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pucksandpower · 5 months

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Fairytale

Charles Leclerc x Princess of Monaco!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc has everything he could ask for (off the track, at least) including a fairytale romance … except no one actually believes that his girlfriend is really his girlfriend

Charles sighs as he walks into the drivers’ lounge, bracing himself for the inevitable teasing. Ever since he had casually mentioned having a girlfriend, and more specifically who the girlfriend in question is, his friends have been merciless.

“Wow, if it isn’t Prince Charles in the flesh! Back from another romantic getaway with his imaginary princess,” Max laughs as he enters.

“Come on mates, lay off,” Charles pleads half-heartedly. He knows it is useless.

“I just don’t get it,” Lando chimes in. “There’s no shame in admitting that you’re single. We’re racing drivers, we don’t exactly always have time for relationships.”

“Maybe his standards are too high,” Pierre suggests. “He’s actually holding out for real royalty or something.”

The others laugh as Charles feels his face grow warm. If only they believed him.

“You know what you need?” Carlos grins. “A nice Spanish girl to set you up with. My sister’s friend Elena is single, I could give you her number.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “I told you, I have a girlfriend. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because we’ve never seen her!” Max exclaims. “You talk about her all the time but she never comes to races or appears in photos. She might as well be a unicorn.”

“Maybe she’s just embarrassed to be seen with Charles,” Lando teases.

Charles frowns, stung by Lando’s words. If only they knew the truth. The reality is that his girlfriend is extremely famous in her own right and values the little privacy she has left too much to be seen at races. Her life is already public enough without adding the scrutiny that anyone connected to a Formula 1 driver inevitably receives on top of it. Besides, she has her own royal duties to attend to.

“Come on guys, that’s unfair,” Pierre says gently, noticing Charles’ discomfort. “If Charles says he has a girlfriend, we should believe him.”

“Thank yo—” Charles starts to say with relief. At least someone is on his side.

“Even if she is imaginary,” Pierre adds with a smirk.

Charles groans and puts his head in his hands as the laughter starts up again. He can’t really blame them for not believing him.

You are basically a fairytale princess — beautiful, elegant, and kind. Not to mention an actual member of the royal family. Her Serene Highness Princess Y/N Grace Stephanie Caroline of Monaco is the type of girl people write epic poems and songs about. Charles can hardly believe his luck that you had chosen him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Daniel interrupts, taking pity on Charles. “Leave the poor man alone.”

“We’re just joking,” Max says defensively. “Charles knows we don’t mean anything by it.”

Charles gives Max a tight smile. “Sure.”

“Tell you what,” Daniel says, clapping Charles on the shoulder. “Bring your mystery girl to a race soon. We’ll all get to meet her and then you can finally prove these jokers wrong.”

Charles sighs. If only it were that simple. You have been tempted to attend races in the past but the scrutiny both of them would come under is just too much. You treasure the privacy your relationship allows. But maybe Daniel is right. Maybe it is time for you to finally meet his friends. After all, you are the love of his life. There is nothing to hide.

“Alright, deal,” Charles says finally. “I’ll ask her.”

The others exchange surprised looks, not expecting him to agree.

“Can’t wait to meet her,” Carlos says with a wink.

Charles rolls his eyes again but smiles. One way or another, he is going to prove to them that his amazing girlfriend isn’t just a figment of his imagination.

***

Charles is still thinking about you when he is suddenly accosted by Silvia, Ferrari’s Head of Communications, after practice.

“Charles! Just who I was looking for,” she says briskly. “I need to discuss something rather important with you.”

Charles suppresses a groan. Conversations with Silvia are never fun. “What’s up?” He asks with forced cheerfulness.

Silvia lowers her voice. “It’s about your relationship status. We feel it would be beneficial if you were seen dating someone … compatible.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “Compatible?”

“Yes. A model. Or perhaps an actress. Someone who would look good on your arm and boost your image.”

Charles folds his arms defensively. “What’s wrong with my girlfriend?”

Silvia waves a hand impatiently. “Yes yes, this alleged princess you keep mentioning. The problem, Charles, is that no one has seen her. No one knows if she is actually connected to you in any way. So, as far as we are concerned, for all intents and purposes, you are single.”

Charles frowns. This again. “I keep telling you that she’s really my girlfriend. Y/N is just very private.”

“Private women don’t date Formula 1 drivers,” Silvia says bluntly. “If she really was in a relationship with you, she would be here. But since that is clearly a figment of your imagination, we need to take steps.”

Charles feels his blood boil. How dare Silvia insult his relationship with Y/N? Question their connection?

“Here are profiles of suitable options,” Silvia continues, shoving a surprisingly heavy folder at him. Charles doesn’t open it.

“No.”

Silvia blinks. “No?”

“My relationship with Y/N is off limits,” Charles says firmly. “My personal life is exactly that — personal. Not to be exploited for PR.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Silvia snaps. “This is bigger than you. Your image reflects on Ferrari. We need to be able to control it.”

“No. What you need to do is back off,” Charles shoots back.

Silvia’s nostrils flare. Clearly she isn’t used to such defiance. “Charles, be reasonable—”

“I am being reasonable,” Charles interrupts. “I won’t pretend to date someone just because the team wants me to. I’m with Y/N. I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

Silvia shakes her head in disgust. “You’re making a big mistake. Don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.”

She storms off, heels clicking angrily against the floor.

Charles takes a deep breath, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He can’t remember the last time he stood up to Silvia like that. It felt good but also nerve-wracking. He knows she won’t let this go easily.

His phone buzzes and his heart leaps when he sees it’s a text from you.

Heard you had a rough day. Wish I could be there to make it better. I love you 💋

Charles smiles, the tension in his shoulders easing. You always knew just what to say and when to say it.

He quickly types back.

I wish you were here too. No matter what anyone says, they can’t change my feelings for you. I love you so much ❤️

He hits send, imagining your smile as you read his text. It doesn’t matter what his team, the media, or even his fellow drivers think. His relationship with you is real and authentic. Someday he’ll find a way for you to be by his side. But for now, your private moments together are enough.

Charles knows staying with you is the right decision, PR be damned. You are his soulmate — the fairytale princess he never expected to find but thanks God every single day that he did. Your love is worth fighting for. And someday, when the time is right, he’ll finally be able to show the world that what you have together is very real.

***

Charles groans as he notices multiple missed calls from his brothers. He has been avoiding their calls lately, knowing they would just tease him mercilessly about his girlfriend. But he knows he can’t dodge them forever.

Taking a deep breath, he calls Arthur back.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Prince Charles himself, taking time away from his busy schedule of dating princesses to spare a chat with us commoners,” Arthur says slyly upon answering.

Charles rolls his eyes. “Very funny. What do you want?”

“We just wanted to check in on our brother and see how life with Monegasque royalty is treating you,” Lorenzo chimes in. Charles realizes he must be on speaker.

“Oh yes, Princess Y/N,” Arthur says in an exaggerated swoony voice. “Our brother’s one true love since he was 15 years old and had that giant poster of her plastered on his wall.”

Charles feels his face flush. He knows exactly what poster Arthur is referencing — a stunning photo of you in a ballgown from a high society event years ago. Teenage Charles has ripped it out of a magazine and hung it up reverently in his room, gazing at it longingly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sputters. “I never had a poster.”

“Oh really?” Lorenzo laughs. “I seem to recall you cutting out every picture you could find of her and keeping a little scrapbook.”

Charles cringes internally. Okay, maybe his teenage obsession had been a bit … enthusiastic. But he can’t help that he had recognized you as his dream girl even then.

“Alright, so maybe I had a tiny crush on her,” Charles admits. “But it is not crazy that we ended up together.”

Arthur cackles. “You used to kiss her photos goodnight before going to bed! You were completely obsessed!”

“Remember how he tried to sneak into that royal gala at Salle des Etoiles to see her?” Lorenzo adds. “He was totally insane.”

Charles grimaces at the memory. Okay, not his finest moment.

“Face it Charles, you’ve been in love with the imaginary idea of Princess Y/N since you were in nappies,” Arthur teases. “No shame in admitting she wouldn't even give you the time of day now.”

Charles feels his frustration rising. Why does no one believe him?

“Because your so-called relationship makes no sense!” Lorenzo says, accurately reading his silence. “She’s a literal princess and you’re … you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Charles grumbles. He knows his brothers are just teasing but it still stings.

“Come on, just admit you made the whole thing up to get everyone off your back,” Arthur prods.

Charles sighs loudly. “For the millionth time, what we have is 100 percent real! Just because it seems unlikely doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I don’t care if none of you believe me, I love her and she loves me.”

His brothers are silent for a moment.

“You alright there?” Arthur asks, his voice softening.

“Yes, I just wish everyone would stop questioning my relationship all the time,” Charles admits. “It hurts.”

“We’re only joking Charles, we don’t mean any harm,” Lorenzo says gently.

“I know,” Charles replies. “Doesn’t make it any easier to hear constantly though.”

“You’re right, we took the teasing too far,” Arthur says. “We’ll lay off from now on.”

Charles smiles slightly. “Thanks. And someday soon I will prove to you that it is real.”

His brothers are silent for a moment.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Arthur finally laughs.

Charles groans and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Clearly nothing he says would convince his stubborn brothers that his relationship with you was real and not merely a childhood fantasy.

“Alright, well, I should get going,” Charles mumbles, eager to get off the phone.

“Chin up, we’re only teasing,” Lorenzo says lightly. “Have fun with your imaginary princess!”

Arthur and Lorenzo explode into more laughter as Charles quickly hangs up, his face burning. Someday, he will prove to them and everyone else that his amazing girlfriend isn’t just a figment of his imagination. No matter how long it takes.

***

Charles sinks into the familiar couch in his sports psychologist’s office, exhausted after a long day on the simulator and endless teasing from his team.

“Rough day out there?” Dr. Anderson asks kindly, noticing the strain on Charles’ face.

“That’s an understatement,” Charles sighs. “The car is just so slow this year. We keep trying new setups and tweaks but nothing helps. And the strategy is somehow even worse than the pace. It’s like the team wants me to fail.”

Dr. Anderson nods sympathetically. “That must be very frustrating. Tell me more about how it’s impacting you.”

Charles launches into a tirade about the endless issues with the car, the incompetent strategists, and the lack of proper communication from his engineers. Dr. Anderson listens patiently, letting him vent his pent-up anger and disappointment.

After a lengthy rant, Charles finally runs out of steam. “Anyway, it’s just been a terrible season,” he concludes glumly.

“I can certainly understand why you feel that way,” Dr. Anderson says. “It sounds like the team is letting you down in many ways.”

Charles nods, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders after unloading. It helps to talk about it with someone whose job is not to judge.

“Is there anything else bothering you lately?” Dr. Anderson asks gently. “Any other sources of stress?”

Charles hesitates. He and Dr. Anderson have been working together for years, ever since he joined Ferrari. He knows he can open up to her.

“It’s just … well, besides the team stuff, no one believes me about my girlfriend,” he admits.

Dr. Anderson raises her eyebrows. “I see. Tell me more about that.”

Charles explains the endless teasing from his fellow drivers, the manipulation attempts by the PR team, and the doubtful reactions from his own family. How despite his best efforts, no one seems willing to accept that he is really dating Princess Y/N of Monaco.

“It’s so frustrating!" He bursts out at the end. “I don’t know what else I can do to convince them that we are actually together.”

Dr. Anderson purses her lips, jotting down notes. “I can understand why their doubt would upset you. It must be painful to have your relationship questioned.”

“Exactly!" Charles exclaims, throwing his hands up. “You get it. I knew I could talk to you.”

Dr. Anderson gives him a sympathetic smile.

Charles leaves the appointment feeling much better, confident that his psychologist believes him and is on his side.

As he is exiting, Charles notices Dr. Anderson’s notebook left open on her desk. Before he can stop himself, his eyes scan the page and focus on his name.

He feels his heart sink as he reads.

Charles Leclerc: deflecting from pain of difficult season by creating elaborate fantasy relationship. Fixation on celebrity crush indicates deeper self-esteem issues. Recommend to confront delusion directly in next session.

Charles reels, shock and anger swirling through him. Not even his own psychologist believes him! She thinks he is living in some weird fantasy.

Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Charles straightens his shoulders and walks out. He has never felt more alone and frustrated in his conviction. But he refuses to give up. No matter what anyone says, his love for you is real. And one day, somehow, he will prove it to the world.

***

Charles is back at his family home in Monaco during a rare few days off. He is puttering around the kitchen while his mother cooks dinner.

“Oh, by the way, Y/N is coming over for dinner tonight,” Charles mentions casually. “I want you all to finally meet her.”

Pascale laughs lightly without looking up from the stove. “Of course, sweetie.”

Charles frowns. “I’m serious, maman. She’ll be here in an hour.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure she will,” Pascale replies indulgently. Charles huffs in annoyance.

Just then, his brothers come into the kitchen, freshly showered after playing football outside.

“Hey Charles, how’s life with your imaginary girlfriend?” Lorenzo immediately teases.

“She’s actually coming over for dinner tonight,” Charles says tersely.

Arthur lets out a loud laugh. “Yeah right! Good one.” He grabs a piece of bread from the counter, still chuckling.

Charles throws his hands up in exasperation. “Why does no one ever believe me about her?”

“Boys, that’s enough,” Pascale chides gently. “Let your brother dream.”

Charles opens his mouth to retort but just then, the doorbell rings. His eyes widen.

“I’ll get it!" He yells, dashing for the door. He takes a deep breath before swinging it open to reveal you standing there casually in jeans and a sweater, looking effortlessly gorgeous.

“Surprise!" You laugh, pulling him into a tight hug. Charles melts into your embrace, all his stress and frustration fading away.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now,” he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back to smile at him tenderly. “I’ve been looking forward to this for ages. I want your family to know how much I love you.”

Charles grins and takes your hand, leading your into the kitchen where his stunned family waits.

Pascale’s mouth is hanging open in shock. The piece of bread Arthur is holding falls to the floor with a dull thump.

“Y-your Serene Highness,” Pascale finally manages to stammer out, hastily wiping her hands on a towel. “What an honor, we weren’t expecting you ...”

She shoots an accusatory look at Charles, who throws up his hands defensively. “I told you she was coming!”

Pascale flushes. “Yes, well, I didn’t think … that is … we would have prepared ...”

You step forward gracefully, immediately putting Pascale at ease. “Please, just call me Y/N. I’ve been dying to meet Charles’ family.”

As you effortlessly charm his mother and brothers, Charles stands back watching with a satisfied smile. The shock and sheepishness on his family’s faces is vindicating after so many months of teasing and disbelief.

Charles has never been one to say “I told you so” but … I told you so.

***

The cheers of the crowd are deafening as the chequered flag waves for Charles at the Monaco Grand Prix. He can hardly believe it — finally, a win at his home race!

As he pulls into parc fermé and jumps out of the car, the emotions hit him. Pure elation at ending the long wait for a home victory. Relief at overcoming the team’s doubts. But most of all, excitement for what comes next.

The podium ceremony.

And with the Monegasque royal family presenting the trophies as usual, Charles knows exactly who will be handing him the winner’s trophy.

He can barely stand still through the anthems, eager for his moment with you. The weekend has been agony, so close to you yet having to pretend that there is nothing between the two of you.

But not anymore.

At last, the royal family walks onto the podium led by none other than Princess Y/N. Charles’ heart skips a beat at the sight of you gliding towards him in a figure-hugging red midi dress, sunlight glinting off your carefully styled hair. You somehow manage to become more and more beautiful every time he sees you.

Stopping in front of him, you give him a subtle wink before launching into the customary congratulatory speech. Charles nods along, not hearing a word as he zones out while admiring the stunning woman he gets to call his own.

At last, you turn to pick up the trophy. “It is my honor to present this trophy to our victor, who represents Monaco with pride in everything he does, Charles Leclerc,” you announce, holding it out to him with a brilliant smile.

In that moment, Charles throws all caution to the wind. As he accepts the trophy, he reaches out and pulls you into a passionate kiss.

The crowd below erupts in shocked cheers and screams. You melt into the kiss for a blissful moment before gently pulling back, your eyes sparkling. Charles grins at you breathlessly.

“Worth the wait?” He murmurs.

“Absolutely,” you whisper back, squeezing his hand. “I’m so proud of you, mon amour.”

Turning back to the roaring crowd, Charles wraps an arm around your waist and thrusts your linked hands into the air in triumph.

Looking out at the paddock, Charles sees the priceless dumbfounded looks on his fellow drivers’ faces. The Ferrari PR team looks ready to pass out in horror. Reporters are screaming questions and snapping photos frantically.

But Charles only has eyes for the radiant princess at his side. At long last, he has made your love public for the whole world to see.

