept his composure if it wasn’t for my added emotions screaming down the bond. 
Azriel reached across the table and had decked Eris, I stood from my own chair when Eris had landed a hit against Azriel’s cheek; a growl had ust echoed from my chest when the fight was called off. That had been the start of the downwards spiral of the first day of the meeting, Tamlin showing up and portraying my sister the way he did was enough for Azriel to defend her and when Azriel was dismissed out of hand it took everything I    had in me to not rip Tamlin’s throat out; thankfully I was still able to threaten to do it. With tensions so high the first day of the meeting was called, the rest of the circle retired to our quarters with Helion in tow.
The second day started out alright, we all thought all tensions or issues had been aired, by the mother were we wrong. Interrupting us in the middle of a thought Nesta had screamed while the hairs on the back of my neck raised and we heard a loud crackle and roar, the color had drained from everyone’s faces as we realized what that had meant, the wall had fallen. 
It had been months of war, fight after fight had everyone exhausted, and we all knew the last leg of the fight was nearing. Elain had been kidnapped by the cauldron, Nesta felt like she was guilty for opening the bridge that had let that happen; Azriel had calmed me while I destroyed the inside of the tent we all stood in at the news she had been taken, had let me get the anger that I failed to protect both of my younger sisters now. Then Feyre was concocting a plan and going into the enemy camp as Ianthe, Feyre was rescuing Elain while also rescuing an additional person with the help of Tamlin and Jurian. It was only after this we had found out Juriuan was a spy and was actually on our side, but they wouldn’t make it out with the naga-hounds on their tails and Azriel had to help rescue them.  I had been panicked enough at the thought of my sisters in danger but from across the hills I watched as a naga-hound had sunk its fangs into Azriel’s wings, the scream that left me was gut wrenching as I felt the pure pain my mate was in. 
Finally everyone was back in the camp, Azriel in the med-tent being cared for by Madja the thought of losing his ability to fly due to permanent damage to his wings looming over both of our heads. I knew how much flying meant to him, but the final day of the fight was upon us and I wasn’t going to let my sisters be on that field without me.  I had come face to face with the weaver while I was out on the field, she had stopped and acknowledged me with a small smirk before she continued on her bloody rampage. Bryaxis and the Carver were there as well, I had crossed paths with them once or twice, and we had covered each other's back, why they had done it? I haven't a clue, but I assumed they recognized the rage beginning to boil under my skin, that had finally started to rear its head as I ripped those that opposed me apart. Whatever it was that lurked under my skin snapped as I heard Nesta scream, my vision blurred and I felt that terrible snap of my bones as I blindly ran towards my sisters. 
It was as my vision cleared that I truly recognized what my gift from the cauldron was, what I had agreed to in the depths of the cauldron when faced with the beast that lurked there. I loomed over the fae scattered about the grounds around me, some shrieked in horror others stood stunned, I felt something thrashing against my mouth and gritted my teeth, biting down i felt the familiar crunch of bones yet it was all so different as a scream erupted and the taste of blood filled my mouth. I had become the same beast I faced inside the cauldron, I felt the energy that thrummed through me as I raced towards where I felt my sisters. As I reached the top of the hill I saw our father there, when had he joined the battle? How long had I been enraged?
Cassian was there too, Nesta covering his body wit her own, and the King had a sickening smirk on his face. My father stood between Nesta and the King, a pit formed in my stomach as read filled me, one paw in front of the other I tried to force my body forward. Before I can blink the King has my father’s head in his grasp, a sickening snap has me charging forward as our father slumps to the floor. A blur of movement, as my vision begins to blur again, then I’m towering over the King. I hear Elain scream as they snap closed around the King and his headless body slumps to the ground beside our fathers, his blood tasted bitter and I feel the crunch of his skull collapsing in on itself within my mouth. I let it fall from my mouth and watch as it awkwardly rolls a few inches from where it had hit the ground. Elain has a bag of medical supplies and moves to stand by Nesta and Elain, our eyes catch on eachother and there's an understanding there, they recognize me.
“Sister…’Elain barely mumbles it. 
I stand in shock before I feel the bones in my body cracking again, exhaustion crashes into me and I’m back in my fae body. I can’t even take a step before I’m collapsing and hearing yet another heartbroken scream from across the field, my vision blurs like that time back in the throne room after the cauldron. 
I hear murmuring when I finally come back too, based on the smell and colors I’m able to figure out I’m in the med tent. Azriel is in the bed to my left, still healing from his wounds the hounds caused. He looks like he's been crying and I try to push myself up to comfort him, all the voices silence all at once; the rest of the circle stands around me and Azriel, Madja helps me sit up and it's only then I realize it's not only me and Azriel there, Cassian is in a cot across from Azriel and Amren in one across from me and Rhys is being looked over while he sits on a stool in the center of the four of us. 
It's Azriel’s voice that finds its way to me first. “Hey Wildling, good to see you awake, take it easy. You overdid it out there, but you still did it, you took the king down. According to Cass, you ripped his head straight off his body. Good job Love.”
It's a bitter smile in his voice. “I remember that, what happened after? It's all a blur.”
 Cassian's astonished laugh is my answer “You ripped his head off, ended the whole thing, then you changed back from whatever that huge creature version of you was and passed out.” 
“It's what I saw when I went under in the cauldron. That beast is my gift, I guess.” I dryly answered back, still sore from the pain in my bones. 
It was then after we had cleared up what had happened with me, with the king did Feyre, Rhys, and Amren tell us what all else happened. Rhys had died, Feyre had felt the bond break and begged the lords to give him his life back. Amren had sacrificed herself for us too, she technically had died, sacrificed the ancient part of herself and was now just a regular high fae. Our father was dead, and the war was over. Life could somewhat return to normal, and I was grateful.
Finally Solstice was rolling around and everyone could breath somewhat normally, Azriel and Cassian had both healed nicely. Azriel and I had grown even closer and stronger, we had thrown around the idea that sometime after the solstice we would do an actual ceremony that mated fae did when they decided to marry. I had been ecstatic, we had cried the night he suggested it and had made love for hours, staying in bed the next day till well after the sun was over the mountain. 