Later, after celebrations around the circuit have started winding down in favor of moving to lounges and clubs for the night, Charles and you escape for a private moment together.

“That was quite the reveal,” you say with an amused quirk of your eyebrow.

Charles laughs. “I know, subtlety has never been my strong suit. I hope you don’t mind.”

You caress his face tenderly. “Of course not. I’m happy to finally be by your side. No more hiding.”

Charles kisses you deeply, all the love and longing of the past months pouring into it.

When you finally break apart, foreheads touching, he murmurs, “No more doubts. No more teasing. They all know now that you’re real and all mine.”

“Forever yours,” you whisper back. And seal it with another perfect kiss.

***

“I can’t believe it. I just … actually can’t believe it,” Max mutters, staring at the large screens around the paddock that are showing you and Charles gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes during the post-race interviews.

“Lord Perceval … dating an actual princess,” Carlos muses in disbelief.

“And not just any princess, his teenage celebrity crush!" Lando exclaims.

“I guess we owe him an apology,” Pierre says sheepishly.

“Big time,” Daniel agrees. “We gave him so much crap for making her up.”

“Speak of the devil,” Max mutters as Charles strides into the room, hand-in-hand with you.

An awkward silence descends on the group. Charles clears his throat, enjoying their obvious discomfort.

“I believe you all know my girlfriend, Her Serene Highness Y/N Grace Stephanie Caroline, Hereditary Princess of Monaco and Marquise of Baux. But you can just call her Your Serene Highness or Princess Y/N,” he says politely.

The guys mumble greetings, not quite meeting your eyes. You smile graciously. “You can just call me Y/N. Any friend of Charles is a friend of mine and there’s no need for titles around friends.”

Charles narrows his eyes. “Actually I don’t think that will be necessary. I believe they should maintain protocol and address you properly.”

You shoots him a look. “Darling, it’s fine, really. I want your friends to feel comfortable around me.”

But Charles crosses his arms, not budging. “No, it’s not fine. I must insist that they observe the formal mode of address for royalty.”

The drivers shift awkwardly again. You pull Charles aside with a soothing smile.

“What are you doing?” You whisper. “I’m trying to put them at ease.”

“I know but they deserve to squirm for a bit after how much they mocked us,” Charles whispers back petulantly.

You bite back a smile. “Don’t be silly. I know their teasing hurt but let’s move past it. Can you really blame them for thinking it sounds like a made up fairytale? Put yourself in their shoes.”

Charles sighs. “I guess you’re right ... I just want them to respect you.”

“They will, in time,” you say gently. “But forcing them to be overly formal won’t accomplish that. I’m still just me.”

Charles nods reluctantly. “Okay fine, we’ll do it your way.”

You turn back to the drivers who are trying to act natural and pretending that they didn’t just listen in on your conversation with a bright smile. “I’ve heard so much about all of you,” you say. “Charles speaks very highly of his fellow drivers.”

“We’re, uh, happy to finally meet you too,” Max manages to get out.

“Yeah, congrats mate,” Daniel offers weakly.

More awkward silence follows. Charles smirks, deciding to twist the knife a bit more.

“I know you all had your doubts about me landing a catch like Y/N,” he says casually. “But I can’t blame you. Even I can hardly believe someone so incredible would fall for me.”

He gazes at you adoringly as you blush prettily while the drivers fidget uneasily.

“Anyway, as you can now see, she’s real and we are happier than ever!" Charles concludes brightly.

“We’re really sorry for not believing you,” Lando bursts out sincerely. “And all the teasing.”

The others chime in with apologies and congratulations. Charles graciously accepts, reassuring them no hard feelings.

After you have throughly charmed them all and departed, the group surrounds Charles excitedly.

“Alright, you have to give us all the details,” Max demands. “How did you meet? How did you get her to go out with you? When did it get serious?”

Charles just laughs. “It’s a long story. But the important thing is that she’s the only one for me. Despite everyone doubting us, our love was real from the start.”

“Pretty epic to have a real life princess as your soulmate,” Pierre says dreamily.

“Just remember you knew me back when you all thought she was imaginary,” Charles jokes.

“We’ll never live it down,” Carlos groans goodnaturedly.

Charles smiles, feeling lighter and happier than he has in ages. The long struggle to prove himself has been worth it. Now he has everything — the win, the girl, and the utter shock and joy of proving to the world that even his wildest dreams can come true.

And this is only the beginning for him and his beloved princess.

5K notes · View notes

holybibly · 3 months

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Pretty Flushed | MATZ x Reader | Part I

Genre: smut, hybrids!Au

Word Count: 10.6k

Summary: Debts must always be repaid, even if they are not your own, and you will learn this cruel lesson from your own bitter sweet experience.

Or where innocent bunnies are the most delicious dessert for the big bad wolf

Part II

WARNING: Unprotected sex, Mommy/Alpha! Seonghwa, Daddy/Alpha! Hongjoong, Omega/Bunny! Reader, оral knotting, stomach bulge, vaginal knotting, breeding, fingering, choking, degrading, pet names, spit kink, size kink, face fucking, hair pulling, manhandling, threesomes, dirty talk, explicit sexual content, explicit language, squirting, pussy slapping, dacryphilia, oral, cum eating, overstimulation and more.

Tag list: @jeolmeunday @meowmeeps @wayzatiny @stolasisyourparent @iweirdthingsblog @staytinyville @yoonivjpg @spooo00oky @kibs-and-bits @yunnieo @avantalem @dreamingofyeo @uuviey @mxnsxngie @bahngchatsfx @yeosang-dot-mp3 @zzz-zzs @yeos-bunny @seonghwasstar @fvlvy @bunnyluvr25 @watermelon2319 @weedforthoughtz @teez-the-time @bakarilennox @atinyreads @bluesungshine @kihyuns-military-wife @seventhcallisto @maximofftrash @0325tiny @edusweah @haven-cove @nhari @sanhwalvr @hecateslittlewitchling @icecold2baby @readerofallthingss @appleschre @wannabebarbiesworld @kpopmonstur @ohflorah @yoongiigolden @unxverxse @kuromiiy @cherryynoir @mitchikeli @atinism @minaizum1 @st4rhwa @kayleigh-28 @onedumbho3 @imthetempter @soobiverse

A/N: I hadn't planned to split this into two parts, but I'm not good at writing anything under 25k, so Part 1 is here today.This universe will evolve, and there are a few more works to come. I'm kind of obsessed with them. Sorry, but I'm on my knees in front of men in furs, and I'm not ashamed of it at all. I hope you all look forward to Part 2 as much as I did.

All comments and reblogs are very much appreciated and are a great motivation for me. Feel free to ask me anything; questions and private messages are open.

The whole tag list will also be relevant for the second part. I may add 10-15 more people to the second part tag, so if you want to be tagged, please leave a comment under this post.

divider by @cafekitsune

Have fun, bunnies; the heat is on.

Ever since you were born, your mother has always said to you, "Good bunnies should be submissive and grateful; they shouldn't cause any problems," and you have always followed her words with an exceptional level of obedience.

Responsive, soft, and gentle, you were the perfect embodiment of all the best qualities of your breed. You were the best bunny in the litter, something you were undoubtedly proud of and always justified with your perfect behaviour.

You were so tender, affectionate, and charming—the absolute image of a good girl. Always helpful, understanding, and ready to help in any situation. Despite the mocking nickname "Goody Two Shoes" given to you by the other bunnies on the farm, you were happy to be who you were.

"Good bunnies are obedient bunnies" was the simple truth of your entire life.

You bowed your head and bared your neck in respect, went to church on Sundays, helped breastfeed the younger bunnies in the nursery, studied hard, and, of course, had a clean and pure reputation.

It's not that you didn't have a clue what sex was. You'd gotten your fair share of heats, but unfortunately, you were too shy and indecisive to get laid with someone. You spent all of your heats in the company of a cute little glass dildo and a silver plug that was adorned with a shiny pink stone.

The obscene thoughts and pornographic images that filled your mind at the time always made you feel extremely ashamed. But what could you do when you were literally born to be a beautiful sex toy? It was a rather humiliating fact for your species, but all rabbits were something of a slut for a big fat cock. Their primitive reproductive instincts were stronger than any sense of decency they had.

From your point of view, this was the one and only blemish on your otherwise "saintly" image. A black mark on your spotless reputation. Your small guilty pleasure.

In everything else, you followed strict rules and remained a naive, obedient girl.

At the moment, the situation in which you found yourself was a traumatic one for your fragile, isolated mind, to say the least. On top of that, your heat was coming on relentlessly, and the growing excitement tingling beneath the surface of your skin was making it a hundred times worse. All the more so when it was being fuelled by the heavy, seductive pheromones emanating from the man sitting in front of you.

In all the time you'd been in this room, you hadn't even dared to look at him.

Torn between the deep-seated prey instinct that urges you to run and hide and the forbidden dark desire to submit to the dominant species, your mind goes haywire, causing almost physical pain.

It was a choice between fuck and death, and you were stuck in the middle. If you dared to turn your back on him, he wouldn't hesitate to rip your throat out with his teeth or rape you right there on the fluffy carpet, rough and animalistic.

In spite of the very real danger, the nymphomaniac half of your brain was happily imagining how nice it would be to feel the soft pile of the carpet against your skin as you were put on all fours and fucked senseless.

Embarrassing as it was to admit, bunnies weren't the smartest of creatures, more concerned with mating and satisfying an insatiable sex drive than anything else. Sometimes they lacked intelligence and common sense in situations where it was needed, and this was one of those times. So it was not surprising that you thought more about the carpet under your feet and the cock between your legs than the real and obvious threat to your fragile life.

All air and glass, too brittle and soft for this world; you were easily broken.

"Haven't they taught you any manners, pretty thing? Stop staring at the floor. I'll never believe he's more attractive than me, so lift your head up, bunny, and let me have a good look at your sweet face." The voice was deep and rich, with a kind of chocolate smoothness that glided over your skin like a forbidden caress.

The sensation was so clear and vivid that a pleasant warmth spread over your entire body with a gentle blush, and a tingling sensation began to tingle palpably in your lower abdomen.

You almost start to whimper in response, but you manage to suppress the humiliating sound deep in your throat and bite the inside of your cheek in pain.

His presence is so strong and commanding, so suffocating, that it feels like the whole world has frozen at his feet. The sensation burns you to the bone, and a primal, little-used instinct signals the impending danger, sending an icy shiver down the length of your spine.

The bunny's submissive nature can't help but react to such blatant dominance, and your body responds by sending out signals of submission, causing you to tilt your head slightly to the side to show him your gently exposed neck.

Your long ears flutter weakly at the sound of a velvety purr escaping the man's lips, and you let the muscles that are taut as silk ribbons relax a little, knowing he's accepted your gesture of submission.

"A good bunny is an obedient bunny," so as soon as the dynamic between you is cleared, you immediately follow the command he gave you earlier.

"I... I don't... Excuse me, sir." You stammer as you awkwardly try to formulate the right words and finally raise your head to look at the gorgeous man in front of you with the glassy stare of big, wide, open eyes.

"There you are, my cuddly little bunny. Such good manners, my pet. I wonder if you are always such a docile sugar thing, obediently following all instructions." He chuckles slightly, the mockery of it clearly audible in the soft sound. "Do you like what you see?" As if inviting a kiss, the tip of his pointed tongue flicks sensually across his voluptuous, plump lips. There is a flash of something in his seductive, languid gaze. A sense of knowledge. Feeling of power. Every move and every word were deliberate.

This was the beginning of the game between predator and prey. He seduced her only to tear her to pieces once she was in his clawed hands.

No one asked questions on your farm; you were always told what to do and how to answer. So his question, to put it mildly, has you confused, and you don't know what to say to him, or rather, what answer he expects from you.

The man before you is magnificent. The majestic face is like that of a fierce beast of prey and an angel of death rolled into one. Warmth surged to your face at the mere sight of him and sank to the depths of your soul in the same moment. What could you say? Are you the most beautiful thing I've ever seen? Even that wouldn't have been enough.

A pair of pointed ears could be seen between silky black curls that twitched with interest at every sound. Silver fur that felt so soft to the touch. Not as soft as your own, perhaps, but that did not diminish the desire to be touched in any way. The same silver shimmered in the lazy movements of his thick tail.

He was half-reclining in a large leather chair, as if he were sitting on a royal throne. His long legs were spread wide and covered in a pair of designer jeans that drew attention to his crotch. The outline of a large, thick cock was clearly visible through the fabric.

At the mere sight of him, lust spills deep into your loins. The sweet voice of approaching heat sings happily in your head, "The perfect mate, just what you need. He'll destroy you, satiate you, and tie you up with his big fat knot." These thoughts were so sickening, but that's what you get for being a bunny.

You had to shake them off. Good girls don't think about dicks. Especially when their lives are literally on the brink of death.

Tattoo lines ran down the length of his slender neck. There was a small scar where the mating bite had taken place. His skin was uneven and swollen in places. It was as if teeth had sunk into him several times in a row, overlapping the bites.

But there was one detail in the whole of his stunning appearance that made your eyes widen in fear, and the space between his thighs filled with the liquid honey of desire.

Wool in all shades of brown and sand, harmoniously woven into a massive, voluminous fur coat. It didn't take a genius to figure out who he was, and your pheromone-fogged brain would only belatedly realise that you were in serious trouble. There was only one species that could afford to wear fur in such a provocative and shameless manner.

A wolf. And an Alpha at that.

The ultimate predator. He was cunning, stealthy, and tantalising when he wanted to be.

The moment of realisation hits you like a lightning bolt. A nervous shiver runs down your spine, and your hands start to shake as you crumple up the hem of your white skirt. You look a little ridiculous in your pretty white outfit—all frills and lace. It was your idea of a sweet outfit. But it looks naively childish, almost silly, compared to the Alpha's luxurious furs and designer clothes.

He's clearly amused by your nervousness. The corners of his luscious, perfectly sculpted lips curve into a mocking, devilish smile. The sharp tips of his fangs are revealed, and your pulse races.

You've heard many stories from other bunnies about how tempting predators can be to natural prey like you, like moths seduced by flames and such. But how could you, such a gentle and sweet girl, be attracted to this alpha standing before you?

The way you squeezed your thighs together clearly showed how excited you were. The Alpha sniffs at this and then laughs deeply and darkly.

"Ah, you obviously like what you see, don't you, little slut? It turns out the rumours were true; all bunnies are such whores for dick. I was under the impression that we had an innocent creature on our hands here. Mmm, that's a shame, sweetheart."

You open your mouth to object, but all you hear is a soft whimper that makes him laugh even harder. The sound practically vibrates against your heated skin, a deep shade of burgundy spilling over your chubby cheeks in a humiliating blush.

And yet, you're a very stupid bunny.

"I want to see more of that slutty nature, but we'll get back to that later, sweetheart. Now tell me, do you know what you're doing here, Fluffy?" You squirm under the intensity of his gaze. His eyes are dark and so predatory. There's a hunger in them that's hard to hide, and it makes your heart beat so fast that you can feel every beat in your ribs, and your legs start to tremble harder than ever, but underneath all that fear, there's something else.

The tugging feeling of arousal in your lower abdomen grows stronger by the second, drops of viscous mucus moisten the silky folds of your pussy, and your panties suddenly become very uncomfortable, clinging uncomfortably to your crotch.

A new wave of sweet, tempting pheromones fills the room, smothering you with delicious sweetness, responding to your actions. Your head begins to spin, a numb sensation of excitement crawling out from under your skin and spreading throughout your body until it spills over your chubby cheeks in a bright red blush.

It was too twisted for your fragile mind, and you were furious at the terror and bliss hidden beneath it, but the attraction was too strong to deny. But for silly, sweet bunnies, it was the world's biggest mistake to feel and react like that. You're supposed to be this calm and brave bunny, not trembling with lust under that hypnotic black gaze. And you certainly shouldn't have found this wolf to be so attractive and so sexy.

But some part of you had already surrendered to him before you were even aware of it, and your body seemed to be unable to overcome the perverse attraction you were feeling.

You tried to convince yourself that it was all about the deep-seated instinct to procreate—the very natural rabbit instinct and the impending heat—but that would be self-destructive.

Good girls always end up with the big bad guy's dick in their mouth. And that wolf was big and mean. The fear of his sharp teeth sinking into your neck practically melted away at the thought of him tying you in a knot and fuck you so good you'd forget your name.

"Я... I don't know, sir. I'm a good bunny. I'm very obedient. Please believe me..." Your mind is a mess; you can't form coherent thoughts, and you speak in scrappy phrases that make no sense.

Your eyes start to water, and a lump forms in your throat, making it hard to breathe. It's like a sudden temper hysteria, as if all of your senses have been rebooted at once and you can't make up your mind how to react at the moment. Something inside of you snap, like a self-defence mechanism that has just been activated, and crystal tears will begin to flow down your face.

Here you are, a cute little bunny in a wolf's lair, left to be eaten by a big, bad wolf.

You finally realise that all this is happening in a wolf's den, where you are completely helpless and vulnerable to the danger represented by the handsome man sitting in front of you. The most important thing is that you have absolutely no idea why you have been brought here. The head of your farm has asked you to ride with him, and of course you have obediently agreed; you would never dare to refuse; it would be so disrespectful and rude, as your mother has always told you....

Oh my God, Mum! Did she know where you were? She must be worried. Isn't she?

Your heart is pounding in your chest, fear is coursing through your veins, and hot tears are stinging your eyes. Your left heel hits the ground a few times in a convulsive manner. The panicked sound is drowned out by the softness of the carpet—the same carpet that pleased you just a few minutes ago.

The wolf's eyes grew hungrier, lust blazing in them like a golden flame, and he licked his lips sensuously. The moan he lets out is nothing less than pure porn, and you shudder. Whether it's from sheer terror or from excitement, you can't tell.

His long tongue traced the outline of his full lips once more, and you understood the meaning of what he was doing.

He's tasting your fear. Oh, fuck.

It was no secret that all wolves were a little sexually perverted; they always found the display of primal fear extremely arousing and had a tendency towards dacryphilia.

One day, one of the bunny girls from your farm spent her mating season with one of the wolves from a neighbouring clan. She came back looking as if she'd been abused for years—bites, wounds, bruises, and hickeys—but her blissful sighs and her belly, swollen from all the sperm she'd received, said she had no regrets about choosing a mate.

For a bunny like you, sex with a wolf was like flirting with death. He'd tear you to pieces, and you'd be grateful. If you survived, of course.

Yet there was something deeply erotic about being at the mercy of this ferocious, godlike creature; helpless and defenceless against his cruel touch, his fierce stare, and his razor-sharp fangs.

You're almost feverish. Your cheeks are beginning to burn from the shameful excitement building up between your legs, your lower lip is quivering with barely suppressed sobs, and your palms are sweating from the hot, lingering, perverse sense of temptation that is bubbling under your skin like scalding water. It's so deadly and dangerous that it's almost blissfully pleasurable.

Cotton tail twitches nervously, and your long ears flatten against your head, the whole body trying to curl up into a ball in the hope of escaping that greedy gaze.

In the wolf's eyes, you become even more appetising—such a sweet little thing for his taste. He smiles sweetly at you—as sweet as a wolf's smile can be. This sudden change in his demeanour makes you swallow noisily the viscous saliva that has gathered in your mouth. The smile on those beautiful lips is so much softer, gentler, and almost motherly, and your body unconsciously relaxes, fooled by the feigned kindness.

Stupid, stupid bunny.

"Didn't they tell you, my sweet little bunny?" His voice is a wicked, velvety purr. Your fluffy cotton tail twitches nervously, as if warning you of impending danger, and you squeak weakly. "You're completely empty-headed, sweetheart."

Almost lazily, Alpha brings the glass of amber-coloured whisky to his lips and takes a small sip from it. His tongue is slowly rolling the liquid in his mouth; it is poking at his cheek in a vulgar way that is too obvious to be an accident. It's a deliberate move. The glass is set on the table with a soft clink, the echo of which is matched by your heel hitting the floor.

When he speaks again, his lips are wet, glistening with drops of alcohol, and you realise with a sense of humiliation that your silk panties are getting much wetter.

"My name is Seonghwa and I am the Alpha Leader of this house. Your farm owes me a debt of gratitude, my little one. I've been patient enough to wait for a while, but you bunnies are such damned greedy things, always wanting to take and expecting to get away with it just because of your pretty face. But you don't. It's time to pay your bills, and you're my sweet girl; you're going to pay me back everything your farm owes me. That's what you're here for." Seonghwa tilted his head sideways, almost childishly, and added mockingly. "Do you understand me, pretty thing, or do I have to repeat it to you again so that your tiny brain can understand it?"

He is blatantly humiliating you and openly mocking, knowing full well that rabbits are a little on the small side mentally and sometimes have a hard time taking in information correctly at first go.

You let out a half-whine, half-squeal, and shake your head negatively. Your fluffy blonde curls fall over your flushed face and stick uncomfortably to the thick candy-pink gloss on your lips. Right now, you look absolutely nothing like the well-behaved bunny you are.

"That… that's not true… Please don't do this to me, my farm; we are very good bunnies. Seong…sir, I am a good girl, the best bunny in the litter, and I have never taken anything from anyone." You respond with a soft whimper that turns into a loud sob.

You're a pretty pathetic sight to behold, but that only seems to turn him all the more.

Seonghwa places a dainty palm on the inside of his thigh, too high for propriety, and you shiver at the sound of his dark laughter. This action is a subtle, almost primitive, act of dominance. It is designed to draw attention to his large, hard cock hidden beneath the fabric of his jeans. His knot must be huge.

Your mouth fills with saliva at the thought and you swallow loudly, fluffy tail quivering and flicking slightly in response to his behaviour. Thoughts of what it would be like to be tied up by an alpha, for once in your life, make your breath catch in your throat. Apart from the gossip you've heard from the other bunnies, you're not even aware of it. You are wondering what it will feel like when the Alpha is tying you up with his knot and stretching your pussy wide open around it.

It's something that's on the edge of your sanity, and you're both scared and eager to rub your face on his cock, drooling all over it like a proper slut.

All of your nerves are stretched to the breaking point, and your mind is consumed by a fog of hormones and a mixture of terror. Your skin melts from the sensory overload, and your body begins to prepare itself for the fact that this man is about to ruin your life. You are almost desperate for what is about to happen.

His aura grows heavier, and finally, for the first time all night, you get a whiff of him. It's thick, enveloping, and evil—the smell of bitter almonds with notes of whisky, black cherry, and something else. Your nose twitched as you tried to catch the subtle note, and when you did, you sobbed loudly. There was a faint, subtle scent of blood emanating from it, a scent common to all predators.

In a reflexive response, you try to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the predator by taking small steps backwards. Somewhere in your chest, a feeling of panic is building up, and you can hear your heart beating frantically, pumping blood.

Even through the fog of excitement, your brain is responding to the real danger, telling you to back away, and you obediently follow its advice before your back hits something that's both hard and incredibly soft at the same time. As your trembling fingers sink into the luxuriously thick fur, the feeling of terror returns with redoubled force.

Somebody else was here.

Seonghwa growls, his eyes rolling back as he throws his head back. His mouth opens in noisy, deep breaths, as if he were choking to death, and the sweet pheromones fill the room even more than before. His thick tail flicks behind his back like a whip, and his body shakes a little, overflowing with the energy and lust he has suppressed. Your fear is like sweet ambrosia on his tongue, and he craves more; he wants to hear your scream, your hot tears, your terror, and your excitement pouring out of your tiny cunt.

Oh, baby, he's going to tear you to hell.

His hand squeezes his cock hard under the fabric of his jeans a couple of times, causing him to let out a passionate moan. It's a deep, animal sound, full of dangerous warnings.

And there's nothing but hunger in his eyes when he looks at you again. Seonghwa looks like he wants to rape you until you're numb, to fuck you to death, and to fill you to the brim until your belly swells with all the cum he's going to pour into you. And there's so much of it—somuch that it'll be pouring out of you for hours.

You whimper, every nerve in your body vibrating and tingling, and you try to take another step back, but the hard body behind you won't budge an inch.

"Oh, Fluffy, are you leaving us already? I just came to play." His voice was soft and a little feminine, and you could hear a barely concealed evil chuckle in it. He purred in your ear in a sensual way, and a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around you in a tight embrace. Painfully digging into your soft curves were fingers adorned with massive silver rings. The man behind you mooed with satisfaction as he squeezed you even tighter into his arms. "Mmm… what a pretty pet we have here, Seonghwa. A tiny, sweet doll, how lucky we are to have you, huh? Such a silly, innocent little bunny in a den of big wolves". Soft fur wraps around you like a blanket as his cold, sharp nose burrows deep into the curve of your neck. Taking a deep breath, the wolf runs his nose along the pulsating scent gland. He must really like the smell, because you can feel the slight vibration of his growling against your skin. "You smell good - so delicious, fluffy - like peaches and cream. Makes me want to eat you alive." The man chuckles, playfully clicking his teeth against your neck as the slippery liquid moistens your thighs.

"As always on time, Hongjoong." Seonghwa remarks with an irritated tone.

"Don't be so greedy, Hwa. The scent of her excitement wafts through the house like an invitation." The Alpha behind you continues to fiddle with your throat. He runs his nose over your skin almost lazily, as if he has all the time in the world. "You can literally feel her taste on your tongue; you should have a look at Mingi and Yunho right now." He chuckles again and weakly bites the skin of your neck. You tremble all over in his arms, your fear heightened by the mention of other wolves, but with it comes a shameful sense of arousal, and you're clearly aware of how much is dripping from you. The thick, clear liquid is dripping down your legs and soaking into the fabric of your shoes.

Your heart flutters as they speak of you so casually, as if you are nothing more than a thing, a shiny new toy that has caught their attention. It's a knowledge that is simultaneously exhilarating and frightening.

So you try to speak to them again, to ask them to let you go to the farm, but all your words fall on deaf ears.

"Please..." Your voice sounds rather pathetic, more like a plea for their dicks than for a safe return to the farm. "I don't... I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a good, obedient bunny, and I owe nothing to anyone. You've got to be mistaken." You stammered, sobbing, turning your full attention back to the black-haired Alpha, belatedly noticing how faintly the blood-red frame of his bottomless black irises glimmered. "Let me go home, please. My mom is worried."

"Do you think we should let the bunny go, Hwa? She's so courteous, and she's got mum worrying about her." The Alpha behind you, Hongjoon, brings his hand up to stroke the velour base of your ears, and you make a small squeal as his fingers touch the sensitive spot.

"Aren't you just the most adorable pet, Princess? Don't worry, you've got another mommy to look after you now."

As Hongjoong rubbed the soft base of your ear harder, all rational awareness left you completely. Your ears have always been your erogenous zone, and you never let anyone touch them. You stifled a long, whimpering moan when your large front teeth dug painfully into your lower lip. You had to cross your knees to relieve the throbbing between your legs. But that only made more slick run down your legs.

Alpha presses his hips against your plump arse, and you can clearly feel the sheer size of his cock; it's hard, massive, almost palpably hot, even through the fabric, and despite the numbing excitement and lust of your impending heat, you realise that you'll never be able to fit something so thick and large inside you.

You let out a loud squeal at the thought and immediately covered your mouth with the palm of your hand, but it was of no use at all. Through the veil of tears, you can see Seonghwa's fluffy tail swaying upwards, interested in the sound, and Hongjoong letting out a long, languorous moan into your skin.

Wolves and their twisted, lustful minds.

All of it is driving them mad, making their cocks throb painfully in their trousers, and releasing even more of their pheromones. Your crystal-sweet tears on your cheeks, flushed with humiliation and desire; the terror frozen in your wide open eyes; that vulnerable, helpless look; and of course, the thick, creamy scent of your slime.

"My innocent bunny, hasn't anyone told you that there are many bad people in this world?" Seonghwa says with an exaggerated tenderness that makes his plump lips pucker up cutely. Every word that he says is a pure sneer at you, wrapped up in the velvety purr of his deep voice.

"Hwa, it's too hard for our sweet little pet; she's got air in her head." Hongjoong chuckling tauntingly again, and you notice, not without horror, that the distance between you and Seonghwa has shrunk to the extent that you are standing between his spread legs, the toes of your pretty pink satin shoes touching the hem of his luxurious fur coat. Hongjoong's actions were so distracting that you didn't even notice that he was bringing you closer to the main Alpha. Wrapped in a haze of seductive pheromones and lust, your head was indeed empty and light.

A sweet, empty-headed bunny. Such a perfect toy to be used for their amusement.

All Seonghwa has to do is reach out to stroke the soft silk of your thighs, and judging by the way his gaze slides to the edge of your skirt, which frankly left little to the imagination, and his nostrils flare as he inhales the creamy peach scent, the thought crosses his mind as well. And it would appear that he's not the only one.

Hongjoong's fingernails scratch the thin skin on the inside of your thigh like delicate, sharp claws, causing a stream of warm liquid to flow from your pussy. He growls contentedly as the sticky, sweet-smelling moisture remains on his fingertips.

"Is someone excited, fluffy?" His tongue is hot and wet, licking languidly over the swollen, scented gland, and your cunt clenches reflexively. Your face flares with humiliation. "You're such a dirty girl, my darling."

"I'm a good bunny." Slapping your heel against the floor, you protest weakly. Your lips curl into a cute pout by themselves, almost childish.

The scent of Alpha rises, and for the second time tonight, you lose your head at it—it's something so delicious, almost sinful, with notes of chocolate, rum, spice, and pink pepper. A sharp spark of excitement runs through your body, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Your knees buckle, and if Hongjoon wasn't literally holding you, you'd be lying on the floor at their feet. That's where you belong. Turning you to face him, he wraps his fingers around your chin.

Hongjoon's just as strikingly handsome as Seonghwa, but unlike the long-haired Alpha's sensually seductive features, this one has sharper, almost demonic ones.

A truly wolfish smile—all fangs and hunger—plays on his red lips. A pair of pointed white ears twitch interestedly at your attention, and his tail sways lazily behind his back. He's also dressed in furs, a toxic orange and scarlet, and you can't help but notice how perfectly they fit him. It's as bold as his owner.

"Come on, fluffy; don't cry; let daddy take care of that sweet face." In long, slow motion, he licks the tears from your cheeks. Something seems to be breaking inside him as the Alpha rolls his eyes and moans gutturally.

Afraid to even take a breath, you freeze completely in his arms. The excitement rushes through your vagina, and your pussy clenches desperately against nothing. Your big, wet eyes don't move from his face until he meets your gaze once more. A look so dark and predatory that it makes you want to cry even harder than before. Only you can't tell if you're afraid of him or if you want to continue to please him.

"Bunny…you're just asking for a knot, aren't you? All these tears… you're driving me crazy, my angel." His purr is sweet as sugar. His hot tongue licks away your tears as his lips press against your plump, wet cheeks. "Let me explain this to you, my darling. Your "wonderful" farm gave you away to pay off a debt. My fragile little girl, you belong to us now. Ours to play, ours to fuck, ours to breed."

"Hongjoong is absolutely right, princess. From this day on, you belong to us, my bunny. You are such a jewel for our house. Maybe we'll even let the younger wolves play with you a bit. They're a bit rough around the edges, but I promise they'll be on their best behaviour around a beautiful thing like you. If they bite you, they'll lick your tiny cunt to make up for it."

Your left heel taps the floor a few times, and you manage to make a low squeaking noise.

"I'm not an object." You didn't even know who you were trying to convince—you or them. Of course you were a thing in their hands, nothing more than a pretty cock sleeve, and the words Hongjoong and Seonghwa had said a moment before had accurately described your position in their house.

The black-haired Alpha rose from his seat and towered over you. Up close, he's not just beautiful; he's godlike. Instinctively, you arch your back and tilt your head back so that your eyes meet his. His gaze is so searing, so sharp, that you feel your skin burning underneath as you begin to wriggle and whimper in Hongjoong's tight grip, the two Alphas chuckling merrily.

"Aren't you?" He raises an eyebrow at you in a mocking manner. The corners of his lips curl up in a mischievous grin, just enough to reveal the tips of his pointed fangs. "So tell me, bunny, what shall I call you?"

"Y/N." Your voice is no more than a whisper to him. Seonghwa's ears twitch in your direction with interest, and Hongjoong's warm breath kisses the sensitive skin on the back of your neck. They heard you very well. But that doesn't stop them from addressing you with a certain harshness.

Seonghwa's hand runs gently through your hair before he grabs a handful and pulls it out sharply. You squeak shrilly, and the sound echoes with their laughter, velvety and mocking.

They are large, warm, and deadly, and you look tiny in the midst of them; the difference in your size is so obvious.

"Speak up, fluffy. I want to hear that pretty little voice of yours loud and clear."

In the meantime, Hongjoong's fingers are already pulling at your hair on the other side, without any ceremony at all. His claws scratch your scalp for a second, and the stinging prick sends a shiver down the length of your back.

"Be gentle, Hongjoong; you don't want to break it before its time, do you? The puppies will go mad if they can't get their teeth into the bunny." Seonghwa chuckles.

He tilts his face towards you to lick away your tears as he watches you squirm in his mate's arms with sadistic pleasure. You can't help but notice that Seonghwa's tongue is much longer than the other Alpha's, so attuned are you to their every action.