I had managed to get some time to do solstice shopping today since Azriel was out on a mission from Rhys, he said he would be back before dinner tonight. It had felt like I had searched every shop, yet I still couldn't find something for Azriel. Everyone else I had gotten something, even Nesta though I knew it was unlikely she'd be there with her current habits; she had asked to be left alone so I left her alone.
For Mor I had found a pretty red night dress that was incredibly thin and strappy with a slit that easily would’ve reached her navel, for Amren a pair of sapphire earrings with a matching bracelet set, for Cassian a set of training wraps for his hands as he had taken to complaining about the new scars there bugging him, for Rhys a set of small purple cufflinks, Elain a book I had found talking about gardens and plant life throughout the courts, Feyre I had got a set of canvases made from incredibly nice materials and the stuff to make your own p[aint like she had when we were younger, Nesta a collectors set of books she had often read as a child i had to admit I asked Rhysand to get them from the human lands for me, but Azriel? I was clueless. When asked he said he wanted nothing, but by the mother I was going to get him something.  It was only after I turned into another shop that I spied the smallest thing in a glass case out of the corner of my eyes. 
Elain had asked if a tonic for his headaches from Madja would be a good gift, as the male did often battle headaches from his terrible sleep regime. There was one thing he complained about, especially more often now that the colder months were approaching; the scars on his hands would often become sore, sometimes they would become so painful he couldn’t spar or even write. In a small glass case I spied a silk pair of gloves, I knew there was an enchanter in Velaris and was quick to purchase the soft gloves. I wanted to get him soft gloves so they wouldn’t catch on the scars, a bell ringed above me as I pushed the door to the enchanter open. An older male greeted me, and I passed him the gloves explaining what kind of enchantment I wanted to put on them; he nodded knowingly and brought them into the back to get to work, he returned them to me half an hour later folded and wrapped in blue tissue paper. I thanked him cheerily and paid him generously for his work.   
Back at home I sat criss-cross on the floor, wrapping the gifts in shimmery black paper and wrapping them with blue bows. Eventually calling Rhys to hide them away with the rest of the presents like Azriel had told me to do. I decided to take a nap on the couch and Azriel had returned right on cue, well before dinner was to start. We made our way to the townhouse for dinner that was beginning to be decorated for solstice, after everyone had ate and said their goodnights Azriel swept me into the air; a tradition we had started after family dinners was to go on a flight across Velaris, I’d be clutched tight against Azriel’s chest as we soared above the city and finally back to the house on top of the mountain. I had happily curled up on his side that night as the solstice crept closer.
When finally the day of solstice had come around, Azriel had brought me down to the town house, kissed me goodbye, and informed me he would be back before dinner. The other two illyrian males disappeared with him, and I helped my sisters with preparations.  Mor and Feyre disappeared together  for a few hours, it was well after noon when everyone had finally returned from their little snowball fight; Rhys and Cassian were pouting  as they kicked the snow off their boots upon entering the town house. My mate proudly walked in behind them, head held high, very obviously the winner. I pressed a kiss to his lips and congratulated him and in response he deepened it, slipping his tongue into his my mouth for a second before Rhys and Cassian were faking gagging noises. 
Eventually the time for presents rolled around and everyone had started exchanging gifts, then Nesta had showed up in a pretty rough condition. I hugged her and pulled her to sit beside me, pressing the boxes from Elain and I into her hands; tears had welled in her eyes when she saw what I had gotten her but she caught herself before they fell and simply thanked me with a hug. Everyone else exchanged presents, save for a few of us mates, Rhys and Feyre hadnt publicly exchanged gifts and neither had Az and I. We celebrated Feyre’s birthday and then Az and I went out to Elain’s gardens, which had been decorated with strings of faelights. I asked Az if I could give him my gift first, to which he easily agreed and I presented him with the gloves.  He slipped them on over his hands and tears found themselves in his eyes as he thanked me and peppered me with kisses, eventually he composed himself and asked me to close my eyes to which I agreed.
I heard a crunch as he shifted around in his spot, “Alright, open them.” 
Tears filled my eyes at the sight in front of me, Azriel was kneeled in front of me, a ring box presented out to me.
“I know we already discussed this and both agreed to it, but I hadn’t got you a ring to symbolize it yet.Happy Solstice my wildling.” He stood and slipped the ring onto my finger. 
We had returned inside to find everyone else passed out or in their room,we slipped into ours just like everyone else. 
A few months later Feyre was announcing her pregnancy, we had all celebrated together and that night had flipped a switch in Azriel, neither of us had really known the male had a thing for breeding until the thought of us being in Feyre and Rhys’ position had crossed his thoughts, that night was filled with breathy moans and the sound of skin pounding against skin. Yet the simple act was enough to satiate Azriel’s hunger, to satiate us both really. 
Feyre had a difficult pregnancy but pulled through, Nesta sacrificed her powers to save Feyre’s life and before we knew it. Feyre was pregnant with her second and Azriel became hungrier and more feral when he fucked me, claiming his instincts were screaming at him to repeatedly fill me.  
It had all been okay until Nesta and Casssian had their first born, a whole new side to Azriel unlocked. I had never seen Azriel as jealous as he was the day we all sat around the living room, the infant in Nesta’s arms and Cassian leaning over her shoulder to wiggle his finger at the small girl whose wings flapped happily. Nyx was six at the time and had eagerly climbed into my head to hug me, ever the affectionate child unlike his sister who wanted nothing to do with anyone since her birth. Azriel’s eyes caught on me holding and rocking the six year old and I felt the pride roll down the bond from him, I sent him a joyous wave back.