"Be a good girl and do as you're told. You don't want to disappoint mommy, do you, Fluffy?"

Be good. That's what you've always been told. Be obedient, because that's what the perfect little bunny should be, and you would never dare break that rule. It's literally tattooed on the subcortex of your brain. Standards of behaviour and obedience have been pounded into your pretty little head for years, and even if your instincts weren't to please your more dominant partner, prey, or predator, it doesn't matter; your obedience reflex would definitely be kicking in.

"Y/N." This time, you speak clearly and loudly as you are asked. "My name is Y/N."

"Y/N." Seonghwa pulls. As if tasting your name. "Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, it sounds so sweet, bunny. Mommy likes it." He grins broadly at you, showing his sharp teeth, and your cunt clenches shamefacedly in response, releasing another copious amount of mucus.

You make a soft sound, something between a squeak and a wheeze, your tail tucking in, your long ears drooping and flattening against your head.

"So what are we going to do with you, Y/N?" Hongjoong rolls your name over his tongue as if he's licking you between your legs, sounding almost pornographic. You want to hear it over and over again, any way you can.

"I don't know..." It's such a shame, but your instincts take over your mind, making you flow like a waterfall, dumbing yourself down for their pleasure.

"Mmm, my little angel, don't you know?" Hongjoong's lips touched the bowl of your ear, the tip of his tongue licking the soft skin and teasing your already shy nature. "Do you want daddy to spoil you, fluffy?" He purrs, making your cheeks burn shamefully, and you desperately shake your head to say yes, heated and embarrassed.

All rational thought becomes a blur, and your clouded mind focuses only on the growing sensation of the void between your legs and the puddle of liquid flowing from it.

"Please." Tears roll down your face, and your knees buckle as you shake violently and begin to go limp in the grip of the wolf. Seonghwa sucks aggressively at the skin of your swollen scent gland, leaving a mark of his right to you, a mark of his superiority. You're nothing more than a pretty fuck toy, the cutest sleeve for his cock, and the perfect bitch for him to breed with. "Ah-alpha, I beg you..."

"Look at her, Hwa, such a polite girl. Begging and pleading like a well-mannered pet. Shouldn't we have a reward for her?" He puts wet kisses on your throat. The sound of his purring voice sends signals straight to your quivering, warm pussy. "Don't you want the big, scary wolves to breed this small, narrow cunt?" You draw in a sharp breath as you feel Hongjoong's hand move down, squeezing the inside of your thigh and forcing your legs to spread apart.

As the palm of his hand cups your pussy in a possessive manner, you wheeze for air, and Hongjoong gasps slightly at the sensation of how wet you are. A shiver runs through your body as the Alpha slowly rubs his fingers along your folds through your silk panties, filling the room with a wet slurping sound as the fluid pours out. His fingers glide over your needy clit, trailing lightly as you fall deeper and deeper.

"My angel, daddy is going to make sure that this sweet pussy is always fed and filled with his warm cum." His fingers rub roughly over your throbbing clit, through your damp panties. They slide lower, pushing the panties lightly into your hole, mockingly watching your body jerk weakly. The touch stings, the sensitive edges of your hole tightening instinctively around his fingertips.

You want to spread your legs as wide as possible for the Alphas in front of you. To show how ready you are to be used, to be stuffed with their cocks, and, of course, to be tied with their big knots. To let their rough, long tongues hit the weakest places inside you, to let them eat you up all night long until you pass out from screaming their names and the number of orgasms you've had.

"Alpha..." You say, your hips arching shamelessly as you try to push Hongjoong's fingers as deep as possible. Your chubby butt swings from side to side in a motion that invites him in. Eliciting a hiss from him through clenched teeth, your soft buttocks rub against the large, firm bulge. "P-please spoil me... I-I'm begging-I need you, p-please, I need you so much..."At the moment, you're openly sobbing.

Seonghwa's long fingers are running along the side of your jaw, lifting your face as you stare into his mesmerised eyes, completely losing all sense of reason.

He's so close; the luxurious fur of his coat caresses your naked skin, burning where they touch. Their expensive furs envelop you, trapping you in a cage of hot bodies. The only thought in your head is the desire for them to spread you out on those furs and fuck until you can't stand it anymore, and even after. All you need is for them to stuff you full and knotting up your needy hole.

You're going to be a good girl for them—the best bunny they ever had.

"Shhh, don't cry; mommy will take care of you, my princess. Come to me." Seonghwa's voice seems to have dropped a few octaves, becoming more hoarse and hungrier than it was before. "Give me a taste of that sweet mouth."

Your face lifts obediently as he asks, and the next thing you know, his lips are burrowing into yours, burning painfully. Your eyes widen for a moment, and you are in a state of panic.

You weren't good at kissing. All those lazy, soft touches of lips you exchanged with some of the bunnies on the farm could hardly be called a full-fledged kiss, and they certainly didn't compare to the way Seonghwa devoured your mouth.

He pulls away from you for a moment as you squeal against his lips. While you're distracted by Seonghwa, Hongjoong slide the fabric of your panties to the side. His nimble fingers push the sticky, swollen folds apart and give you incredible pleasure. Cottontail twitches, your breath catching in your throat.

"Feeling good, sweetheart? Do you like the way daddy is stroking your needy cunt?"

"Yeshhh, it feels so good."

"Don't let yourself get distracted." Seonghwa digs her fingers into your skin and turns the touch into a painful grip. "Now mommy will teach you how to kiss properly. Open your mouth for me, darling." In obedience to his command, you open your mouth to find his lips attacking you with renewed force. As you unconsciously reach out to him and press harder against those plump, plush lips, the Alpha moans in approval. He sucks your lower lip between his sharp teeth before biting down hard on it, only to then stick out his tongue and run the rough appendage over your bruised lip in a soothing manner. An action that leaves you gasping and clutching the luxurious fur of his coat with your hands.

Seonghwa's long tongue slides between your teeth and presses against yours, licking your palate and pushing deep into your throat, literally licking your mouth from the inside out. His silky appendage moves sinfully, sliding and twirling in teasing motions that make you dizzy and your toes curl. You are intoxicated by the sweetness of the pheromones on his tongue, which enter your mouth with his saliva. Liquid desire builds up between your thighs. Viscous, transparent strands of your juices flow directly into the palm of Hongjoong's hand, down his wrist, and soak into the sleeve of his fur coat. The pain between your thighs is almost unbearable; your stomach twists and clenches, and you moan long and hard.

As his lips pull away from yours, thin strands of saliva hold your lips together before they break apart and fall to the side of your chin. The soft petals of his mouth slide down your face before he licks your lips, collecting saliva.

"Stick out your tongue, little slut." Hongjoong's subtle order echoes in your ears, and of course you do as you are told right away.

Your tongue is sticking out as you open your mouth as wide as possible. With glassy, tear-filled eyes, you watch as Seonghwa collects the saliva in his mouth and spits it out onto your waiting tongue. He purrs at the sight of a thick, viscous droplet rolling down your pink tongue.

"Swallow, darling." And you obliged.

"Aren't you the loveliest pet we've ever had? Such an obedient bunny for mommy." He leaned in again to kiss you almost innocently, which contradicted what he said next. "Now kiss Hongjoong and give him a taste of this fucking honey mouth before I spread you out on any available surface and stick my tongue so deep into your tight, wet cunt that you won't be able to live a day without it."

Your heel hits the floor a couple of times in a nervous manner, and Seonghwa runs his long fingers through your fluffy curls and turns your head in the direction of Hongjoong with all his might. His rings are clinging to your blonde strands, pulling them painfully as he moves, practically ripping them out of your head.

"There you are,, my angel; give daddy a kiss." He purses his lips sweetly and looks at you expectantly, the devil's delight and apparent derision dancing in his eyes. Oh, he is having so much fun watching you squirm.

"But, I... I thought that..." You babble confusedly.

"Don't be a disappointment to daddy, princess. You were told to kiss him." Seonghwa is pulling at your hair again, and it is hurting you.

In a clumsy attempt to repeat what Seonghwa had done to you, you tentatively reach for the other Alpha's lips. You stick out the tip of your tongue and lick weakly at the plump lower lip. Then you scrape at it with your big front teeth.

"Stupid bunny, do you even know how to do that?" Hongjoong laughs. Finally, he pulls his hand out from under your skirt and wraps it around your cheeks, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh as he does so. His fingers are wet and glistening with your own slime, and thick drops of it run down your cheeks where he is holding you.

Your velour ears twitch slightly as a whimper rises in your throat.

"You can't do anything on your own, can you, pretty? Of course, you don't. After all, you're just a cock sleeve; you have absolutely no intelligence. But daddy is going to teach you everything, sweetheart. Don't worry."

Hongjoong's kiss is as hungry and cruel as his humiliating words. His teeth are sharp, and his breath is intermittent and hot. You mindlessly submit to every insistent movement of his lips, letting him push his tongue into your supple mouth. Alpha kisses like he's hungry for it, deep and loud. Before you know it, you're moaning into his mouth and gripping the front of his gorgeous fur coat as if you'll slip away if you don't.

You've never been kissed like this before, and the sensation is like a current against your skin—painful, searing, traumatic, and shudderingly pleasurable—awakening something inside you you didn't know existed. Your insides are burning like fire, the desire blazing in your veins and roaring in your ears. All caution is long forgotten; you feel like you have a fever. Gasping through kissed lips, you look straight into Seonghwa's eyes as Hongjoong begins to kiss your slime-stained cheek and jaw.

Hwa is licking the top row of his fanged teeth and slowly rubbing his thumb over your swollen scent gland.

You whimper as Hongjoong presses his mouth to the other side of your neck again and again, worshipping the skin with his lips and tongue before finally nuzzling his face into the curve of your throat and inhaling noisily.

"Daddy..." It feels like you're drunk; your hormones are working so hard. Your hands come up to tangle in his auburn locks—so soft and silky—and you run your fingers through them as he plants long, lingering kisses on your throat and the curves of your breasts where the organza blouse allows.

"My sweet bunny, it's time for your reward." Seonghwa murmured somewhere deep in his throat with a soft grin. "Are you ready to take mommy's knot?" The word 'knot' made you whine even louder. Yes, yes, you want his knot. A thousand times yes.

"I want it; I want it badly, please." You beg, tugging at the collar of his fur coat.

"I'm sorry, what was that, fluffy?" Hongjoong's voice becomes very deep, yours in contrast sticking in your throat as he growls angrily: "I didn't hear you, angel..." Your breath caught in your throat again as his hand found its way under your skirt once more, his fingers pressing painfully against your throbbing clit, causing you to twitch and new tears to roll down your swollen cheeks.

"Please daddy, please mommy, knot me; I've been a very good girl."

"This is my little pet."

Hongjoong lets go of you, and his hands replace Seonghwa's as the tall Alpha turns you around in one sharp motion, pushing your body down. Your body practically falls into his large leather chair. He quickly throws your legs over the armrests; your short skirt scuffs up; and Seonghwa runs his fingertips over your wet panties, causing you to wriggle and squirm. Your legs are bent and spread, and you squeal softly as the Alpha kneels down in front of you, his luxurious fur spreading out on the floor all around him.

Hongjoong kneels beside you too, his fingers rubbing the base of your long ear. Your hands fly up to cover your face, flushed with embarrassment.

"Put them down now, bunny. I want to see you crumble under my tongue." Seonghwa growled, and you nodded in pure submission, slowly lowering your hands and breathing the words out of your lips before you could choke on them.

"Yes, mommy."

"Don't you think you have too many clothes on, Fluffy?" It's a question that doesn't have to have an answer and has a clear command at the end. "I want to see your boobs. Take your clothes off.

You obediently obey, despite how shaky your fingers are and how humiliated you must look right now—your legs spread wide, long strands of slime dripping from your knickers, forming a shiny puddle on the soft carpet, your cheeks red, and your mouth swollen and wet from being kissed.

Your tentative hands undo the buttons of your blouse, revealing your plump, heavy tits encased in a silk bra.

Once your blouse is completely undone, Hongjoong's insatiable mouth is immediately on your breasts, caressing them with hot, open-mouthed kisses. He squeezes your breasts together over your bra and lifts his eyes to you as you let out a shrill moan. You want to bring your legs together, whimpering and squirming in the uncomfortable position, but Seonghwa's broad palms hold your thighs painfully.

"They are very sensitive; please be gentle." You barely speak; the words are solid breaths and whimpers, your heart pounding in your chest as the top of your bra is pulled down, exposing your swollen, wet nipples to the two hungry Alphas.

The smell of milk fills the room with a new wave of pheromones, this time coming from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong.

A sharp, hot tongue slides over your nipple as Hongjoong stares at you through his half-closed eyelids. His mouth closes around the pink-candy flesh, the tip of his tongue slowly circling around it as he pulls back his cheeks and swallows the sweet liquid that pours into his mouth. Your other breast is lazily squeezed by Seonghwa's warm hand, making you tremble and whimper from the intense stimulation. It feels so good and new—not at all like feeding babies on a farm.

"Aren't you a complete delight, princess? Sweeter than sweet." More like a cat than a wolf, Seonghwa's tongue finds your other nipple and licks it slowly.

"I...Hm...I was helping to feed the little bunnies; we're short of helpers and nobody wants to, so I...oh..."

Hongjoong moans at the taste of it, and pulls away from your breasts for a moment to tear the strap of the bra with strength, tearing the thin silk fabric. Your tits are now completely exposed to them, the milk still gushing out and trickling down the length of your body. You are a dreadful mess, not at all like your normal tidy self. What would your mother say if she saw you now?

"Look at you, all flushed and ready for us, my angel".

At that moment, you felt Seonghwa bury his nose in your folds and take a deep breath. It sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"Mommy, please…"

"You smell like peaches and cream, princess, I wonder if you taste the same." Seonghwa licks a long strip of the silk, his tongue hot and rough with saliva dripping from it, and God, it's too much for your innocent mind, but you can't tear your eyes away for more than a second.

Hongjoong takes your nipple in his mouth again, sucking hard, and you can feel the streams of mucus flowing freely from the folds of your wet vagina from all the stimulation you're experiencing.

Seonghwa lazily sucks on the silk partition between his mouth and your needy cunt. He makes soft sounds of approval as he licks and licks again, as if the taste of your mucus is something he desperately needs. Strong hands hold your hips still, even though you desperately want to try and close them around the handsome face of the dark-haired Alpha, to squeeze his tongue until you cum.

Your panties are pulled to the side so that Seonghwa can press his face against the warm, slippery folds and slowly begin to lick your labia. The pressure of the wet, open-mouthed kisses and the deceptively soft, caressing licks on your sweet skin are almost unbearable. A helpless sob comes from your throat as Seonghwa's tongue plunges into the heat of your sensitive hole, and you clench around it, trying to hold the sensation as long as possible.

Teeth slip out now and then, reaching out to the side of your vulva, teasing seductively, a sweet reminder that no matter how nice the Alpha is being to you, no matter how cute his fluffy tail is wagging, when he's eating your cunt, he's deadly. This simple fact makes your pussy throbbing with desire.

"That's right, bunny; let mommy enjoy your sweet cunt. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you; you really do taste like peaches and cream. Joong, you should have a taste of her; she's a real treat. Sweet, silly bunny." Seonghwa cooed and gave the thin strip of silk panties back to you, moving it so that it was between your labia. He pulls it a little tighter, causing that painful pressure on your swollen clit and friction between the sensitive folds. You feel a shuddering sensation, but the Alpha just laughs at it. "Don't be so greedy, fluffy, and say thank you. Otherwise, I won't let Joong play with you.".

Much to Seonghwa's delight, you react immediately and show obedience.

"Thanks mommy." A response that shows just how desperately you wanted to be tasted and gobbled up.

As soon as Seonghwa steps aside, Hongjoong is between your legs. You can finally enjoy the devilish beauty of this Alpha as his red-orange fur coat spreads across the carpet like a poisonous puddle. Hongjoong's face is unjustly handsome. It's stunningly framed by strands of soft brown hair; the red lips are insidiously parted in a broad but hungry wolfish grin; and the gaze is sharp and predatory. There is a dark, terrifying glint in it, like that of an animal that has found its perfect prey.

The prey instinct in you kicks in again, causing you to squirm and writhe, trying to close your thighs and squeeze yourself into a ball. Your hormones and your slutty bunny nature, on the other hand, want you to spread your legs even wider so that the Alpha can eat your pussy more comfortably.

"Is that all for me, angel?" He runs the palms of his hands down your trembling thighs, leaving long streaks of nails on your milky skin. Rude. "You look so sweet, blushing, and needy, like a feast ready for the wolf to eat, don't you, bunny?

"I...aah...I'm g-ready for you." It was hard to concentrate on the words as Seonghwa's hands started to squeeze your boobs again, causing even more milk to flow down your chest and body. Your pretty clothes were all ruined; what a shame.