It was only when Cassian and Nesta passed me their daughter did I really feel how jealous Azriel had become of the little families his brothers had crafted. As the small girl placed her tiny hand around my own an dI began to tear up as she smiled happily at me with the biggest grin on her face, I looked over to Az and saw the emotion in his eyes, a mix of lust, jealousy, and pride. I offered the small babe to him and he took her in his massive hands, adorned with the silk gloves I had bought him all those years ago. She wrapped her hand around one of his fingers and he looked up at me with massive puppy dog eyes. 
Azriel’s birthday approached quickly, and I knew above all else there was thing he wanted for his birthday. I had felt it enough through the bond, every time he would see his brothers with their small families a small wave of jealousy and want would be sent through to me. Cassian’s daughter had just started walking, took her first steps today because she had wanted her father and he was just out of her reach on the couch, Azriel had been witness as she threw herself in Cassian’s arms; he had come down to our room that night upset, had cried in my arms how he had wanted what they have. It wasn’t that we were doing anything to prevent a pregnancy but when both of my sisters had conceived they had taken potions to boost their fertility. Which led me to Azriel’s birthday gift and the current appointment I had with Madja. 
With the potion secured the day of his birthday, thanks to Rhys’s wonderful distraction, I was able to wrap it in a small box and hide it within our room. After hiding it I had made it back to the kitchens just as Rhys and Azriel had returned, Azriel pressed a kiss to my lips and Nyx had run in and threw himself onto Az in a bear hug. It was an endearing sight that had me hoping that with the addition of the potion Madja had made me soon enough our own son would be doing that to his father. 
Dinner had gone off without a hitch, Nyx and his 4 year old sister Aurora lit up the table with their argument over whether or not Helion’s pegasi hatched from eggs like birds or were live births like horses. Nyx was getting fed up with Aurora's egg theory since he had asked ‘Grandpa Helion’ himself last time they had gone there, Arora was 2 and he had been 6 so of course he knew what he was talking about. Rhysand was rubbing his temples in agony, apparently the children had been having this argument all day, and wouldn’t let any adult butt in and settle it. 
Eventually all the kids tired themselves out and everyone started toting them to their rooms, Rhys had hugged AZriel wishing him a goodnight, Feyre taking the chance to whisper to me a goodluck with a wink her mate not far behind her with a smirk and a nod in my direction as they headed off for their wing of the manor.  Cassian and Neesta had left almost right after cake due to their daughter completely crashing and passing out at the table in her high chair. 
Azriel smiled and let out a soft sigh. “Thank you for planning this love, it was a nice night.” he placed a kiss to my temple with a small content hum.
“It only gets better from here Az.” I smirked and he wiggled his brows in response.
“Oh yeah?” a smirk flitted onto his features.
“Yep. Still have to give you your present.” I nodded smugly and started pulling him towards our chambers.
He followed , curiosity evident as he tried to repeatedly guess what I had gotten him, guess after guess fell from his lips. Before Madja would give me the potion she had to check and make sure that if I managed to conceive it wouldn’t be a risk to my health since I didn’t have the magical benefit from Nesta’s powers that my sisters did, but thank the cauldron literally,  because when it gave me my gift the growth spurt affected all of my bones including my hips so I was safe to carry his child. We made it into our room, my furs hung up on a coat rack beside the wing-suited coat I had got him last solstice and beside them a end table we used as a catch-all. I had hidden it here in the drawer because we always just threw stuff on top of it and went on collapsing into bed at night after rough missions. 
He furrowed his brow as I pulled the box out and handed it to him, I gestured for him to open the small box  and he stilled when he saw the small vial.
His eyes darted between me and the vial, tears began to well in his eyes. “Is this…”
 He had to bite back a sob so I finished the thought for him. “The fertility boost both my sisters used when they conceived? Yeah it is, I finally got approved by Madja for it.”
He dropped to his knees holding the vial and sobbing. “Thank you, my wildling, thank you.”
I took a few steps towards him prompting him to stand up and pulled him into a deep hug, until he composed himself and stopped crying. 
He handed me and the vial with a pleading look on his face. “Can we use it tonight?” 
I took it from him and popped the cork out of the small bottle, shooting the terrible tasting liquid into my mouth. I wiped my mouth as I smirked back at him. “That's the plan shadowsinger.”
His shadows curled happily around my feet as I pulled him into a deep kiss, slowly coaxing him farther and farther into our room as I managed to strip his clothes from him. Then when we had finally gotten close enough to the bed, I pulled him down on top of me while I nipped at his jawline.  I could feel the effects of  the potion slowly start taking effect, I had been told it would increase the amount of lubricant my body produced as well as a dull throbbing ache within my ovaries and uterus. 
Azriel realized fairly quickly he was the only naked one and ripped my clothes from my body, his head dropped to my core and he buried his tongue inside of, bringing me to orgasm a handful of times. Eventually satisfied with the taste of me on his tongue, he buried himself to the hilt inside of me and I could feel the tip of him kiss my cervix. I screamed his name until my throat was hoarse that night, only soothed when he had spilled a handful of times into me and finally pulled out only to replace my dripping cunt with my mouth instead. 
We slept in the entirety of the next day, either wrapped up in each other as the potion boosted fertility for 48 hours, or sleeping and recovering some energy; though there had been many times we had fallen asleep together with him still buried deep inside of me so as not to waste anything.  I had made a promise with Madja that I'd start checking in with her weekly after the potion was consumed and the effects had come and gone, so if I was to get pregnant from this night, we would catch it as early as possible to start me on the correct vitamins and set up a care plan immediately. 
As I laid there in Azriel’s arms I could only hope that thanks to the potions help his seed would take root and I would be able to grant him this one small thing he so desperately deserved.  His snores lulled me into my own sleep and in my heart were that bond sung and glowed brightly I had a feeling the intended result would in fact take root.
764 notes · View notes
beanytuesday · 4 months
Note
Hey, I love your art -- I was wondering if you ever posted your illustration for Kafka's "A Hunger Artist" on here? It's really evocative and gorgeously framed, and I find myself thinking of it frequently!!