"My good little bunny girl. Let's get rid of all the excess." Your knickers come off in one sharp motion, completely exposing your pink, oozing pussy to the two hungry wolves.

The new influx of sweet liquid oozing from the soft petal-like folds makes Hongjoong growl, his fangs showing, his gaze never leaving your wet, tantalising pussy for a second.

"Lick her already, Joong, or I swear I'll kick you out of here and keep her all to myself, or I'll let Wooyoung get to her first." Seonghwa's tail whips irritably behind his back like a whip, and he rolls his eyes at Hongjoong.

"If you let his pretty face bump into that pussy, you'll have to deal with a whole bunch of impatient puppies who can't keep their dicks in their trousers. Is that what you want, Hwa?" The auburn-haired alpha chuckles evilly and finally presses against your cunt, a dirty, open-mouthed kiss.

Tears of vague relief run down your face, and you feel Seonghwa's rough, long tongue on your cheeks again.

Your heel tried in vain to kick at the air, and your whole body shook with the fine tremors of Hongjoong's sharp, stinging kisses. Wet as syrup, the wolf's grinning lips cling to your hypersensitive, swollen clit and refuse to let go. Your back arched in an awkward position, and you pressed your pussy closer to his face, literally rubbing against him. His nose is pressed tightly against your wet mound, and his jaw works with every eating movement.

Your slick is everywhere—on his cheeks, his lips, his chin, dripping down his neck, and over the collar of his white t-shirt.

God, it's fucking dirty.

He is ruthless, the movements of his tongue wild, sloppy, and hungry as he digs greedily between your trembling thighs and dripping folds, sucking the sweet nectar of your excitement from the contracting orifice. Lips suck roughly at the edge of the swollen pink flesh, and your shamefully wet insides clench in a disappointing void. Clawed fingers dig painfully into the softness of your thighs, leaving blackened bruises.

A high-pitched squeal gets stuck in your throat as Hongjoong's thumbs force your tender labia apart and his tongue slides deeper. The sensation is almost heavenly. Streams of viscous mucus pour out of you like a waterfall into that beautiful, insatiable mouth, and your whole body shudders in short spasms. Your heel twitches desperately in the air, kicking in vain, and your ears fall back to your face, drooping and muffled with pleasure.

"Ahhhh... daddy."

Seonghwa's fingers wrap around your chin, squeezing painfully, and you lift your head so you're looking into his eyes.

"All your pleasure is mine. Only I will decide when to fuck you, who will fuck you, and how long it will last. When you cum, you will look at me and only me, no matter whose face or cock is in your cunt or tight arse. Do you understand, mommy, my sweet slut?"

Barely aware of all that is happening, you at least try to answer; your mouth opens, but the only sound you make is a long, drawn-out moan.

Apparently that wasn't the answer he wanted, because his other hand snakes down your body, slapping your clit with palpable force. Electric shocks shoot through your body, and you wriggle in the tight grip of the two Alphas, practically folded in half in the uncomfortable leather chair.

"Do you understand me, pet?"

"Yeah, yeah, I understand... I understand you, mommy." You shake your head like a doll to confirm this, and a new wave of sobbing sweeps over you.

Hongjoong pulls away from you for a second, his whole face soaked in your sweet slime, and his gaze is wild and unfocused, as if he's drunk.

"Fuck, I can never get enough of you, fluffy. Daddy's precious princess has the sweetest, most beautiful cunt in the whole world."

"Of course, Joong, that's our bunny." Hwa presses his fingers even harder into your face, the touch turning into a brutal grip. His fluffy tail swishes enthusiastically behind his back. The gaze of Seonghwa's bottomless, hypnotic eyes turns to Hongjoong. His sensual, kissable lips stretch into the exact same toothy smile as the Alpha between your thighs. "Do you want to make it even sweeter?"

It's only a moment before the palm of Seonghwa's hand slaps your swollen, mistreated clit once more. Your body ripples with sharp pain mixed with blissful pleasure. It's a wild mixture of sensations, resembling a combination of sweetness and sharpness.

"Try it, it's definitely better now." He laughed joyfully, like a child, looking down at you.

As soon as the burning sensation has subsided, Hongjoong's mouth locks onto your battered clit, mercilessly sucking and licking it with his hot tongue. He's so insatiable, possessively devouring his beautiful princess's exciting cunt, his face practically smothered in pussy. His hungry mouth is vicious, and his appetite is endless as he devours his selfishly greedy pleasure and demonic features soaked in the sugar nectar of your slime.

As the ferocity of his mouth grows—hungrier and hungrier—you try to pull away, too sensitive and overwhelmed, but a painful slap on your thigh stops all movement.

"And where are you going, fluffy? Daddy's not done playing with you."

Long fingers slide between your delicate creases, opening them wider for second Alpha. Hongjoong moans in appreciation as he gains more access to your quivering hole, swallowing the juices pouring from you with a loud grunt.

He chuckles in sadistic amusement, gazing up at you through impossibly long and thick eyelashes before his predatory wolf lips pull away from your clit to tell:

"Cum for daddy, bunny. Fill me with your cum."

It only takes a second for your body to obediently follow his command, and you come with a high-pitched moan. Huge jets of fluid are spurting out of your used pussy, forming a puddle of it under your arse and dripping down onto the floor.

Your glorious, twisted screams of agonised ecstasy and super-sensual sobs filling the room are music to the ears of these two Alphas.

Seonghwa bends his face over your cunt in order to prolong your orgasm and sucks all the juices out of you as if he were dying of thirst. The sound is utterly animalistic and disgusting, but it makes the fucking slime squirt even harder. Hongjoong's mouth keeps up, sucking mercilessly and lapping at the lush, honey-soaked folds.

The only sounds that come out of your dolly lips are the whimpers and hoarse moans of despair that are so beautiful to them. In the eyes of Seonghwa and Hongjoong, you look amazing - a gorgeous, broken thing, all flushed and obedient for their pleasure.

You should know what disgusting and perverse things they will do to you and how much they will ravage your innocent and fragile body. The party has just started.

These thoughts make their cocks throb and flow in pain, and the knot at the base of it swells up. Seonghwa and Hongjoong look at each other as they keep licking you methodically. Their tongues meet in long, sweeping strokes, caressing each other and mixing all your flavours together. You twitched weakly, half lying back in the chair, limp and exhausted from orgasming.

"Don't you dare fall asleep, honey. We were just at the beginning of our game."

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drunktuesdays · 1 year

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everyone is fucking but no one is horny

one of my twitter friends recently said that if she could order up a fic it would be a story written by someone who has only ever read the classics, 1.5 star trek novelizations, and their mother's romance novels from 1970, written about two people are so out of their minds horny for each other it causes them to make the absolute worst choices anyone's ever made.

and i almost lost my mind laughing because i do know exactly what she means. there is a weird vibe i can sometimes sense within the first few paragraphs a fic that really bums me out. it's almost like i can tell the author is thinking way too much about what i'm thinking about their id and it's suddenly like we're all suddenly wondering how riding a bicycle works when we're mid-ride. when you start worrying too much audience interpretation or how a fic is going to do or play or ugh marketability, it genuinely adds some weird self-conscious distance to whatever you're doing. and it's the pits from the reader side because it removes so much horniness from your story even if the idea you have is genuinely good! i know this is not a niche complaint--you find it literally everywhere as every sector of the creative internet gets #content-ed and people can't escape the stats of how any given creative outlet does.

but god there's literally nothing better than sitting down and reading some freaknasty person's art where they do not give a single shit if you like it. they had something to say and my god they were gonna say it. i've accidentally acquired so many kinks by clicking on a story where someone took me on the most insane ride of my life and i thrilled about it. i don't wanna read about polite normal regular love. i don't wanna read about people using therapy-speak on each other. i wanna read about two people feeling the biggest craziest feelings of their entire life and they cannot do anything about it except bang it out. what else are we doing here? if they're not fucking down an entire house, well jed i don't even wanna read it.

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spanktony · 7 months

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MISSED OPPORTUNITIES - maddy perez

summary: you can paired up with maddy for a project, little do you know there’s some lingering feelings in the air.

words: 3.8k

warnings: 18+, riding, g!p reader, reader being oblivious, rue, elliot & reader talk abt pegging and b*ssy 😭

notes: might be ooc maddy or bad dialogue, haven’t wrote for my baby in a while! sorry!

navigation. request.

"Maddy and Y/N."

Maddy didn't exactly know you, but yes, she's seen you. She had noticed you from a distance, watching as you'd come to school on your skateboard nearly every day, and on the days you didn't, you'd gotten a ride from Elliot.

Then you'd proceed to come into fifth period with baggy pants, a beanie on your head, and a nonchalant attitude.

Maddy wondered what it would be like to strike up a conversation with you. But, Maddy couldn't gather the courage to approach you, fearing rejection or awkwardness.

Maddy often found herself stealing glances at you during class, watching you bop your head to the music playing through your earphones.

Maddy couldn't help but wonder what kind of music you were listening to and if you'd ever consider sharing your playlist with her.

You take your wired airpod out of your ear, making sure you heard your teacher correctly. You glance around the classroom, catching Maddy's eye. She quickly looks away, blushing slightly.

"So! Now to go over your assignment." You lean back in your chair, listening to the instructions your teacher is giving. "As we all know, spring break is coming up, and I'm sure many of you have exciting plans. Although, the school wants to do something fun to celebrate the break. We thought it would be a great idea for you guys to come up with an event-type fundraiser for the school. It could be anything from a bake sale to a talent show, as long as it's creative and engaging."

Your teacher pauses, scanning the room for reactions. "Then, once you finish your assignment, the school will vote for the best event idea, and we will make it happen during spring break. This way, you will not only have a chance to showcase your creativity but also contribute to the school community in a meaningful way. So, let's brainstorm and come up with some amazing event ideas that will make this spring break even more memorable!"

Your teacher claps, encouraging the class to get up and start sharing their event ideas with their partner. The class gets up, except for you. You hesitate for a moment, feeling a bit unsure about Maddy being your partner.

Now, you didn't know Maddy personally, but you had heard some rumors about her, and you knew her boyfriend, Nate, a dickhead who'd often cause trouble. One time, Nate chased you with her truck, nearly running you over as you frantically tried to escape on your skateboard.

You never talked to Nate nor even looked his way, but he had always given you menacing looks whenever you crossed paths, along with the rest of the football team. It was tiring, annoying, and made you feel constantly on edge whenever you were near them.

You're knocked out of your thoughts when Maddy appears in front of your sight, a slight smile on her lips. "Y/N, right?" You nod, sitting up in your seat. "Yeah..." Maddy chuckles and nods, her smile widening.

"Were you gonna keep thinking about the great depression or come over to my desk so we can discuss this project?" You crack a smile at Maddy's playful comment and quickly gather your belongings, making your way over to her desk.

You're at Maddy's house. It's been a week since you've been working on the project together. Maddy had a completely different personality from her boyfriend. She was inviting but at the same time closed off, she'd open up about her interests and passions but rarely talked about her personal life or emotions.

You move to the edge of the bed, taking your notebook with you. "So...uh, so far we have a spring dance, a photography exhibit, and a...twerk party? Did you add that one?"

Maddy giggles, hiding her face behind her hands. "No, that one was all you," she says, her laughter contagious. "I swear I didn't write that." You can't help but smile at Maddy's infectious laughter. It's refreshing to see her so carefree and playful, even if she still keeps certain aspects of herself guarded.

Maddy crawls to the edge of the bed, leaning in to read the notebook. You hold in your breath, her being so close to you, sending a rush of warmth through your body. "You can add karaoke, that sounds fun," Maddy suggests, you nod, taking the pencil from behind your ear and jotting down her suggestion in the notebook.

Maddy bites down on her lip, watching you with a smile. "What...?" You whisper, confused and intrigued by her sudden change in demeanor. She leans in closer, her eyes dancing across your face.

"Do you always ride your skateboard to school? I've been meaning to ask." You feel a flutter of excitement at Maddy's interest in your daily routine. "Yeah, I've been skateboarding to school for a while now. I have a car, but it's more fun, to be honest," you reply, fiddling with the pencil in your hands.

Maddy's eyes fall to your skateboard propped on her wall before falling back on you. "You look hot when you ride it too." Her compliment catches you off guard, and a blush creeps up on your cheeks. "Thanks, Maddy," you say with a shy smile.

"We can take a break," Maddy suggests, taking the notebook out of your lap and setting it aside. You lay back against Maddy's bed, and she does the same, turning her head towards you.

"Any more ideas?" You ask, turning your head towards her. Maddy smiles, "Girl, what part of a break don't you understand?" You chuckle at Maddy's response, your face heating up. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Maddy reassures you, her eyes twinkling with amusement. You turn on your side, propping your head up with your hand. Maddy does the same, jokingly mocking you. "You know, I was thinking we should totally have a secret handshake. Something so ridiculous, only we'd get it."

You laugh at Maddy's suggestion, imagining the two of you coming up with a silly secret handshake. "Like what?"

Maddy sits up, sitting on her feet. You sit up as well, sitting criss-cross apple sauce. Maddy softly takes your hand, "We could dap up..." She moves your hand to the side and starts doing a series of intricate hand movements, "then do a link our pinkies...and seal it with a kiss."

You watch in awe as Maddy effortlessly demonstrates the complex sequence of hand movements. The idea of sealing the secret handshake with a kiss makes you blush, feeling as if you were floating on cloud nine.

"Ready?" Maddy asks, her eyes filled with excitement. You nod eagerly, beginning the intricate hand movements. As you mirror Maddy's movements, your fingers fumble at first, but with each repetition, you start to gain confidence and precision, sealing it with a kiss every time.

"Maddy!" Someone shouts from behind, interrupting your secret handshake. Startled, you quickly break away, turning around to see Maddy's mom at the door. "Dinners ready."

You exchange a sheepish glance with Maddy. "I should probably get going." You say to Maddy, glancing at her door, her mom now gone. Maddy nods understandingly, a hint of disappointment in her eyes. "Yeah, I guess we can finish practicing our handshake later," she says with a small smile.

You reluctantly leave, and you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the next time you see Maddy.

You lean against Rue's locker, watching the students pass by in the bustling hallway. Thoughts of Maddy replay in your mind making you smile to yourself. Maybe there's something more between you two than just friendship.

But your smile fades, remembering Nate Jacobs. We're they still together? How bad would it be if you did try to pursue Maddy?

Regardless of the bad thoughts running through your head, you can't deny the growing connection you feel towards her, leaving you torn between taking a chance or playing it safe.

You take out your airpod, glancing between Elliot and Rue. "Guys...am I attractive?" Elliot and Rue stop their conversation, exchanging puzzled looks. "Yes," Elliot simply says.

"I'd say so, yes," Rue adds, nodding her head.

Their affirmations boost your confidence, but a part of you still questions if their opinions are biased. Nevertheless, their words provide a small glimmer of hope that pursuing something with Maddy might not be as complicated as you initially thought.

"Let's say...there's this girl, right?" They both nod, and you continue. "And...she's like...giving... I want you, but I don't know if you want me vibes, you know?" Elliot raises an eyebrow while Rue stares at you, waiting for you to elaborate.

"Like! I know she likes likes me, but I don't know how to let her know I like like her." You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words to convey your dilemma. "It's like we're both playing this game and we're afraid to make the first move because we don't want to get rejected or ruin our friendship."

Rue shrugs. "Sounds like you both need a little push," she suggests. "Maybe stop being a little bitch and make a move?" You chuckle nervously at Rue's straightforward advice, appreciating her bluntness. "I guess you're right," you reply.

Elliot puts his hands on his hips. "But are you not curious as to who she's talking about?" Elliot asks Rue, raising an eyebrow.

"It's probably BB." You grimace, "That's not funny, Rue." Elliot tilts his head, confused. "BB? Like, the vape addict, BB?" Rue nods at Elliot, confirming his suspicions.

"You're gross..." He mutters, frowning at you. You make a blank face, "It's not BB, bro."

Elliot puts a hand over his heart. "Oh, thank god." "Who is it then?" Elliot asks, his curiosity piqued. You pause for a moment, debating whether or not to reveal the truth. "Uh..."

Just then, Maddy walks up to you, smiling slightly. "Hey, Y/N." You smile, giving the girl a small wave. "Hey, Rue and Elliot," Maddy adds, earning tight-lipped smiles and nods from the two.

Maddy then holds out her hand, and you're surprised she'd wanna do the handshake in front of Elliot and Rue. You quickly glance at them before reluctantly taking Maddy's hand and reciprocating the handshake, indeed ending it with a kiss.

While you release your grip, you notice a flicker of confusion in Elliot's eyes, but he remains silent. Rue, on the other hand, seems unfazed and continues to observe the interaction with a calm expression.

"Walk me to class?" Maddy asks. You hesitate for a moment, aware of the potential consequences of being seen together, but ultimately decide to go along with it. "Sure," you respond, offering her a small smile as the two of you start walking towards her class.

As expected, Nate Jacobs passed the two of you without acknowledging your presence. He keeps his gaze straight ahead, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. You turn around to see if he's still watching, but he's already disappeared into the crowd of students. You feel a sense of relief, grateful that he didn't make a scene or confront you about being with Maddy.

Elliot takes a hit of his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. Rue lets out a sigh. "I can't believe a community service event won against your and Maddy's spring dance."

You shrug. "I don't really care. I still got the A." Elliot nods. "So, do you and Maddy still talk? Or have you been talking during the break?"

You hum, "Yeah, we'll Facetime a bit and hang out every now and then." Elliot raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. Are you two just friends, or is there something more going on?"

"Just friends." You confirm. Rue cuts in, "Because you're a little bitchhhh..." You roll your eyes at Rue's comment. "Aren't you the one who nearly skipped town with Jules?"

"Yeah, well, that's different. Jules and I have a deeper connection," Rue retorts defensively. You shake your head, not wanting to get into an argument with Rue. "Whatever."

You glance at Elliot, hoping to change the subject. "So, Elliot, what about you? Are you seeing anyone special?" Elliot chuckles and shakes his head. "Nope, just enjoying the single life for now."

"I think he secretly wants to have a threesome with Jules and me." You and Elliot burst into laughter at Rue's comment, finding it amusing but also slightly uncomfortable. "I think you and Jules want me to want to have a threesome with you guys so you can feel good about yourselves."

Rue raises an eyebrow playfully. "Oh, is that what you think? You're totally wrong."

"What if we had a threesome?" Elliot suggests, jokingly. Rue laughs. "Yeah, and we just pegged Elliot the entire time." Elliot joins in on the laughter but quickly interjects, "Woah, woah! Why me?"

Rue smirks mischievously. "Well, you did bring up the idea, didn't you? It's only fair that you take the spotlight." Elliot's face turns slightly red as he stammers, "I-I was just kidding! I didn't actually mean it!"

You grimace, "Enough about pegging! I just got reminded of Silento."

"Silento? What does he have to do with this conversation?" Rue asks, raising an eyebrow.

Elliot mouths, "Bussy," and Rue frowns, fake gagging.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, distracting you from the strange conversation. You quickly pull it out to see a message from Maddy, smiling at the message.

maddy - wyd

"Maddy just texted me, what am I doing?" Rue lets out a dramatic gasp. "She's a wyd warrior? Brace yourself, Y/N." You chuckle at Rue's dramatic reaction.

you - nm, u?

maddy - home alone and extremely bored

maddy - you wanna come over?

"Holy shit." Elliot is nearly breaking his neck to look at your phone screen. "Maddy wants you to come over? She def wants to fuck." You raise an eyebrow at Elliot's assumption and shake your head.

"No she doesn't." You look at Elliot who stares at you with a raised eyebrow. "She doesn't!"

Rue joins in, "Then she would've asked for Cassie. Not you." Elliot nods in agreement. "And she's home alone."

You consider their points for a moment, realizing that they may have a valid argument. Anyway, you still believe that Maddy's intention is simply to alleviate her boredom. "Well, maybe she just feels more comfortable hanging out with me," you suggest.

"Why are you plotting your own downfall?" Rue raises an eyebrow, questioning your reasoning. Elliot chimes in, "If Maddy wanted company, she could have invited anyone else. It seems weird that she specifically asked for you."

you - omw

You get up from the bed and say, "See you guys later."

Rue yells after you, "Don't be a little bitch!"

"Why are your parents out?" You ask Maddy, plopping down on her bed. Maddy shrugs and replies, "They went out for dinner. My dad finally found a job."

You raise an eyebrow at Maddy's response and ask, "So why did you specifically want me to come over tonight?" Maddy hesitates for a moment before saying, "I just thought it would be nice to have some company."

You sense there's something more to Maddy's invitation, but you decide not to push further. Instead, you lean back on her bed and let out a contented sigh. Maddy sits on her feet before lying down beside you.

"You smell like cigarettes." You glance at Maddy, slightly surprised by her comment. "Oh, sorry about that," you say, realizing that the faint smell of cigarettes must have clung to your clothes from earlier. "I was hanging out with some friends earlier, and they were smoking."

Maddy stares at your face, and you feel yourself becoming self-conscious under her gaze. "I am so jealous of your eyebrows," her thumb begins, tracing the shape of your brow.

"They're so perfectly arched," she continues, a small smile playing on her lips. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as you thank her for the compliment, appreciating her attention to detail.

Maddy's eyes leave your eyebrows and fall to your lips. You notice a flicker of curiosity in her gaze as she leans in slightly. You clench your jaw, frozen in place, you were nervous as fuck. Your heart pounds in your chest, unsure of what might happen next.

Maddy pauses for a moment, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. Sensing your unease, she leans back slightly, giving you space.

Shit...did you just blow it? You watch Maddy's reaction, you try to gather your thoughts and find the right words to salvage the moment. The silence hangs heavy in the air, and you swallow hard, feeling the weight of the missed opportunity.

"No fucking way," Elliot mumbles as you finish your sentence. He shakes his head in disbelief. "You fumbled badly."

You run a hand down your face, "I know." Elliot pats you on the back, "Have fun dealing with that one. I gotta get to class."

You narrow your eyes, "Since when did you start going to class?"

Elliot chuckles, "Since I realized that I might not be getting my diploma." You give him a playful shove, "Well, good luck with that. Maybe I'll see you at graduation."

Elliot raises an eyebrow, "Don't hold your breath." He turns and walks away, leaving you alone to ponder the consequences of your missed kiss with Maddy.

You lean against your locker, scrolling through your playlists before landing on the one you made for Maddy. Well, she didn't know you did because you hadn't shown her yet.

You press play, and the familiar melodies fill your ears, but suddenly your headphones get snatched from your ear. You lift your head to see one of the footballers, Tyler, smirking down at you. "Who the hell still wears wires?"

You roll your eyes, annoyed by Tyler's interruption, reaching out to grab them back. Tyler chuckles and shrugs, moving them before you can reach them. "You should upgrade to wireless, man. It's the future," he says with a teasing tone.

"You're so fucking annoying." You mumble, exasperated by Tyler's teasing. "What the fuck did you just say to me?" Tyler's smirk fades as he hears your response, his playful demeanor turning more serious.

He leans in closer, his voice lowering as he confronts you. "You better watch your mouth, or you'll regret it."

"This isn't some Disney show, dude. Can I just have my headphones back?" You ask, trying to diffuse the tension. Tyler's eyes narrow as he considers your request, his grip on your headphones tightening. "Maybe I'll give them back if you apologize," he proposes, a hint of superiority in his voice.

"Nah, man. I can always buy another pair." You say, attempting to walk away from the escalating situation. But before you can take a step, Tyler slams you back against the locker, throwing your headphones on the ground before stomping on them.

"Why? They're right there." He smirks, pointing at the broken headphones. He pats your shoulder before walking away, leaving you stunned and seething with anger. You stand there, anger boiling inside you.

He was a dickhead who obviously craved attention because he lacks it at home.

"What the hell happened to you?" You turn around to see Maddy approaching with a concerned look on her face. You take a deep breath, "Nothing, but I'm about to leave school."

Maddy's concern deepens as she notices the anger in your voice. "Are you sure you're okay? You hesitate for a moment, contemplating whether or not to confide in her about Tyler's actions. You nod, picking up your broken headphones.

"You wanna come with?" Maddy hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She finally nods and says, "Yeah, I'll come with you." You smile gratefully at her.

The sun has now set, and you're in your car in a secluded area. Maddy smiles, the last song on the playlist you made from her finishing. "Send me that now!"

You laugh, "I will, swear."

You feel a sense of relief knowing that Maddy enjoyed the playlist you made for her. You meet Maddy's gaze, and your heart swells with gratitude for her presence and the connection you share.

Rue's words echo in your mind, "Don't be a little bitch."

You take a deep breath, letting Rue's words motivate you to push through any fear or hesitation. You softly place a hand on Maddy's cheek, pulling her into a gentle kiss. Maddy sinks in the kiss, leaning forward to deepen the kiss.

The kiss deepens, and you can feel Maddy's nails lightly graze the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Without hesitating, you pull the Latina into your lap with slightly shaking hands.

You pull away in a desperate need for air, but Maddy takes this as a chance to attack your neck, nipping and sucking on your sensitive skin, while grinding in your lap.

You let out a low groan, grasping her hips tightly as you surrender to the energy between you. Maddy's lips trail to your neck, to your jaw, and then back in an intense kiss, her hands roaming over your body.

The kiss becomes messy, her tongue sliding against yours, making your head swim with lust. Your hands lift her skirt up, feeling the heat and smoothness of her thighs beneath your fingertips.

Maddy's breath hitches, pulling away from the kiss. You think you've done something wrong, but then you see the hunger in her eyes and the way her chest rises and falls rapidly. She leans in close, whispering in your ear, "I wanna ride you so bad."

Heat pools in your lower abdomen as you imagine Maddy straddling you, her body pressed against yours, moving in sync with your every touch. You bring Maddy into another kiss, she begins to grind on your hard-on, her movements becoming more urgent and desperate.

You lift Maddy up slightly, pulling down your pants with one hand while supporting her with the other. You reach back into her skirt, moving her underwear aside, before sliding into her wetness.

Maddy moans softly, her nails digging into your shoulder as she begins to move her hips in rhythm with your thrusts.

The eye contact is strong, fueling the intensity between you both. Maddy's gasps become louder, her body arching against yours in, "Mm..fuck! You feel so good, baby."

You let out a small groan, throwing your head back against your seat as the pleasure builds. Maddy's moans fill the confined space of the car, encouraging you to increase the pace, lost in the passionate moment.

Your hands grip her waist tighter, guiding her movements as the desire between you escalates. The car rocks with each thrust, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the enclosed space. The intensity reaches its peak, and with one final gasp, Maddy explodes into a state of euphoria, holding onto you tightly.

"Y/N!!" You hold onto her, her body trembling in your arms as she catches her breath. You gently stroke her hair, whispering words of comfort and affection as you both bask in the afterglow.

#spanktony works #spanktony #tonyspank #maddy perez x reader #maddy perez #euphoria #maddy euphoria #madtdy perez x g!p reader #maddy perez x you #maddy perez x y/n #maddy x reader #maddy perez smut #maddy perez fluff #g!p reader #g!p #maddy perez x gender neutral reader #euphoria x reader #euphoria x y/n

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signedkoko · 5 months

Note

Heyo! I return!!!!

Could I get a mammon, blitzø and alastor (separate) with a wife reader who’s really oblivious and ditzy? Sorta like a bimbo?

🦷 anon! <33333

Alastor | Blitzo | Mammon [Romantic]

In which their partner is extremely oblivious and ditzy.

Well, that's what he was here for, isn't it?

To make it look like you know what you're doing, to be the reason or you little 'show'

According to the public eye, if you're his partner then theres no way it's not a character, Alastor would NEVER date a clutz, let alone have the patience for one

Alastor found these little whispers amusing

Everyone thought they had some idea of what he was, but they were always throwing darts at the wrong board

All the better for him, he gets the joy of you making every day new and exciting as well as the strange rumours people came up with about the two of you

Everyone else was just so boring, so pitiful to the overlord

Either kneeling to his every wish, or putting on a face until he left them alone, or the rare run away screaming

But when you bumped into him on the street, you asked him if he was that 'one guy who tortured people and put it online' before you even apologized

Then you asked if he would kill you, and when he said yes, you asked if he could not

Oh yes, that made him laugh alright, you were such a cracking star

Anytime you might ask something stupid, he turns it into a joke and explain it to you later behind closed doors

Falling? tripping over yourself? He catches you and makes it look like a romantic dip, or a small dance

To him, you're cluelessness has its charm, because you've always been so honest and forward about everything that he doesn't ever feel like he has to pull secrets from you

You also amuse his every little quirk, which everyone else just finds weird, so that's a major plus

Oh my god he is so stupid

But you make him look so smart it's insane, just add you to the room and suddenly he's a genius

At first, it was just by comparison, but now in order to compensate for you he is always trying his best to be the smartest he can be

Especially in his line of work, Blitzo doesn't like the idea of making a mistake that could cost your life

So instead he trains to make sure he can save you when you need it

You guys are very damsel in distress/knight in shining armour

Except this kind of backfires because him being so serious starts to get him caught a lot...and you always manage to get him out (usually by mistake)

Like that one time you busted into a room full of 20 armed demons and dropped your gun when they came at you, but it went off and landed in a crate of explosives

I mean both of you were very injured but you both got out soooo

" You really are the dumbest slut I know, my sweetie-pie. "

He gets really defensive about you, though

Sure, he’s your husband so he can make fun of you

But if anyone else calls you anything along the lines of stupid or useless he blows up on them

Sure, you're a bit oblivious, but they don't know your talents, and all the things you teach him behind closed doors

He won't let anyone get away with being cruel to you

A little bit of a roger rabbit and jessica rabbit duo

Honestly exactly his type

Extremely wealthy husband and his bimbo wife?

The newspaper headlines go crazy for you guys and your strange duo, and a lot of photos of the two of you together are popular

Sort of funny looking tree man and his dolled up wifey

He's not really the brightest either, not when it comes to simple things that don't have to do with money or his status

So you are both very oblivious to things that aren't entirely straightforward and always have to whisper back and forth about a topic until you can figure it out

Two idiots in love

Nevertheless, he loves your dependance on him

He likes that you are always by his side in case you need help, so you are safe and sound

He's just as clingy as you are, he always has one arm around your waist

Calls you all sorts of sort of derogatory pet names but in a loving way

Dolly, sweetheart, gorgeous, legs, etc etc

Honestly though you are also probably explaining as much to him as he is you, just in different topics

But he has the confidence to go with his lack of knowledge and obliviousness

And confidence gets you far

" Yeah, like, the moon is full once a week or some shit "

" Isn't it once a month? "

" No doll, that's how often a blue moon occurs. "

" Ohh! Like once in a blue moon? "

Anyone overhearing this shit is fucking rolling in their grave

Author's Note - Hiii welcome back tooth anon!!! Sorry this took a hot min, for some reaosn this prompt was so hard for me but I REFUSED to give up (Never sleep never what!?!?!) Thank you for requesting, and I hope you enjoy!

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #blitzo #blitzo x reader #mammon #mammon x reader

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teapartyprincess4two · 3 months

Text

Full Set- M. Sturniolo

pairing: nailtech!reader x Matthew Sturniolo

classification: mostly fluff

warnings: use of y/n & slow build up just how I like it (HA)

summary: Reader is a well renowned nail tech in L.A and due to her growing popularity has become everyone’s go-to nail tech. This leads her to become a workaholic, stunting many of the areas of her life. Three regular customers work towards changing that.

—

“Girl! Do NOT tell me you took him back after that!” You exclaimed, commenting on the crazy story your client was currently telling you. You awaited her response as you diligently worked the acrylic bead on her nail bed. She laughed a little, her face turning red with embarrassment letting you know instantly that she most definitely had taken him back after that.

You scoffed slightly, shooting her a disapproving look before going back to the work at hand. “Just hear me out-“ she begins, but you quickly cut her off with the sound of the nail drill. She glared slightly at you before laughing again, realizing that this was your way of telling her you disapproved of her decision.

When you’re finally done filing and shaping her nails you continue, “I don’t want to hear any excuses, girl. I’m not working my magic to give you such a bomb ass set for you to waist it with a guy like that.”

She doesn’t skip a beat as she replies with a slight shrug, “Whatever girl, if you weren’t such a workalcoholic you’d find a man too. Life’s not all about work, work, work.” By the end of her statement she was humming Work by Rihanna and giving you a goofy smile.

In return, you offer her a sarcastic smile before replying, “I’m way too busy to be putting up with bullshit like that. I’ll gladly work my life away before I allow ANY man to disrupt my life.” She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, “Hmm. Whatever you say.”

The conversation was beginning to annoy you more than you realized so, before you said anything you’d later regret, you opened Spotify and pressed shuffle. You continued working on her hands as your playlist played softly in the background, contemplating whether or not you should completely mentally check out from the conversation. After mulling it over and realizing that it could cost you your tip, you decided against it, “You know what, girl? You’re so right.”

What you had said was simple, but it seemed to satisfy your client enough because she straightened her posture and held her chin high as if she’d truly won. She hummed to herself, feeling triumphant in her small ‘victory.’