Tumblr media
Thank you for the kind words. A Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka is one of my favorite short stories of all time, and it’s a very quick read. You can read it right here:
https://www.kafka-online.info/a-hunger-artist.html
Go ahead, I’ll wait here.
I’d like to take us opportunity to talk a little bit about the story, if I may.
Although there are a couple different interpretations of the story's meaning, it unambiguously read to me as an allegory for the plight of the creative, likely drawing from Kafka’s own experience. The ‘starving artist’ comparison is obvious, but there’s much more to it than that. In a departure from most other depictions in media, the plight of the artist is not depicted as something noble or redemptive, but as a sort of self-destructive madness. The hunger artist dies alone and in obscurity, his impact on the world ultimately being completely marginal and insubstantial. When questioned about why he chose a life like this, he reveals that he doesn’t even enjoy fasting, he simply couldn’t find any food he liked. That is to say, a true creative does not select this kind of self destructive lifestyle because they enjoy it; rather, it is because they cannot possibly bear to do anything else. Kafka himself, It should be mentioned, supposedly despised pretty much every job he ever had.
As some of you may know, I developed severe tendinitis a couple months ago. Mentally, September was probably the worst months of my entire life. I reflected on this story a lot –I had wrought my own self destruction, and for what? A couple of bucks? A few comics that i’ll become embarrassed of in a year’s time anyway? Unsure about my prospects for recovery, I became incredibly depressed.
But having been starved of the ability to write or draw, I had a genuine epiphany. Standing at the corner of Boston liquors in Allston, I resolved that I would muster the strength to endure this, regardless of how long it took, because what awaited me at the end was nothing short of the greatest prize a person could ask for: That very thing derided by Kafka –the life of an artist.
There is no greater pleasure than making art. I mean that genuinely, I mean that literally. No, it isn’t noble, no, it isn’t redemptive, but in a totally hedonistic and self-serving way it is simply the greatest thing that life can offer, ambrosia in the mouth, better than sex, better than drugs, better than anything that money can buy, and I feel pity for anyone unable to experience it. I am not being hyperbolic, I am not being metaphorical. I am stating this in the plainest of terms, having lived a life without it for the last couple of months.
So although my personal relationship to the story has changed in the past couple months, Kafka was right about one thing; nothing else tastes good, at least not by comparison. We must imagine the hunger artist happy.
1K notes · View notes
fellthemarvelous · 30 days
Text
Do you ever really think about what happened in The Resurrectionists?
Tumblr media
Aziraphale spent that entire time trying to save Elspeth's soul from being damned to Hell.
Every questionable choice he made was done so because he was trying to help Elspeth and also trying to find new ways to decrease human suffering.
He was working really fucking hard to do his job, but he made mistakes along the way because he is constantly struggling with the knowledge that the rules become a lot more convoluted as life becomes more complicated.
Tumblr media
Digging up bodies is wrong, but Elspeth was poor and acting in desperation to take care of herself and Wee Morag so they wouldn't have to continue living on the streets.
He is the one who encouraged her to dig up another body because he realized that Mister Dalrymple was trying to help teach those learning to become doctors so they could do better to decrease human suffering when it was their turn to help others.
Tumblr media
He wasn't able to save Wee Morag after she was shot by a grave gun, and watched in dismay as Elspeth sold her body to Mister Dalrymple so she could get off the streets.
And when that didn't work the way she'd hoped, she decided that her life meant nothing anymore and decided she was better off dead.
Aziraphale had been spending that entire minisode trying to save Elspeth's soul from Hell, but he ultimately realizes that he made things worse even though he was trying so hard to do the right thing.
Heaven didn't care that he failed. Heaven has already said "we're the good guys, we're just not doing anything to stop the bad guys". Aziraphale was doing the job given to him by God. He made a mistake, but he thought he was doing the right thing because he cares about human souls. He still wants to protect humanity from Hell. That's literally his job.
Crowley saw someone digging up a body in the graveyard and immediately realized he didn't need to do anything.
Instead he watches.
He listens to Elspeth and finds it easier to sympathize with her plight because he's in the same boat in many ways. It doesn't matter what he does because he won't be able to climb his way out of Hell.
Tumblr media
He listens to Aziraphale and he challenges the angel when he disagrees with some of the things he's saying.
He doesn't interfere with Elspeth or Aziraphale though.
The discussion that he and Aziraphale have with Mister Dalrymple teaches Crowley something just as much as it teaches Aziraphale.
Before he learns the reason that Mister Dalrymple cuts open dead bodies in the first place, he's cheering to the idea of more murder.
Tumblr media
That tumor that Aziraphale hugs to his chest is just as much of a learning moment for Crowley. He hadn't considered why someone might have a good reason to cut up dead bodies, but Crowley and Aziraphale both love children and they both just learned that a child died with a tumor inside of him.
Crowley didn't realize anymore than Aziraphale did just how much danger Wee Morag and Elspeth were in from digging up bodies of rich people.
It was when Crowley saw that Elspeth was about to kill herself that he realized he could no longer sit back and do nothing.
Tumblr media
As a demon, it should have been easier for Crowley to accept that Hell was winning another soul, but the truth is that the entire time Aziraphale was working so hard to save Elspeth's soul, Crowley was able to act as a spectator because she was already headed down the path towards Hell.
Crowley had just watched Aziraphale work so hard to save this human soul, this soul who had just lost the woman she loved who was wanting to end her own life so she could see Wee Morag again, and he realized he couldn't sit back and watch anymore. He knew Elspeth wouldn't see Wee Morag again if she killed herself because Hell cares just as little about how complicated human life is as Heaven does.
He used Aziraphale's money to bribe Elspeth into being properly good so she could go to Heaven. He saved her knowing that he was offering the win to Heaven just so she could see Wee Morag again.
Tumblr media
It's important to remember that neither Heaven nor Hell give a single solitary fuck about humanity or the complications that arise as life becomes more problematic. Humanity exists within all shades of grey.
Heaven does nothing to stop Hell. Hell spends eternity torturing humans and other demons. Neither side is good. Neither side is ideal.
And in the end, Crowley did what he did because Aziraphale was doing the right thing by trying to save Elspeth's soul from eternal torment, something she doesn't deserve because she was simply trying to survive in a system that has always put poor people at a disadvantage. Aziraphale learned this too. He learned that there is no inherent virtue behind poverty.
Tumblr media
To shades of grey.
930 notes · View notes
elixrr · 2 months
Text
“Wait, Y/N—” He stops you in your tracks. He needs a rundown. He needs a repeat on why you're leaving him. “Why— why are you—”
“Why?” You stop yourself from crying out loud, “Because you're killing yourself over me.”
He stops in his tracks. Him? Killing himself over you? What are you saying? He's fine, he's perfectly fine, as long as he's with you!
“Wh– What makes you say that? Please, love, don't go away. Don't leave, tell me what's wrong, I can make it right!”
“You were making your way back up in life before we started dating.” You begin. Your voice became soft and sorrowful, holding in layers of guilt for this poor, poor man before you. “You were making money for yourself, and you were finally helping yourself become financially stable.”
“So it's the money?” He lets out an exasperated laugh, as if he were relieved at the circumstance. He smiles with slight relief in his eyes, and he reassures you, “Don't worry! I'll find more jobs, then I'll earn enough to buy you more things. Hell, the money you gave me when... when you told me you were leaving, I– I can use it!”
His smile stays for a bit, but it fades when he watches your expression sadden.
“It wasn't about getting me gifts. You need the money for yourself, not me. I'm fine with everything I have. I gave you the money because you need it to take care of yourself again.”
You can't bear to look at his confused face. He's such a sweetheart, and it hurts like hell to leave him, but it's for the best if it means he only has to support himself, and not two people.
“But... If you just need me to be financially stable, that's fine. I can do that, then afterward, I can buy—”
“Honey, that's not it. You need the money for yourself and yourself only, don't count material things for me.”
“But— I just... I don't want you to leave. We can work this out. We can work it out together.”
You pause, hesitating. The door stands tall behind you. You don't want to leave him; he's your darling, but guilt overrides your heart, and you take your stance.
“I wanted to work it out with you, so I've tried. We've discussed this so many times, remember? But when you did become financially stable again, you wasted it all away for me on Valentine's Day. I loved that gift— I love you, I love you so much, but I can't keep watching you destroy yourself.”
He finally feels the tear rolling, and yours begin to pour.
“And since you only begin to listen when I'm on the verge of leaving, I feel like it would help you more than it would hurt if I left.”
“But I can't do this without you!”
He runs up to you, trying to hug you, but you're out the door, and he falls to the ground, sobbing on his knees and watching you leave. It's terrible, it's horrible, but he can't bring himself to stand up and chase you. To his surprise, you kneel by him and hold his cheek.
“I don't want you to do this alone. But you have to, if it means you'll be able to live again.”
And there's a pause between you two. It's raining, drizzling raindrops coat your hair and lather across your clothes, as it does with his. The air is thick; bridges are burning. This was not something he could ever recover from, but you have a whole future ahead of you, away from him. Was he holding you back the whole time? Did any of this interfere with your work? With your mental stability?
Please, take him back. Keep him with you.
“I left a great sum of money with you.” You pull yourself together and stand. Your sudden stability towers over his— considering as he lacks it. “If you section it correctly, you'll have enough to pay the bills for almost two years, and you'll have money left over for about three months to buy yourself luxurious food and some nice clothes. If you don't look for luxury, that will last you a while, more than enough to look for a whole new job.”
“I don't care.” He finally manages to cry out, and he holds your waist in a final, desperate attempt to keep you with him. “I don't care. I– I don't want money,
I just want you.”
But he can't keep you. You glance at your driver and signal for her to wait. You lift your ex-boyfriend back up and take him back into the house, seating him on the couch. You take one final look around the shabby living room, and you sigh.
“I'd tell you to come back when you can handle everything better, but by then, I'm sure you'll have met someone new.”
“But what if I don't?”
“Then feel free to come back when you're comfortable. I'm glad you're so kind and loving, but I simply just couldn't stand watching you waste your future away for me.”
You stand up and kiss him one last time. He, like usual, doesn't process it in time to kiss you back, and before he could reciprocate, you bow and wave a goodbye, and you're out the door.
You grab the doorknob and— before you close the door, you turn around and mutter the quietest, soon meaningless ‘I love you,’ and you gently close the door,
and that was the end of it all.
You said that he should build a new future for himself, but with his tearful eyes glaring hot, burning laser beams at the door, it's very safe to say that this future is starting off terribly far from a good one.
He needs a restart; he's realized it before, but he never wanted to start over like this—
He never wanted to see a future without you in it. But you're gone. All that's left are the remaining photos you haven't taken, as well as the money you've left for him.
He hears the car drive off into the distant future.
He hears the car skid into your new future.
He knows why you left him now, but he doesn't know why you needed to.
If only he could get you to repeat it one last time. But there are no repeats.
All you've really left him with is a restart.
Tumblr media
– LYNEY, FREMINET, HEIZOU, GAMING, xiao, EARLY KUNI(KUZISHI)
751 notes · View notes
teamatsumu · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
kinktober 2023 -> day 31
breeding kink - miya osamu x reader
word count: 1512
A/N: so this is it! thank you so much for everyone who stuck around for this kinktober event. 31 fics in 31 days, its the biggest project i have ever done. thank u for all the love and support ❤️
kinktober masterlist
Tumblr media
What is stopping you?
Your mind repeated the question in your head every day, and it felt like your brain was yelling at you in frustration and confusion, wanting to know why exactly you were tongue tied in this situation. It made no sense to wait anymore. The time was ideal.