“When am I ever wrong?” She asked, the entire situation inflating her ego. You threw another sarcastic smile her way and wondered if she realized you were only agreeing with her for the sake of professionalism. Before you could respond she continued, “Quick question though…” She paused for a moment, waiting for you to acknowledge her. You looked at her expectantly, bracing yourself for another round of choosing to keep quiet in case you said the wrong thing.

“Do you think we can add more glitter?”

—

After working on your tenth client, your work day was finally over. You swiftly cleaned up your work station, ensuring to prepare everything you’d need for the long list of clients awaiting you tomorrow. When you finally finished you made your way over to your room, your feet dragging on the floor. A loud sigh escaped you as you threw yourself onto your bed, rolling around until you were completely under the covers.

As draining as your career could be, you couldn’t help but over schedule and over-book yourself to make the most of your time and talent. It wasn’t until your last client walked out the door fully satisfied with their nail set that you’d allow yourself to decompress and relax. Even then, when you were tucked under your comforter, you found yourself checking your emails and dms in order to book more clients.

Today was no exception as you scrolled through your Instagram dms answering as many messages as you could, all of them inquiring about the services you provided, your hours of operation, and your next open availability. One message in particular caught your attention:

@ NicolasSturniolo: Hello! I was referred to you by a friend and was wondering when you’re free. My brothers and I would love to get a set by you.

For the most part all your clients were women, you’d never worked on a singular man before, let alone multiple. You clicked on his account, deciding to do some research before replying. As you scrolled through his account you realized that he had two brothers, making this a three in one deal. Immediately your brain lit up at the possibilities because not only would you be able to work on multiple clients during one session, but you’d also be opening your business up for any future male clients.

You quickly typed up your response, cross checking your calendar in order to ensure your dates were correct:

@ NailsByY/N: Hi! Thanks so much for reaching out! My next open availability is tomorrow, the 23rd, at 2:30pm. If that doesn’t work, I’m also available the 24th at 11am! I unfortunately won’t have any further openings until two weeks after that. Let me know what you decide!

Any message you sent from your work Instagram was always kept professional and straight to the point, especially with any potential new clients. You were about to place your phone on your nightstand and call it a night, but he replied a full three minutes later:

@ NicolasSturniolo: Yay! We’ll see you tomorrow at 2:30!

@ NailsByY/N: Awesome! I’ll go ahead and put you down for tomorrow. Feel free to bring any inspiration pictures. This is the address (click link to view), my house has a yellow door you can’t miss it. See you all tomorrow!

He didn’t reply, instead liking your message indicating he’d seen it. A smiled graced your face as you added the appointment to your calendar, feeling extremely satisfied with this business transaction before shutting your phone off, placing it on your nightstand and finally calling it a night.

—

The next morning you woke up bright and early, ready to conquer the day, completing your entire morning routine with enough time to do your makeup, get dressed, and eat breakfast. You had a total of 6 sessions to complete today all consisting of full acrylic sets or extremely detailed gel polish designs. Just the thought of getting through this work day excited you, especially because you were going to be working with new customers that you were eager to impress.

When you finished your breakfast you made your way down to your nail studio, immediately looking around the room to ensure everything was in order. After checking off everything on your mental list, you hummed in approval and opened the window to let the light in. Soon your first client arrived and your work day was in full swing.

Before you knew it, it was 2:30pm and you were entering the final stretch of the day. You cleaned up the mess from the previous set you’d just finished and waited patiently for your next clients to arrive. As you waited you sat back in your chair, stretching your legs out and popping your back in the process. A satisfied sigh leaves your body before you hear a soft knock come from the front door.

You immediately perk up at this, realizing that your final clients of the day are here. The walk from your studio to the front door is short, granting you enough time to listen in on the banter going on behind it.

“I bet it’s not even this house you dumbass!” You hear an exasperated voice yell, earning a slight chuckle from you.

“She said the door was yellow! What color do you see here, Chris?!” Another voice whisper yelled, trying their best to be quiet in case you could hear them. If you hadn’t been standing so close to the door you wouldn’t have heard it.

“This door’s not even- Oh you’re right, this door is yellow,” the first voice replied again.

“Just knock louder!” a third voiced interrupted, sounding annoyed with the entire interaction. Before anything else could be said you unlocked the door and opened it abruptly catching all three boys by surprise.

“Hello!” You greeted in a sing song voice attempting to ease any tension between the three. “Hi!” they all greeted in unison, offering you warm smiles. You returned the smile before asking, “Are you guys here for the 2:30 session?”

Of course you knew they were, but you needed some form of confirmation before inviting strangers into your home. “Yes! We booked it last night,” you recognized this boy as Nick, the boy you’d spoken to last night in regards to the appointment.

“Awesome, come in! My studios right back there,” you opened the door wider and gestured for them to walk inside, moving aside to allow room for them to enter. They piled in quickly, offering you more smiles as they looked around your house.

Your house was adorned from head to toe in all your favorite things including movie posters, cute throw pillows, various plants, and so many scented candles. As you closed and locked the door behind you, your cat ran across your living room and cut their path. “That’s my cat don’t mind her.” A nervous chuckle escaped your lips at the sight of your cat hurriedly making her way through your home.

Their eyes followed your cat as she quickly ran up the stairs and into your room. “She’s so cute. What’s her name?” One of the other two asked, averting his gaze from the direction your cat disappeared into to meet your eyes. You made a mental note to learn their names, noticing how similar they all looked. If you didn’t learn their names, you’d never be able to tell the difference between them at all. At this point the only one whose name you knew was Nick, but from the conversation you’d heard earlier you knew at least one of them was named Chris.

“Her name is Fat Mama,” you replied and laughed at how ridiculous it sounded out loud. Your cat’s name caused them to laugh as well, making you smile. “That’s quite a name she’s got there.” You realized you had just introduced your cat, but hadn’t even introduced yourself, “Oh my God, here I am introducing my cat without even telling you my own name.” They laughed at this, finding the situation equally as funny.

“I’m y/n,” you stretched a hand out for a handshake.

“Matt,” the first brother replied, taking your hand in his in a firm handshake. ‘Matt’ you noted mentally. He seemed nice and you now knew he liked cats due to your previous conversation. You two exchanged a smile before you moved onto the next brother, seeing as you knew which one was Nick you figured that this one had to be Chris.

“I’m Chris,” the second brother said, affirming your suspicions as he took your hand in an equally firm handshake, his long hair falling in front of his face slightly. Hmm, ‘Chris’ would be easy to identify seeing as he was the only one with long hair. You took another mental note of this as you offered him a smile and went on to greet the last of the three.

“And I’m Nick, but you knew that already,” the last brother said, an excited undertone laced in his voice. He seemed to be watching you as you deciphered which brother was which, taking notice at how your eyes were observing their features in an attempt to tell them apart. You smiled once again and nodded your head, taking his hand in yours for the last handshake.

“Cool! Now that we know who’s who, let’s get started! Follow me,” you turned around swiftly, motioning for them to follow you as you entered your studio. They were careful not to touch anything in the living room as they followed closely behind you in fear that they’d accidentally break something, instead they admired the aesthetic of the decor surrounding them.

As soon as they entered the room you got straight to work, working magic with your brushes as you detailed their nails. Throughout the session you took a few pictures for your Instagram, keeping your interactions as professional as possible up until the very end, but still taking the time to make conversation and get to know them. You learned that they were YouTubers who moved to L.A from Boston and made a career out of funny, engaging videos they filmed in their car. You found this pretty interesting and use it as a way to keep any attention off yourself, not wanting to get too personal too quick.

While you worked on the last set, Nick asked if he could schedule the next appointment seemingly satisfied with your work, “Girl, you ate this shit up! When is your next availability?” Chris and Matt agreed, admiring their nails from behind Nick. An accomplished smile graced your face as you adjusted his hand under the UV lamp, using your other hand to grab your phone from your pocket. Prepared to check your calendar and give him as accurate of an answer as possible you unlocked your phone before replying, “Hmm, my next availability is two weeks out.”

You scrolled through your calendar, clicking the exact date you were available, sliding the phone over to Nick. He used his free hand to look through the time stamps before picking another 2:30pm appointment and sliding the phone back to you.

—

The rest of your interactions with the triplets were similar to this until around the 4th time they booked with you. At this point, you were more comfortable around them and considered them regular customers. You now openly invited any and all conversation that allowed them to inquire about your personal life. Even Fat Mama got excited when they came around, immediately cuddling up to Matt.

“So no boyfriend?” Nick asked, watching as the brush you were holding twirled in your fingers and danced along his fingernail. You had already finished both Chris and Matt’s nails, both of them waiting in chairs behind Nick as you worked on his set. “Nope, no boyfriend,” you replied nonchalantly, your tongue poking out in concentration as you looked between the inspiration photo he showed you and his nail trying to recreate it as accurately as possible. From the interactions he’d had with you, Nick quickly realized you were a workaholic. And now that you’re admitting to not having a boyfriend, he’s beginning to suspect that you don’t do much other than work.

“What do you do for fun, then?” He hesitated to ask the question because he didn’t want to pry too much, but his curiosity got the best of him. You looked up from the nail you were working on, meeting his expectant gaze. The question caught you a bit off guard, immediately reminding you of the conversation you’d had with your client just a couple of months ago. ‘Work,’ you thought internally because working was truly fun for you. Work by Rihanna instantly played in your head as you remembered your clients words, ‘Life’s not all about work, work, work.’

You shook the thought out of your mind, breaking eye contact with Nick and averting your attention back to his nails. It would be easy to lie, they don’t know you well enough to know any better, but you decided against it, “I don’t have time for any of that, I work a lot.” You were satisfied with your answer, being proud in the fact that you were always working.

Unbeknownst to you, Matt was listening in on the entire conversation. Chris, on the other hand, had his airpods in so he couldn’t hear a thing. Not like he cared to listen anyway, he was too busy trying to pry Fat Mama from Matt. Fat Mama would just punch his hand away each time. “Oh c’mon, you have to have at least ONE free day,” Nick pushed, trying to see how far he could get before you changed the topic.

To his surprise you didn’t seem too bothered by his comment. In reality you’d heard it all before and had the perfect answer prepared. You grabbed your phone, once again opening your calendar and sliding it towards him. “Is this your way of telling me to shut up and book my next appointment?“ he laughed, looking down at your phone with a confused expression.

You ignored his question and instead posed him with a challenge, “Try and find my ONE free day.” A small smirk lifted at the corner of your mouth knowing he’d be scrolling forever until he found a free day in your schedule. Nick gladly accepted the challenge with a huff, allowing you to work on one hand as he used his free hand to scroll through your calendar. His eyes widened at the sight of your busy schedule, ready to give up. He swiped once more before jumping up with excitement. He had just found your ONE free day.

The sudden movement surprised you a bit causing you to look up at him. ‘There’s no way he actually found a day,’ you thought. He didn’t have to say it, you knew he had. You snatched the phone from him and inspected the screen, eyes widening at the sight of a day free of appointments. “What the fuck?” you whispered to yourself in disbelief as you attempted to refresh the screen in hopes that something would magically appear.

Nick’s face held a smirk, “I’d like to book that day.” You shrugged in response, clicking the date ready to pencil in a 2:30pm appointment as per usual, “fine with me.” He shook his head as a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, “but not with a nail appointment, a day out.”

“You’re crazy,” you laughed, not taking him seriously. You removed his hands from the UV lamp, making final touches to his nails.

“What’s so crazy about wanting to be your friend?” This time it was Matt who spoke which caught you by surprise because you never clocked that he was listening the entire time. Nick looked between you and Matt, just as surprised that he’d been listening. “There’s nothing crazy about it, I just don’t have time for that stuff.” Now that you were done with Nick’s nails, you found yourself messing with the brushes just for an excuse to escape this conversation.

“You clearly do, Nick just proved it.” Matt responded, a matter of fact tone to his voice.

Before you could respond, Chris let out a small yelp and held onto his hand, “Fat Mama just scratched me!”

—

When the triplets left your house both Nick and Matt made it clear that you didn’t have a choice on whether you got to spend your day off with them or not. The only thing Chris was worried about was whether or not Fat Mama was hiding behind a corner ready to attack him.

When the day finally arrived, you still woke up early. You did your routine as you normally did, finishing it in record time. You did your makeup, got dressed and ate breakfast quickly too. Nothing about your life was slow paced, you couldn’t even find it in you to take your time getting ready.

It seemed like the clock slowed down as you waited for 2:30 to finally roll around. By this point you had washed the dishes, cleaned the restroom, tidied up your bedroom, vacuumed the house, cleaned out Fat Mama’s litter box, and even organized your entire nail studio before 1pm. When you finished all these tasks you sat in your living room, watching the clock tick. That clock was taunting you, you were sure of it. A loud groan rang through your house, you were so bored out of your mind.

Finally at 2pm, you received a message from Nick on your personal Instagram:

@ NicolasSturniolo: We just finished putting gas, we’re on our way to yours. Be ready!

‘Be ready?!’ you thought. You’d been ready before the sun this morning! You exhaled loudly, attempting to contain yourself before replying:

@ Y/N: okay! I’ll wait for you guys outside :)

What you really wanted to say was, “I’m ready! I’ve BEEN ready!” but you’re glad you didn’t because his next text was actually really sweet.

@ NicolasSturniolo: We’re really excited! We have such a fun day planned!!

The message put a genuine smile on your face and changed your mood entirely. You made sure to like it before turning your phone off and throwing it in your purse. You gathered your things and pushed yourself off the couch, calling out a quick goodbye to your cat as you walked out the door even though she was definitely not listening and definitely didn’t care that you were leaving. When you made your way outside you sat down on the front doorstep, waiting patiently for the triplets to arrive.

Their car pulled into your drive way a few minutes later causing you to immediately spring up from your spot on your doorstep. As you made your way towards their car, you noticed Nick and Chris put their windows down and begins waving and shouting at you to hurry up.

“Hurry up! We’re going to be late for the movie at the pace you’re walking, kid,” Chris snickered, watching as you quickened your pace. “Are you excited?!” Nick asked, his face completely lighting up as you took a seat beside him in the backseat. Honestly, you were excited. This was the first time you’d been out with friends in a long time and it was definitely your first time going out with any of your clients.

“I’m VERY excited,” you replied as you buckled yourself into your seat and exaggerated your tone slightly to sound more excited than you were. Matt looked back at you from the drivers seat, beginning to back out of your drive way with his right hand against the passenger seat to gain a better look out his rear view window. For whatever reason this view of him put you in a trance and you had completely tuned Nick out.

“Y/n! Y/N!” Nick clapped his hands in front of your face, breaking you from your trance and reeling you back into reality. “Did you hear anything I just said?!”

You looked between him and Matt, who was now staring at you from the rear view mirror with a puzzled expression. You coughed awkwardly and averted your gaze, looking at Nick instead. Chris was also looking at you, his whole body shifted towards the middle console. “Um- Yeah, no. I heard nothing,” you attempted to sound casual.

“I just told you our whole schedule for the night, but since you weren’t listening I’m not repeating it,” Nick admitted, looking a little annoyed at the situation. You were annoyed too, annoyed that you had missed the whole nights itinerary and that Matt‘s attention was no longer on you. The second sentiment felt a little weird, you’d never thought about Matt like that until now.

“Everyone shut up and listen to this BANGER,” Chris exclaimed, breaking the awkward tension and pressing play on his phone. Immediately the car was flooded with trap music and you sat back in your seat allowing the night to go on.

—

The boys truly had an eventful night planned, it quickly became the most eventful day you’d ever had. First, you all went to the theater to watch the new Barbie movie. You’d actually been meaning to watch this movie, so this was a very welcomed experienced. After the movie theater, they took you to play mini golf. Chris ended up beating you all and boasted about his score all the way to your third destination, a local pizza shop.

While at the pizza shop, the four of you engaged in meaningful, heartfelt conversations as you shared childhood stories and swapped secrets causing the booth you were sat in to fill with laughter. Throughout these conversations, you and Matt kept stealing glances at each other. It was slowly driving you insane.

When you finished eating, they invited you over to their house to play video games. They hyped up the games they had, claiming that it would be so much fun. You were fully expecting to go home after the pizza shop and even more prepared to decline their kind offer. You had a full day of appointments waiting for you tomorrow, it was a better than perfect excuse, but before you could even open your mouth to protest Matt had already started speaking. “It’s going to be so much fun, y/n. You’ll love it,” his eyes were once again watching you through the rear view mirror, watching closely for your reaction. How were you going to decline their offer after that?

“Fine, okay. I’ll go,” you agreed in defeat. They all cheered in excitement as Matt began the drive to their house.

Once you finally arrived at their house, they immediately gave you a house tour. They showed you the kitchen, their podcast room, each of their rooms, and finally the living room. They quickly set up the gaming system, turning the tv on and shuffling through a multitude of games. “What game do you wanna play?” Matt asked enthusiastically, he seemed really excited to start playing.