Truly, there couldn't be a better time to bring it up. You were happy with your job, Osamu’s business was flourishing; he had just opened another Onigiri Miya in Tokyo. He had a good staff now, an organized system on how to manage it all. He didn’t have to be the only person worrying for the business anymore, since he had hired experienced managers. It allowed him enough breathing room to come home early, cook a nice, hearty dinner for you both that you enjoyed while sprawled on the couch in front of the TV. Money wasn’t a worry anymore.
So really, what was stopping you from bringing up the topic of kids?
You seemed to have become lost in the same thoughts again because you only came to when Osamu nudged you, making you blink and tear your eyes away from the TV screen. He was looking at you questioningly, and you could see a hint of worry behind his dark eyes.
“What’s on yer mind, doll?”
You shook your head and smiled, shrugging a bit. “It’s no big deal ‘Samu. Just a project at work.”
He hummed a little, shoving more noodles into his mouth and sparing you little glances as he did so. You knew he didn’t believe you. Your husband knew you too well to fall for such an obvious lie. But you couldn’t, for the life of you, figure out how to broach the topic that was itching in the back of your mind for the last few days.
What do I even say? Put a baby in me?
You swallowed down the little knot that formed in your throat at the thought. Fuck. Was this turning you on? You grit your teeth tight enough that it hurt your jaw, scolding the little voice in your head to not do anything stupid.
When has your brain and lack of filter ever listened to you, though?
The next night, when Osamu had you sprawled on his lap, your back against his front, two fingers buried knuckles deep inside you and having pulled an orgasm out of you already, you babbled out the thought that had been plaguing you for many, many days.
“‘Sa- Samu,” you whined, long and desperate, dragging out his name. “Need your cock. Need your cum. Please.”
Osamu groaned in reply, pulling out his drenched fingers from your core and laying you on the bed. You pulled your legs up on instinct, spreading them wide, knees brought up to your sides. Osamu’s responding moan was sinful.
“S-shit, baby,” he breathed, clumsy hands quickly discarding his shirt and sweatpants. “Ya want it that bad? So ready to take me?”
You nodded your head frantically, back arching when he finally sunk his big, throbbing cock into you. The slide was comfortable and easy, considering how long you had spent spread apart on his fingers. Osamu wasted no time in immediately picking up speed, knowing exactly what spots to hit that had you reduced to a weepy mess.
You fumbled around until you had grabbed Osamu’s hands, hooking both of them under your knees and applying pressure. Osamu stared at you in realization before he shifted a bit and used his weight to hold your legs apart. You wanted him to put you in a mating press.
“This what ya want, sweetheart?” His voice was so hoarse you felt like you could cum just at the sound of it. “Fuck, ya look so sexy. All spread out fer me.”
Osamu was big on dirty talk, you knew. He loved speaking during sex and he loved when you spoke during sex. Over the years, you two had tried any and every thing in the bedroom that you possibly could, and you had lost all shame when it came to voicing your desires. The filthier, the better actually. Osamu could easily cum if you talked him through it.
Pair that with your days-old ruminating thoughts, and everything spilled out of you like word vomit.
“‘Samu,” you gasped. “Fuck me hard and deep, please. Please. Need to- need to be filled up with your cum, daddy. Need it.”
Osamu’s thrusts sped up and he cursed under his breath. “You’ll get it, babygirl. You’ll get daddy’s cum. Every last drop.”
You nodded frantically, crying out at a particularly well aimed thrust. “Yes! I- Osamu!” You wailed when his thumb made contact with your clit. Your nails dug into his back as you scrambled to pull him close. “Gimme. ‘Samu, gimme.”
Osamu was moaning into the skin of your neck, your legs over his shoulders and your body bent in half. “What’s gotten into ya today, baby? So greedy.”
You wound a hand through his hair, feeling the knot in your stomach pull tighter and tighter. You were seconds away from an orgasm. You pulled his head up by the hair until he was looking into your eyes. Your tears-coated, weepy eyes.
“Get me pregnant, Osamu. I want your kids.”
You didn’t have the time or the mental coherence to look at his reaction, because your orgasm washed over you like a freight train. Osamu’s movements stuttered, as a result of your words or you reaching your peak, you didn’t know. All you could do was feel the waves of electricity wash over you as you tried to breathe through the overwhelming feeling.
It was only when Osamu slowed to a stop in you, still twitching and throbbing, that you opened your wet eyes. He was looking down at you with mouth slightly open in shock, breathing still labored from his previous exertion. His dark hair was messy, stuck to the sweat on his forehead. All was silent between you.
“Are you serious?” He breathed, trying to see through your post-orgasm face. You nodded slowly.
“Thought about it a lot.” You admitted, tightening your legs around his waist a bit. “I’m ready if you are.”
A few more seconds, before Osamu bit his bottom lip and groaned, eyes falling to half mast again. He breathed deep, shaking his head. The corner of his mouth twitched up a bit.
“Do ya know how long I’ve waited fer this?” His voice was husky. He pulled himself up and unwound your legs from his waist. Then he bent you in half again, before setting a fast, bruising, brutal pace.
You gasped and threw your head back at the sudden change, pussy still sensitive from your orgasm, jaw going slack. His cock pounded into you with all the ferocity he could summon, one of the roughest sessions you two had had for a while, burning through you like embers crawling under your skin.
“Thought ‘bout it so much.” He continued choking out words, not slowing in the slightest. “The thought of ya all fat an’ swollen with ma kids. Fuck. Yer gonna look radiant.”
You moaned with him, picturing your pregnant belly, glowing face. Picturing a little human that you will birth. A human that Osamu could potentially put in you now.
“Daddy,” you whined. “Need…. I need- please.”
“Need what, baby?” Osamu had a little smirk on his face. His skin was flushed and damp, a drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face. His eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out his pupils. He looked feral.
“Need my load in ya? That it? Need ta take every last drop, yeah? Can’t risk wastin’ it.”
His hand came up, winding into your hair and tugging hard until you yelped.
“Take it, doll. Take it-”
His voice broke into a long moan as his hips stuttered and you felt warmth flood your insides, his bulging biceps trembling as he tried to hold his weight up through his orgasm. He was loud through it, coaxing you with rough words and even rougher fingers pinching your clit until you came one last time with a heaving cry, eyes rolling up into your head.
You had barely caught your breath when Osamu reached up to grip your face tightly with one hand, your cheeks squishing together. You stared at him with zoned out, misty eyes.
“Don’t ya dare waste a single drop.” He whispered so close that his lips brushed your puckered ones. “Keep it inside yer pussy like a grateful slut, ya hear me?”
You moaned in response, nodding weakly against his grip. He pulled out then and you clenched tightly, but you could feel it as a little bit trailed down your crack. Osamu hummed in disappointment, holding your legs open and watching as his cum leaked out.
“Poor baby. Couldn’t do it, could ya?” You felt him lean forward and brush a surprisingly soft kiss below your ear.
“I guess I’ll just have ta keep goin’ until I know yer pregnant fer sure.”
Taglist:
@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy y @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles @argwein
A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!
1K notes · View notes
joelscurls · 6 months
Text
feel it in your bones
Tumblr media
next part
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
words: 12.5k
summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.
warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n
a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3
You’ve gotten used to being alone. 
You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull. 
Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling. 
You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.
Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.
Really, you like being alone. 
Until you don’t.
Tumblr media
It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school. 
She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house,  re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck. 
In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.
So, he’d made the trek to Vermont,  with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it. 
Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.
In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are. 
Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor. 
You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school. 
Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.
There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it. 
A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.
“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.” 
Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front,  scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.
Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.
He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation. 
The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.
You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.
You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project. 
“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”
You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.
“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”
The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time. 
It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall.  Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.
When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.
Tumblr media
Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.
You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.
You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear. 
“Professor!” 
When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower. 
He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.
He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer,  strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.  
In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.
“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name. 
He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing. 
“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”
Ma’am.
It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon. 
Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.
“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.
You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”
“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.” 
She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.
“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?” 
Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down. 
And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.
So, you say yes. 
“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”
You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight. 
Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them. 
A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.
He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.
Tumblr media
Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting. 
Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”
He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.” 
She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”
Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs. 
“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer. 
“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”
He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”
Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.
“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.
“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.
He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.
She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.
Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well. 
“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced. 
“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”
“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”
There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.
“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”
“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”
He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting. 
“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...” 
She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now. 
“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking. 
“Sarah-” he starts.
“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”
He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.
He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that. 
He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.
But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules. 
“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.
He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.
Tumblr media
You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone. 
You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.
And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs. 
You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.
So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids. 
You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.
Then you press your fingers down harder. 
Tumblr media
Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky. 
He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches. 
He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.
He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.
You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour. 
After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?
You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle. 
“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.” 
You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone. 
“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”
“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.
But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks. 
“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”
“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.
He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”
The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.
You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say: 
“Looks like a bad trip.”
A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing. 
“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”
“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.” 
He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.
You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.
“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?” 
Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even. 
He comes up empty.
“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.
“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation. 
Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.
He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you. 
“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”
You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.
Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.
“Quentin. Hey.”
“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.” 
You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.” 
He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole. 
“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side. 
“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”
This guy can’t be serious.
You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks. 
“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”
“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”
It’s the last straw.
In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door. 
It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.
He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught. 
You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.” 
Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now. 
“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re  both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.
“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.” 
For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”
“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him. 
“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”
You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.
“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”
“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.
“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.
“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.
Tumblr media
The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.
It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames. 
On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.
The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.
The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.
When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want. 
It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind. 
“Same as you.”
He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.
Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.
This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.
You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.
Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.  
“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it. 
Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh. 
“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”
“You can say that again,” you mumble. 
He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?” 
It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.
You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet. 
It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin. 
You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble. 
When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips. 
After a beat, he looks up at you. 
“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”
You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.
“You barely know me,” you joke. 
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”
You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat. 
You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave. 
It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.
He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are. 
“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.” 
You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”
He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough. 
“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.” 
Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders. 
“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”
Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.
“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”
“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles. 
“No Joel – it’s you.”
He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips. 
“Thank you.”
His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.
“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.
Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.
“Sarah?,” you ask.
“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”
He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.
“Everything alright?” 
“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.
You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.
“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”
“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”
“And you like it?,” you ask. 
“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”
You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore. 
“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.
Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.
But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze. 
Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.
“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.
Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.
“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his. 
It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too. 
The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.
You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.
“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”
You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly. 
You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.
You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.
What time is it? 
You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair. 
You tap on the screen, waking it up. 
12:47?! When had it gotten so late?
Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you. 
“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.
You wait outside for your driver — John M.
The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.
“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”
You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.” 
You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you. 
“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips. 
When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same. 
“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out. 
You turn back to him. “You better.”
He’s smiling when you shut the door.
You’re smiling when the car pulls away. 
It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again. 
And then you feel sick.
Tumblr media
Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.
He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you. 
He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.
Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.
He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible. 
Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter. 
Toast it is, then.
Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him. 
“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”
“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.
Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late. 
“You buyin’?,” he jokes. 
“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.” 
“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.
“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.
Tumblr media
You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.
Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel
You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move? 
It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone  else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.
Because it never ends well, once they do.
You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’. 
Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.
This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.
The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it. 
You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.
Well – you think – no going back now.
Tumblr media
Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.
Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.
The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in. 
Joel types his reply and sends it:
Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?
Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”
His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”
Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.
“Is that my professor?”
Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough. 
“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh. 
Joel raises an eyebrow at her. 
“You done?”
“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”
He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored. 
He opens your latest message, instead.
Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)
His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.
He doesn’t catch who wins the game.
Tumblr media
Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot. 
Punctual, you note.
He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers. 
“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.” 
The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator. 
“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive. 
“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind. 
Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet. 
“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time. 
Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.
“Come in.” 
You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island. 
“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”
“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”
You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes. 
“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.” 
He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours. 
You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.
“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 
“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.
Oh.
You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you. 
“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.