He handed you the controller, allowing you to shuffle through the options presented on the screen, “ummm…” You seemed to shuffle through every option at least 5 times before deciding on a game. “This one?” It came out like a question mostly because you were unsure about what the game was about, you only chose it because it seemed the easiest. He had been looking at you the whole time, admiring your inquisitive look as you thought hard as to what game to choose, not realizing what game it even was.

Nick, who had been looking down at his phone the whole time, looked up to see what game you’d chosen. Your choice caused him to laugh out loud, grabbing Chris’s attention too. Chris looked at the screen and had the same reaction, “Y/n, you have to pick another game. Matt does NOT play about his Fortnite.” Chris’s comment was meant to tease and embarrass him, but Matt perked up at the mention of the game, finally breaking eye contact with you and looking up towards the tv.

Without hesitation he opened the game, waiting for it to load and scooting in closer to you on the couch. “What the fuck is Fortnite?” You asked, completely bewildered. “What the fuck is Fort- What the fuck is Fortnite? Only the best game 13 year old me ever played,” Matt replied, his response coming out so quick that it earned a laugh from the rest of you.

—

For the first couple of games you just watched them play and at first it was really interesting and you’d get excited whenever they would, but soon you were yawning slightly during the boring parts where they were looking for supplies or running through random fields. Your head fell and rested on Matt’s shoulder, your eyes feeling very heavy. You watched as his fingers frantically clicked buttons, your eyes locking onto his nails and mentally patting yourself on the back for your work.

Before you knew it, you were fast asleep. Matt noticed this and decided he was done playing, handing the controller to Chris who eagerly took ahold of it and immediately locked into the game. Nick had also dozed off, his head resting on the armrest to the left of him.

Matt slumped a little in his seat, careful not to wake or disturb you. His eyes shifted down towards you, taking in your full beauty as you rested calmly against his shoulder. He doesn’t know when it happened, but he began having feelings for you at some point. Maybe it was during your first encounter when you’d shamelessly announced the goofy name you gave your cat or when you gingerly worked on his hands, your touch igniting at his fingertips.

When he realized what he felt, he shared it with his brothers. He confided most of it with Chris, realizing that you and Nick had developed some sort of friendship that might warrant Nick to accidentally slip up and mention it to you. Matt loved your work ethic most of all, admiring the drive and passion you held for your career. But he did wish you’d make more time for yourself. Every time he looked down at his fingernails he was reminded of the countless hours you put into your craft. He loved visiting you every two weeks for a fresh set, taking a special pride in the fact that your cat only every approached him out of the three of them.

He’d never admit it, but he was internally jumping for joy when you’d accepted to hang out with them. Nick wanted to plan out the day, but Matt had beat him to it, scheduling and planning everything from the movie to mini golf course to the pizza shop. He wanted it to be perfect for you, especially after your relentless hard work day to day. Matt became lost in thoughts of you and before long he fell asleep too, his head resting aon top of yours.

“Dude, Matt, I’m about to fucking kill this guy watch,” Chris whispered as if the guy on the screen could hear him. He shot the character on the screen and jumped up excitedly because he’d just taken the winning shot. “MATT! MATT! DUDE DID YOU SEE THAT?!?” Chris exclaimed and looked over at Matt, his face dropping when he realized everyone had fallen asleep.

“Boo. Y’all are no fun,” he grumbled, readying up for another game.

—

When you woke up the next morning you immediately groaned at the pain in your neck. Before you could even acknowledge where you were, you searched around frantically for your phone to check the time. When you finally found it, the time read 12:30pm. ‘FUCK,’ you thought, the anxiety completely engulfing your body. Your first appointment today was at 11am, you scrolled through your notifications and saw 7 missed calls from your client.

You looked around, fully expecting to be at home, but when you took in your surroundings you realized you were still at the Triplet’s house. You must’ve fallen asleep while watching the boys play that stupid Fortnite game. To your left was Nick, still out cold and to your right was Matt, his head now resting on the back of the couch. You didn’t want to have to wake him up, but you didn’t have your car and without his help you’d never make it home on time for your next appointment.

“Matt! Matt!” You whisper shouted, shaking his shoulders so he’d wake up. You repeated this process a few times, each time becoming more and more aggressive. He woke up in a panic, shooting up immediately and grabbing a hold of your arms in the process. His eyes were wide open, searching your face to see what was wrong. By this point your eyes were brimmed with tears and you were completely overwhelmed.

“What? What’s wrong, baby?” The nickname slipped from his mouth effortlessly and if you weren’t so panicked you might’ve paid more attention to it. “It’s 12:30,” you replied, shoving your phone in his face so he could see the time. His face softened at this, realizing that you weren’t in any immediate danger, he sighed in relief as he responded, “you scared the shit out of me.”

“I need you to take me home. Right now,” your face was serious, tears still threatening to fall. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?” His mind immediately went to the worst possible scenario, wondering if he’d bothered you by sleeping so close to you or by resting his head on yours, or even by letting himself slip up and call you baby. “I missed an appointment…” you whispered, letting the tears finally fall.

Although he hated seeing you cry, he felt a wave of relief wash over him when he realized you weren’t upset with him. “Oh thank God,” he whispered, clutching his chest dramatically and throwing his head back against the couch again. “Why are you thanking God right now? I’ve never missed an appointment before!” You wiped your tears away.

Before he could stop himself he was admitting it all to you, “I thought you heard me call you baby just now.” Your eyes widened at this revelation, suddenly your missed appointment and the 7 missed calls didn’t matter so much, “I didn’t hear you call me baby… you called me baby?”

His face immediately burned with embarrassment as he realized what he had just done. There was no backing down now, if he didn’t admit his feelings to you now he knew he’d never gain the courage to do it later. “Yes?” His voice had an underlying inquisitive tone, he was nervous and wanted to test the waters before diving in head first.

Matt watched as your face changed completely, going from distress to pure happiness. This was enough motivation for him to finally confess his feelings for you. “Can I be really honest and vulnerable with you right now?” He asked, looking down at his nails, remembering all the reasons he has to love you.

“Yes?” You matched his tone from earlier, trying to ease his nerves. It worked, he laughed and sighed before continuing, “I think I’m in love with you.” From the direction the conversation was heading, you were expecting a confession, but nothing could’ve prepared you for Matt confessing his love for you.

“Before you say anything, just hear me out,” he breathed in deeply, once again working up the courage to speak. “I don’t know when it happened, but all I know is that I find myself wishing every two weeks that time could speed up and it could be 2:30.” Your heart was beating 1000 beats per minute and the anticipation was killing you. He had stopped looking at his nails and had now locked eyes with you.

“I love so many things about you y/n… I love the way you work hard everyday to create absolute works of art. I love that you invite people into your space so openly. I love that you take pride in your work. I love the way that your apartment is a personification of you. I love the way you poke your tongue out when you’re concentrating or even the fact that you painted your door yellow. I love that you’re so gentle, yet so precise in everything you do. I love listening to you talk and I love looking at your beautiful smile. I love that you allowed yourself to enjoy a day out with us, despite it going against your true nature. Shit, I love that you named your cat Fat Mama.” The last sentence earned a laugh from you, happy tears now rolling down your checks. You’d never been confessed to, especially not in such a sincere way.

There weren’t words that could express how you were feeling, instead you decided a kiss would suffice. The kiss was sweet, igniting a fire inside you. You felt Matt smile into the kiss, placing his hands on your face to pull you in closer.

“I think I love you too.” You admitted as you pulled away, resting your forehead against his and gazing into his eyes. You two were too lost in the moment to realize that Nick and Chris were awake and had seen and heard the whole thing.

“You two are disgusting,” Nick commented, getting up from the couch and walking to his room. “I agree, you guys are corny as fuck,” Chris chimed in, doing the same.

You both laughed, too mesmerized by each other to even care. You couldn’t believe you were about to let this boy enter your life and completely disrupt it.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: mmmm i said i wasn’t going to write anything again, but a lot of people liked my last story sooooo I decided I’d try again. This time I wrote someothing so unbelievably long, but I really love adding little details and referring back to them. I hope y’all enjoy, if not that’s fine too. K BYEEEEE

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

#matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #matt x reader #Matthew sturniolo x reader #Matthew sturniolo x y/n

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jilixthinker · 2 months

Text

mr. gorgeous

=͟͟͞♡ felix × fem!reader

=͟͟͞♡ runway felix

word count: 1.1K

content warning: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, deepthroating, balls slapping (just once)

a/c: i wrote this in 45 minutes and i honestly don't have much to add except that this is what i want to do to him for the rest of my life

=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!

"Please. Please, m-more."

Felix is panting heavily, perfect face flushed with a thin layer of sweat and lipgloss impercettibely smudged on the corner of his lips.

You couldn't even wait to the end of the evening for this, your legs rubbing viciously to ease the tension of seeing Felix, the Felix, walking the runway. And that's why you pulled him with you to the bathroom, not even giving him the chance to repost every single sponsor on his instgram page.

And here you are, tongue lolling out of your mouth, kneeling on the most fancy restroom you will ever have the chance to see in your entire life, easing Felix's pink and chubby cock into the heath of your throat.

Felix is still completely dressed up, gorgeous silver pants hugging his perfect slim legs and white shirt just a litte too tight for the deep breaths he is taking. He brings his hands to the back of you head and you can feel the fluffy sleeves caressing the frame of your face.

"You were so fucking sexy, my angel." you whisper on his groin as you bite a little red mark on the sensitive skin near his base. The sweet scent of body lotion and sweat tangled up in his thick pubic hair is making your head spin.

"Love, baby– ah, fuck. We have n-no time." he moans painfully, slender back arched deliciously against the door of the bathroom you sneaked in. "C-cannot make a mess in these."

Your legs are hurting in this position, your short dress not giving you any help in easing the sting of being on your knees. But you love it nonetheless. You feel like worshipping him, and being like this is the only way you can show him how much you love him, how much you want him.

"Better be quick and clean, then." you mutter as you take Felix's hands and bring them to your hair in a makeshift ponytail. "Wanna feel you all deep, angel, don't hold back."

You lower you face, sniffing at the freckled skin and mouthing at his shaft before grabbing the base of his cock with two of your fingers. Felix hisses your name in a raspy tone, and you cup his balls with your other hand.

When you suckle on the tip you can feel Felix's thigh muscles contracting, and a generous dribble of precum gushes out of his slit to coat your tongue. You take the hint and you allow the whole head in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and slurping the warm liquid down your throat.

"You taste amazing. Been pent up as soon as I saw you coming in." you admit, rolling one humid ball in your hand and nosing it before you can suck that in your mouth as well. Felix keens and his head bumps against the door.

"Do you know how hard I had to press my legs together to avoid wetting the fucking chair, my love? Thinking about you coming down my throat and giving me all of your cum until it spills out of my mouth?" you say warmly, taking his cock in a firm fist and letting the red tip hit twice your cheek.

Felix gulps and you think you want to suck his neck as well. But you can't now. That is for later.

You force your tongue out of your mouth and you present it to him, keeping it still and firm.

"Oh f-fuck. Can I? C-can I really?" he asks with his eyes glassy.

You nod accommodatingly, sticking out your tongue as much as you can and feeling your pussy throb and pulsing around nothing. You would give anything in the world to slam Felix down and ease his cock into you, but this is not the time. Now it's for him.

Felix gulps again and gives you a few taps on the hand holding him, letting it fall neatly on your thighs. He looks at you in the eye and curses softly at the view. "Thank you." he pants out, teeth biting the fat of his bottom lip.

And then he grips his length and he slaps his cockhead against your tongue. He does it once, twice. A spurt of white liquid shoots out of him and he uses his engorged tip to spread it on your lips. You moan at the sticky sensation and another gush of slick coats your panties.

He slaps his cock on your wet muscle a few more times before his hips buck forward and you curl your fingers around the base of his length once again. Felix lets out a shuddering breath, and with a quick movement you sink your head down to engulf the entirety of him.

"Baby, please. Please, I am almost there." he whispers as you go back to suckle on his tip and you use your hand to pump the rest.

"Wanna shoot in my mouth, angel? Make me drink your cum as it was a fucking cocktail?" you ask, continuing to bob your head and swirl your tongue around the underside of his heavy cock up to the head.

"Y-yes," he slurs out. "Wanna fill your stomach, please baby. P-please let me."

You smile around his girth and you take him down your throat once again, letting it reach the back as deep as you can and forcing yourself to swallow. Felix hips jolt and you relax yourself to accomodate his entire lenght inside of your mouth, your hand coming back to cup his humid balls and give them a gentle smack.

It takes just a few minutes of you gurgling around Felix's cock for him to start blabbering nosense, and as you feel him hitting the back of your throat with a decise thrust, you swallow again, choking his lenght with a tight heat.

"Oh, fuck, baby, that's it– G-gonna cum." he manages to whisper as his hot white cum starts to shoot in your mouth and leak down your throat. You keep hollowing your cheeks and milk him by squeezing his balls until you feel the last drop of his seed gushing out of his slit.

"Oh my God." he moans, back hitting the door for one last time and cock beginning to soften in your mouth.

You give him one last kitten lick to clean him up and then you tuck him back inside his shiny expensive pants.

"You don't even know what I am gonna do to you when we'll be back home, Mr. Gorgeous".

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fangsandfeels · 5 months

Text

Got hit with more thoughts about spawns and Cazador...

...and naturally, I'm posting it here because I'm no longer a functional human being.

I remember the lingering question that Astarion seemingly being only one of the spawns using seduction to lure victims in. At least, there is no menition of other’s doing so, except for Petras. So, why is that? Why Astarion was the only one?

In my opinion, it stems from Cazador’s very particular choice of victims. In all these years, he acquired only seven spawns (except for the thousands of Turned nobody knew about), and almost all of them used to be accomplished or talented people:

- Violet, a beloved and talented songbird from Reithwin;

- Dalyria, a respected doctor working in the Parliament;

- Leon, a sorcerer (a spell modifiaction he came up with shows how good he is at his magic);

- Astarion, a magistrate with a promising future, centuries of life ahead of him, and a beauty worthy of a thousand paintings.

Following this tendency, we can assume that Yousen, Aurelia, and Petras also were similarly talented or good at something enough to attract Cazador’s attention and make him envious.

The bastard thinks very highly of himself. He calls himself the most intelligent and beautiful creature out there, and spends hours writing letters to other vampire lords, trying to convince them of his grandeur. He attempts to inflate his ego, making it finally big enough to overcompensate for his miserable inferiority complex, in any way he can: so, whenever he spies someone with a talent or potential, someone who might be better than him at anything, he snuffs them away, adds to his collection, and then breaks them over and over, making them believe that they’re nothing. He is the father who gives them purpose; they are his spawn who owe him everything; and everything they have belongs to him.

And maybe, aside from tortures, and humiliation, and gaslighting, and forcing “siblings” to hurt each other, he came up with one more way to break them - when he forces them to hunt, he forces them to use everything that made them special, loved, respected, and admired for the most gruesome things.

- Violet, previously a talented singer whose voice was fondly remembered up to Reithwin’s fall, using her voice to catch attention; using her image and charm to lure people into the palace to their death.

- Dalyria, picking her victims around apothecaries and temples that responded to the people's suffering by closing doors in their faces, seeking out refugees and ailing citizens low on coin, offering to help them, kindly inviting them to “her place” (if we take Karlach’s family as an example, finding a healer who would agree to help a less-than-wealthy family is quite a problem at the city).

- Leon, using his talents and magic to nab people from the street, to drag them to Cazador without a fight while knowing that he will never be able to use the same power against the bastard himself.

- Astarion, a previously sophisticated, proud, and beautiful elf, stripped of his dignity and pride, using his body to either seduce poor young and inexperienced souls (fulfilling their image of an ethereal and caring lover) or let himself be pawed at by drunkards and brothel-goers.

I don’t think any of Cazador’s choices were accidental. I don't think he had to roam the streets at night, looking for potential candidates; that he ever Turned any of them by chance.

They all caught his eye at some point, became an object of his obsession, and then fell victim to a scenario where they were confronted by a promise of salvation - and each time, it made Cazador giddy with excitement and a sense of self-importance. He took them away from the world because he could. He will twist and shape them to his whim because he can. And then, he will take everything from them, reducing them to miserable wretches because this is who they should be, compared to him.

They will belong under his heel, scared, helpless, and obedient, worshipping him and fearing him. Forever.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 dalyria #bg3 leon #bg3 aurelia #bg3 yousen #bg3 petras #bg3 violet #shit-hunter the diva

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thelastofhyde · 1 year

Text

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet.

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?”

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s.

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you.

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut

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