“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer. 
“Please.”
It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous. 
He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer. 
Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second. 
You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.
“Joel,” you pant,  “I need you.”
It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”
You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently. 
“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel. 
Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.
He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island. 
He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.
You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.
Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.
You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.
He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”
You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.
He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now. 
“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.
The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.
“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.
He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.
“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling. 
“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”
“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing. 
“On my pussy, Joel” you plead. 
He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.
“Good girl.”
He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice. 
“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.
Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.
He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”
He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it. 
He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.
He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans. 
“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”
You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat. 
He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.
You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.
He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus. 
You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.
“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”
Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.
You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much.  “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.
He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm. 
And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.
Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop. 
He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue. 
It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 
He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.  
His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.
The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch. 
His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.
He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.
He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.
He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body. 
He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.
One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.
You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”
He doesn’t have to be asked twice.
“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”
You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied. 
But Joel isn’t just any man. 
“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”
He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”
He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.
Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him. 
You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move. 
“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”
“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.
He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again. 
He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.
“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.
“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”
Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there. 
His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.
“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.” 
You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.
But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”
He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking. 
“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”
You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.
He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours. 
“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”
He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back.  A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words. 
“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”
Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him. 
“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.” 
The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.
You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven. 
“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.
“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”
He curses in ecstasy,  cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend. 
He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound. 
“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.
“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”
He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively  to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids. 
He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.
“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”
He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.
Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.
You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.
Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”
He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.
Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard. 
He sets them down by your feet.
“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard. 
“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”
Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.
“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.
Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.
And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.
It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.
“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”
He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels. 
He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours. 
He settles in with a content sigh.
You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food. 
“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”
He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.
“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer. 
“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional. 
“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”
He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it. 
“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds. 
“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. 
He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t. 
The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.
“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”
“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.” 
“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease. 
His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.
“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!” 
“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes. 
“What?” 
“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”
Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again. 
“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”
Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.
You swallow. Collect yourself. 
“Yeah. I would.”
You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.
His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.” 
Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.” 
He smiles. “‘m glad.”
“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”
“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.” 
And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes. 
You’ve never been so excited for the future. 
Tumblr media
end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe
2K notes · View notes
flanaganfilm · 8 months
Note
Do you have any “don’t meet your heroes” stories from working in Hollywood?
Absolutely. Hollywood really is a place like no other. If you grow up loving cinema, certain people can take on mythic status in your imagination. Actors, filmmakers; they are larger than life. They become idols in the truest sense - an image that is actually worshipped. But Hollywood is actually full of very weird human beings who have been lucky enough to make their living in a world of make-believe. A huge percentage of the people who work in this industry are strange birds, unsuited for working anywhere else.
Some of our biggest stars wouldn't last ten minutes working a real job; some of our most exalted filmmakers collapse inward if they're in a crowded room. They can have unusual talents, or beauty, or unique perspectives and abilities that have propelled them to various levels of success, or even stardom, but they're just normal, neurotic people.
And success, fame, and money can really twist people. It can be like radiation. They can go full Gollum from it.
But most people who work in Hollywood are not stars at all. The vast majority of people who work here are not rich, not famous. Most are hardworking craftsmen and craftswomen who are fighting every day to make a living, scraping by the best they can in an industry that is brutal, impersonal, and impenetrable. But every single person in this business - whether they are superstars or not - are just ordinary people. They're insecure, anxious, and prone to all of the failings we mortals are prone to. Some of them are awesome; some of them are assholes. But most of the people here (even the superstars) quietly feel like they don't belong, or that they don't deserve it, or that their sheer ordinariness will be discovered any minute. In fact, it's the people who seem to feel the opposite - those rare people who feel that they DO belong here, and deserve the lifestyle this industry can afford, who are inevitably the least likable ones I've met.
As I've been lucky enough to keep working in this business, I've met a lot of the people who I idolized along the way. Filmmakers and actors who I admire so much, whose work has shaped the trajectory of my life without them knowing it. I've been starstruck every time, and I am still am - I stammer, I freeze, and I kick myself for what I say, or don't say, or how I said it. I'm not good at it. I have acute social anxiety, and when you throw me at someone I admire, I turn into a blubbering idiot. They say "don't meet your heroes" because you may (likely will) be disappointed by just how ordinary they truly are. Or worse, they may even turn out to be people you wouldn't want to interact with in normal circumstances - your heroes might be people you wouldn't want to invite to coffee. The persona you have admired is a product in itself, something you bought, something you have taken home and displayed proudly in your imagination... but the human being behind that persona is full of all the ordinary failings. That can be really hard to reconcile. So yeah, a long-winded way of saying that I've had the experience of meeting people I admired a great deal only to be disappointed, or worse. I've got some nightmare stories in there where the actual person violently shattered the idol I'd built in my imagination. I won't share those stories, there's little point in that, but instead I'll talk about the rare exceptions - the few heroes I've met who were every bit as awesome as I'd hoped they'd be. They may say "never meet your heroes," but they haven't met Mark Hamill. I worked with Mark on The Fall of the House of Usher, and he is one of my favorite people. Kind, generous, humble, and so, so funny. I was nervous and excited to meet Mark for the obvious reasons, because of the hero he was in my imagination - but I got to meet Mark the actor, the father, the husband, the humanitarian, and the friend. Guillermo Del Toro - one of my biggest heroes, his work has meant so much to me. And I was terrified to meet him. But he is one of the most joyful, honest, sweet-natured people I've met in the business, and his love for movies is infectious. For me, the man himself exceeded the myth.
I've been lucky to meet other exceptions to this rule, heroes of mine who exceeded my expectations - Ewan McGregor, Mick Garris, Brian Henson, Heather Langenkamp, Henry Thomas - and yeah, I've had the other experience too. But I try to focus on the exceptions. It can be unhealthy to idolize people - unhealthy for you, and unhealthy for them. But it's truly awesome when someone is even more amazing than you imagined.
2K notes · View notes